No One Knows

Scripture can be found here

One day when he was about 12, 13 years old, Bob C. was hanging out with his friend, riding their bikes around Endicott. They passed the old Presbyterian cemetery and got off their bikes. The two boys noticed there were a bunch of people down by the river, sitting on the riverbank. They didn’t look like they were there to catch fish; they were clothed in white robes. Bob asked, “Whatcha doin’?”

A man answered him, “Waiting for Jesus.”

“Can we watch?” Bob asked.

“Sure,” he answered.

So they did. But nothing much happened, so after about fifteen minutes, Bob and his buddy left, in search of something a little more fun.

It’s the first Sunday in Advent, and today we are thinking about the return of Jesus Christ, the Son of Man, at the end of time. The people encountered by Bob and his friend must have been part of a community that made that future event the centerpiece of their lives and worship. They calculated dates, according to their reading of the signs, and got ready to go on those days. We Presbyterians tend to keep the coming of the Son of Man at somewhat of a remove. We focus on it, mostly at this time of year… in the kinds of scripture passages we’ve been hearing over the last three weeks, and especially, on the first Sunday in Advent. Advent is the season of preparation for our celebration of Jesus’ birth: that is true. But before we look back in remembrance, we look ahead, in anticipation. Today Jesus is talking about the end of all things, and it’s time for us to pay attention; you might say, to keep awake.

The setting is Jerusalem, Holy Week. Jesus has been teaching in the Temple, and after a prediction of that holy place being destroyed, he moves on to talk about what scholars call “the Parousia:” the royal visit, the showing up of the owner who can deal with the current situation, which is to say: the coming of the Son of Man at the end of all things. And he emphasizes, again and again, that no one knows when these things will happen—not even Jesus himself. We can’t ask an angel, we can’t ask Jesus, and God’s not telling. [1] So.

Jesus says, it will be like when the flood came: before that, everyone was going about their lives, doing their work, going to weddings, shopping for Christmas presents… and then the skies opened up. Noah and his kin got into an ark with a bunch of animals (minus the unicorn).[2] But the rest were taken away.

Please note: in the story of Noah, it’s the righteous people who remain; the unrighteous are swept away. The faithful, in Matthew’s telling, are the ones who are left behind. Sometimes different parts of scripture tell the story differently.

Which brings us back to the original point: no one knows. Even with all the detail shared by Jesus over two whole chapters, so much is left to the imagination.

Two (presumably men) will be working in the field; one will be taken, and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal. One will be taken, and one will be left. So, stay awake. Stay awake, because no one knows, not even people who center their lives and worship around the event.

We read this passage together at session, and there seemed to be a divide as to how folks responded based on birth order. For the first borns—of whom, it turns out, there are a lot on session—this passage felt uncomfortable. Disturbing. Eerie. Whereas the second-and-later borns among us—I’m generalizing, of course—felt somewhat comforted by it. Maybe it’s middle- and youngest-child thing; we’re used to not really knowing what’s going on, and having to catch up on all of it later.

But the question for us is, how do we live in a time of waiting? How do we take these words of scripture seriously, take them to heart, without letting them either paralyze us into fear and worry, or, simply pushing it all away, because, oh well, there’s nothing we can do about it anyway? How do we live in the already-not yet reality of God’s love and care for us? That Emmanuel—God-With-Us—has come, we can and will celebrate. That there is more to be revealed—Christ coming in both judgment and compassion—we need to learn to live with that. But how?

The people described in the passage give us one clue. They are found at work—and one is taken from that work, whisked away in a different kind of deluge, and one is left. This suggests that, while staying on our knees in prayer is one possible plan for the end of the world, it is not the only place God’s people may be found.

But how can we know?

Theologian and mystic Richard Rohr talks about what it is like in this season of growing darkness, to learn to live without knowing.

Not knowing or uncertainty is a kind of darkness that many people find unbearable…

The Gospel doesn’t promise us complete clarity.

Scriptures do not offer rational certitude. They offer us something much better, an entirely different way of knowing: an intimate relationship, a dark journey, a path where we must discover for ourselves that grace, love, mercy, and forgiveness are absolutely necessary for survival in an uncertain world. [3]

The Son of Man is coming in judgment; but he also comes with grace, love, mercy, and forgiveness. He comes in compassion. And so I am going to suggest that in our waiting, we might take the initiative, on our own dark journeys, to fill God’s world, day by day, with just a little more grace, just a little more compassion, doing our part to create more love in a world sorely in need of it.

Keep awake! Jesus tells us. And he does more than give us clues—he does tell us how and where we will see him. In chapter 25, Jesus tells us: when the Son of Man comes to judge, he will say,

“Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger [which is to say, foreigner] and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” ~ Matthew 25:34b-36

And when, utterly confused, Jesus’ people wonder what on earth he is talking about, he explains:

“Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” ~ Matthew 25:40b

We are waiting for the coming of the Son of Man—the owner of all this, the One who’s going to clean up our mess and put things right. Jesus tells us, we need to stay awake. We need to keep our eyes open for him, in the hungry, and the thirsty, and the stranger, extending compassion to all those he describes as “the least of these.” We need to do our bit to help to create his reign of love, and justice, and peace. That’s where we will find him.

We do not know when Jesus is coming. We can’t don white robes and go to await his return by the river—well, we could. We could do that, if we wanted. But we could be waiting a long time, all the while there would be people hungering, and people thirsting, and people feeling like strangers, and longing to be welcomed and loved.

No one knows when exactly that time will be. But we can know—we do know—what our world so badly needs, and how Jesus directs us to do our part. So we can take part in the work of the Son of Man, the great, and ongoing work of extending compassion to our fellow travelers on this planet. And everyone who takes part in such work is awake, and ready, for whatever may come.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

~~~

[1] I’m pretty sure these words were uttered by one of the saints at First Presbyterian Union Church of Owego. You know who you are.

[2] Not in the Bible; reference to a song by the Irish Rovers.

[3] Richard Rohr, Daily Meditation December 1, 2019, Week 49: “Darkness: Waiting and Unknowing,” Center for Action and Contemplation, https://email.cac.org/t/ViewEmail/d/EB8C4C925AAE2A532540EF23F30FEDED/FA2533665300F6CDC68C6A341B5D209E.