Ordinary Time. In the world outside church, as in the world inside church, this means a time when nothing really special is happening. It’s a time when we go about our work, and leisure, and rest, in a fairly predictable cycle. In a way, there’s nothing more precious than ordinary time—time not marked by the stress of either big celebrations or big traumas.
In the church, Ordinary Time is any time we are not in the midst of one of the two great cycles of the church year, the ones having to do with the big events associated with Jesus: Christmas (with its season of preparation, Advent), or Easter (with its season of preparation, Lent). Everything else, at least for us mainline Protestants, is Ordinary Time.
Today, the 33rd Sunday, is the second to last Sunday in Ordinary time, because a preparation season is coming: Advent is just around the corner now, our time to pray and prepare our spirits for the celebration of Christmas. But… you may have noticed this… when Ordinary Time is coming to a close, our scripture passages get… kind of funky. Kind of wobbly, this and that, highs and lows, joys and sorrows, all jumbled together.
Take our passages today. Our passage from the Hebrew Scriptures speaks to the people living during the time of the Babylonian Exile. The exile had been a time of terrible losses, including the loss of leaders, the loss of homes, the loss of family, and the loss of the Temple. But perhaps the greatest loss was the loss of the land. The great big Babylonian Empire had swallowed up tiny Israel and Judah, and now, the land that God had promised the Israelites was no longer theirs. This plunged them, as a people, into a grief it’s hard for us to comprehend.
But in this passage the prophet Isaiah tells them of God’s promise for what comes next, and it’s beautiful. New heavens and a new earth, everything fresh and green: a place of abundance and plenty. New joys—Jerusalem, which had suffered such sorrow, would now be a place of joy: the joys of no more disease, of no more untimely deaths, of good and satisfying work, and of peace. Peace, after so much war. Peace, after so much violence and desolation. Peace so profound, the central image—an image many of us will recognize—is one of a wolf and a lamb, feeding together—predator and prey no more, but side by side, in harmony. Peace.
To people in a time of exile, Isaiah offers words of profound comfort and reassurance.
But we followed that vision with a passage in which Jesus is in a prophetic mode, and his words are shocking. During a stroll near the Temple in Jerusalem—mind you, the very same Temple that had been destroyed during the Babylonian Exile and then re-built after the people returned home—Jesus astounds his friends by predicting that this Temple, too, will be destroyed. “The days will come,” he says, “when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” He follows these words by warnings of wars and earthquakes, famines and plagues—and a simple conversation about the beauty of the Temple turns to visions of destruction.
To people in a time of relative peace, Jesus offers words of warning and foreboding.
These passages seem to be at odds with one another, and in some ways, they absolutely are: a vision of plenty alongside a vision of destruction. But there is at least one element that ties them together: That element is work.
Work, of course, is part of God’s original design for humanity. Even in the Garden of Eden, the first perfect paradise, the first humans are assigned the work of tilling and keeping the garden. Maybe it’s because God has been engaged in the work of creation, so satisfying, and which God names, day after day, as being “good, very good.” God makes humans in the divine image and likeness, and assigns them work. God creates others to work, together with God, co-creators of this beautiful, brand-new world.
And so, there is work to do, even in the new paradise, the new heavens and new earth described by Isaiah; and there’s work to do in the midst of the looming disaster described by Jesus.
“[God’s people] shall build houses and inhabit them,” Isaiah writes, “they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit.” And then, to clarify, he adds: “They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat.” Because, of course, that’s what happened in the exile. People planted their gardens or farms; they built their houses; and then they were carried off, ripped away from everything good and familiar, everything that meant “home.” And then, someone else got to live in their houses and eat the food they’d grown. But that terrible event will be in the past. “My chosen (ones) shall long enjoy the work of their hands,” is Isaiah’s message from God. “They shall not labor in vain.”
God’s people will know satisfaction that comes from doing what they love, or doing it for the people they love. Like God at the end of each day of creation, they will be able to look upon their work and say: it is good. It is very good. This almost feels like a Thanksgiving text to me: the goodness and the beauty of doing what you love, followed by the ability to share that joy.
Jesus speaks of work, too, but it’s a different kind of work. Jesus lays his prediction of this frightening loss at the feet of his companions, who immediately ask: When? What signs should we watch for? Jesus refuses to answer these questions. Instead, he focuses on the work of discipleship that will be needed in such frightening times. He describes still more disturbing events–persecution, arrests, prison. But he offers counsel about how to live through such times. His followers will be given the opportunity to testify.
When I hear the word “testify,” years of “Law and Order” kick in, and the first thing I hear in my head is the opening : CHA CHUNGGGGGG; and the next thing that I immediately see, is a courtroom, and someone placing their hand on a holy text, often the Bible, and answering a question: “Do you swear to will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” And the person replies: “I do.” And then, if they’re an honest person, everything they say should be the truth.
This isn’t that different. Jesus’ followers may well be in courts of law. Or they may be trying to talk to family members who just don’t understand their new lives as followers of Jesus. Of course, that’s the other meaning of “testify”: for us, it can mean speaking our faith, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it’s frightening.
You will get a chance to testify, Jesus says. But he urges them not to worry about preparing. Instead, they should trust that he himself will provide them wisdom. Their work will be the work of endurance in the face of danger and evil. Their work will be giving witness to the love of God shown in following Jesus’ Way.
It isn’t going to be easy, Jesus says. But you will endure. And you will be ok.
Better than ok, because both these passages, in the end, look forward to a day when God will take all our brokenness and create new heavens and a new earth, and new us: a time when the home of God will be among mortals. We will be God’s people, and God will be with us. And God will wipe every tear from our eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things, the former things have passed away. Get ready for the new things.
We walk through our lives, mostly, in ordinary time, doing the quotidian work of daily living. We go to the office or the shop. We put the clean dish on the rack to dry. We finish the paper. We walk our laps, get in our steps. We say our prayers. We mostly are in neither a completely dreadful times of loss, nor in a times of perfect peace and restoration. But the same work that punctuates our every day is the work that can ground us when life is hard. It is the very work that opens us to unexpected joy—the satisfaction of doing what we love, or doing it for those we love.
The work God gives us to do is a precious gift. Through that work— the very work of simply being who we are called to be, God’s people, Jesus’ followers, infused with God’s Spirit—we will be able to, not just get through, but thrive. Not just thrive, but find joy, find purpose, find that we are always, in days of challenge and days of elation, held in God’s gracious care.
Thanks be to God. Amen.