When the World Is Turned Upside Down
As many of you know, I moved into a new home just a few months ago. On the day of the big move, the very first delivery that I made into my new home—was my two cats, Poe and Etty. I locked them in one of the bedrooms, so that they wouldn’t get in the way. Once the bedroom door was closed, the movers, some friends, and I began unloading: boxes and boxes of books and kitchenware, suitcases packed with clothes, furniture, and so on. My nephews were there for part of the time, so the house echoed not only with the heavy footsteps and grunting of the movers but also with the excited exclamations and squeals of two seven-year-olds. At the end of the day, when the furniture was set more or less in its right place, and the essential items had been removed from the boxes, and everyone had left, I opened the bedroom door. Poe and Etty were out of sight. As you might guess, they were both hunched under the bed in the far corner, their eyes wide open, their bodies stock-still.
I tried to coax them out, but they wouldn’t budge. I could understand. Without warning, their whole world had been turned upside down. They had endured a full day of strangers’ voices and loud noises and the occasional rumbling of the floors and walls. And worst of all, they were in an entirely new place. For them, it was a strange, new world.
Of course, they eventually wandered out. And it wasn’t just for food or the litterbox. I had gotten out some of their favorite toys: pipe cleaners, stuffed mice, wands with thick ribbon. A few waves of the wand, and I could tell that the lure of play, of the chase, was eclipsing their fear. Their eyes got big, despite themselves, and they couldn’t help but jump out from under the bed and play with their favorite toys. Once they were out, they saw their cat trees and perches around the new home. Soon they had hopped up into their favorite resting places, where they could survey their new world from on high and in relative safety. That night, they discovered the bed, and they took their respective places there, relishing the comfort of a night’s sleep on a familiar surface.
Reflecting on their experience, I’ve concluded that what helped them to survive the end of the world—because it really was the end of their world—was remembering and returning to what brought them life in the first place. What filled them with life in the past, is what fills them with life today. Even as the whole world changed in ways they would never have asked for or desired, there was something that didn’t change. Namely, their way of life. What makes their tails swish with excitement, what makes their eyes big with anticipation, what makes them purr with contentment—none of these things changed in the new world, in their new home.
“But Just Not Yet”?
Today’s scripture has been dubbed by some commentators as Jesus’ “mini-apocalypse.” Jesus does not use all the fantastic symbols and imagery that John employs in the book of Revelation, but his message is largely the same here. The world as you know it, he says, will crumble under its own weight, and this is good news because what remains will be even better than all that is lost. What endures is God’s kingdom. “When you see these things taking place,” he says, “you know that the kingdom of God is near. … Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words”—which is to say, the good news of God’s kingdom—“my words will not pass away” (Luke 21:31, 33).
Chances are, many people in Jesus’ audience did not hear this as good news. Or at least, it made them scratch their heads and raise an eyebrow. Notice how our scripture begins today. People are talking about how big and beautiful the temple is (Luke 21:5). For many Judeans, the temple stood as a monument to their faith, to their God. While the world around them changed, the temple stood firm. They knew they could go there and be reminded of God’s presence. Many of them believed that the Roman empire would indeed crumble one day but the temple would remain standing. But Jesus makes a scandalous—and true—prediction: “The days will come when not one stone will be left upon another” (Luke 21:6). On the one hand, Jesus’ prophecy here may be targeting the temple for its corruption. He may be indicating that the religious leaders will indeed reap as they have sown. Just as they have taken away what little resources the poor have, so the temple will be taken away. On the other hand, Jesus’ prophecy may have a larger point, namely the truth that even the most cherished things in our world will ultimately pass away. His larger point may be that change is the norm, the pattern, the way of things in our world. [We all know this on a deep level. The age-old joke, “Man makes plans; God laughs,” certainly gets at this truth. And you only have to live a few years on this earth to discover it yourself. What else is growing up and growing old than a process of change?]
Before Augustine, an influential church leader in the fourth and fifth centuries, became a follower of Christ, he famously prayed to God: “Grant me chastity…but just not yet.” He knew the way of life, but a part of him was unwilling to let go of his old way of living. Liberation theologian Justo Gonzalez suggests that many of us who live comfortably in the developed western world might make a similar prayer. He suggests that we are secretly satisfied with the present order of the world, that we’re reasonably content with the way things are for us, even as many across the globe struggle for the basic necessities of life. And so when we pray “thy kingdom come,” Justo Gonzalez wonders whether we might not sometimes add, “but just not yet.” We know God’s reign is better than our own, but just as my cats would never have asked for or desired their new home (which I happen to think is better than their old world!), so too we hesitate.
“Don’t Be Terrified,” but “Shine Bright”
But even as Jesus prophesies doom for the temple and trouble for his own followers—such as imprisonment and high-profile trials before kings and governors, all of which we see fulfilled in the sequel to Luke, which is the book of Acts—even as Jesus prophesies hard times ahead, he like John in Revelation insists that these unwanted changes are an opening, an opportunity for God’s kingdom. I want to highlight two things he says, which I think summarize his message well. First, he says, “Do not be terrified” when nation rises against nation, when earthquakes and famines and plagues hit (Luke 21:9). Instead of fear, Jesus advises faithfulness. “This,” he says, “will give you an opportunity to testify” (Luke 21:13). Which is another way to say, the darkness is where the light shines brightest. Difficult circumstances offer a stark background against which to show the beauty and grace of God’s love. It is no coincidence that the cross is where we see God’s love most clearly.
Not an Answer, but a Response
I remember one of my last hospital visits with Bubba. As I was getting ready to leave, I found myself lost for words. I wanted so badly to say something that would fix things. But in times like those, when death seems nearer than usual, when the world is about to change in an unwanted way, many of our faithful sentiments and many of the truths in which we trust—such as “God is with you,” “You’re in good hands,” “I’ll be praying for you,” etc.—sometimes seem to ring empty or hollow when spoken aloud. But as I struggled for words, Bubba looked up at me, and in his easy-going manner, he smiled and said, “I love you.”
There are some things in our world, in our lives, to which there is no adequate answer, no explanation that can make sense of things in a satisfying way. There’s the problem of suffering, of illness that is not cured. There are problems of oppression and injustice. There are hurtful habits and addictions so deeply ingrained. These are the kinds of things in which we might join Jesus on the cross, and very honestly utter, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
What Jesus suggests in today’s passage is not an answer…but a response. Some questions have no adequate answers. But there is always a good response. Some difficult circumstances have no immediate solution. But there is always a good response. And that response is simple: love.
My guess is that when we reflect on the lives of our saints—our loved ones who have passed but who live still to God and to us—the reason that we remember them, the pull that we feel toward them still, has little to do with the clothes they wore or the food they ate or the jokes they told (even though we may well remember all these things fondly, even though we may smile when we remember their various idiosyncrasies). My guess is that they are still alive to us because, underneath all those trappings of life, they loved us. In their own unique, broken, imperfect way—they loved us. And we loved them. And as we’re told again and again throughout scripture, in the Old Testament and the Psalms as well as in the gospel and the letters, God’s love endures forever (e.g., Jer 33:11; Ps 136:1; John 13:1; 1 Cor 13:7-8).
The hard truth that my cats learned a few months ago, is the hard truth that we all learn from time to time. As Jesus puts it in our scripture today, the end of the world “will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth” (Luke 21:35). There’s no escaping it. The things in our world are destined to pass away—to crumble, to decay, to change. But as my cats learned, what filled us with life in the past, may yet fill us with life today. The way of life—which is the way of Christ—which is the way of love—never changes. If there is a saint on your heart this morning, you might take a moment to ponder what they mean to you. You might ponder specifically how they loved you…and how you loved them. Because what you are pondering is not just an artefact behind sealed glass in a museum. It’s not just a thing of the past. It is something alive. It is part of God’s eternal dance. It is part of the Song of love to which we are all still dancing, and it is leading us, step by step, closer and closer, to God’s kingdom.
Perhaps it is true that we sometimes whisper in our heart of hearts, “Thy kingdom come…but just not yet.” Perhaps it is true that we are reasonably content with the present order of things. If that is so, the call that I hear in today’s scripture is to remember that what truly fills us with life, what truly makes this life good and beautiful, has nothing to do with things, which are passing. It has to do with love, which endures forever. The witness of our saints invites us not to fight change, but to love in the midst of change. That is how we endure. And that is how we find ourselves—wherever we are—in the kingdom of God.
Prayer
Lord Christ,
Of the cross and of the empty tomb,
Who shines bright
Amid the darkness
…
Inspire us today
By the love
Of our saints—
Which is with us still—
That we might endure
Even the end of the world
With the faith
That we are safe in your kingdom.
Amen.
