Commands

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way …”[1]

Those are the opening words of Charles Dickens’ 1859 novel, A Tale of Two Cities. Dickens (1812-1870) was writing about London and Paris during the tumultuous days of the French Revolution and in a strange way his words provide an apt prelude both to the First Sunday of Advent and today’s text from Mark’s Gospel.

Throughout Jesus’ ministry and certainly near the end of it, as the powers of darkness amassed against him, he spoke both warnings and promises. He grieved over the judgment that God’s people were again inviting upon themselves. He predicted the fall of Jerusalem even though it would not take place literally for another four decades. He spoke of chaos in the generation of his own disciples.[2] In other words, as Sid was saying last Sunday, Jesus both spoke and embodied words of judgment. It was the worst of times.

That discordant note also blares at us today as the Church begins another year in the Christian calendar on this, the First Sunday of Advent. We are imperiled today by danger, despair, destruction, and death. Maybe all times are likewise imperiled, but it seems to us these are the worst of times. And yet in Advent we prepare again to celebrate the birth of our Messiah and Savior. We hear again the promise that our Lord will come on the clouds to take home the elect. So the church always hears judgment in the context of hope. It is the best of times. Believers have often struggled with this dilemma and this morning I want to struggle with it together with you as we turn to Mark’s Gospel.

Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.

“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake — for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

If you grew up in a home like I did where the second coming of Christ was talked about frequently and expected often, you learned to look for signs of the times. Texts like the one we just read were often cited by my mother and my Sunday school teachers and my pastor as requiring us to pay attention. The worse things became in the world — “it was the worst of times” — the more we expected Jesus to come on the clouds — which would be, at least if you were a Christian, “the best of times.” We lived with that constant dilemma.

But the dilemma wasn’t just in my upbringing because long ago Jesus commanded his followers to look for signs of the times. Our Lord made four commands in this text:

Four commands, all of which are about learning, watching, being alert to the times. Is it the best of times? Or is it the worst of times, which may be the best of times because then Christ will return? For what does Jesus command us to watch?

To answer that question we must first think about the difficulty of watching, a difficulty which arises because the text describes different kinds of watching. First, we are to watch for signs of final judgment. The images of falling stars, a darkened sun, and the Son of Man coming with “great power and glory” to gather the elect all point to final judgment. We are to watch for signs of final judgment.

We must also watch for earthly judgment, that is, for crises within human history. For the first readers of Mark that meant the destruction of Jerusalem. Jesus predicted it but it didn’t happen until ad 70, just a year or so before Mark’s Gospel was written. When we read about “these things taking place” and “this generation will not pass away” we have clues that people are to look for crises happening in their own time.

Then it gets even more complicated because Jesus commands his followers to watch and keep awake but no one knows the time when judgment will come. No one knows except God. Even Jesus doesn’t know[3] but we still have to watch and keep awake.[4]

Of course, in our own time all manner of voices tell us to watch and seem to know exactly what to watch for. End-time books are best sellers and churches that emphasize it seem to grow like weeds. Many voices, inside and outside the church, claim to know what time it is and what crisis is at hand — a political crisis, a religious crisis, an economic crisis, an ecological crisis, a social crisis. To which voices are we to listen?[5]

Well, you are to listen to my voice! And, of course, I say that both jokingly and seriously. I joke because I don’t like drawing attention to myself or putting myself on a pedestal. But I’m also serious because if I have any claim to speak with authority it is only by pointing us all back to the text. The clues are right there about what we should watch for. There are two clues. First, what we are watching for is simple. Second, we watch because what God is doing and when God will do it are not predictable.

In the text Jesus said, “From the fig tree learn its lesson.” In other words, “This is really simple, folks.” Anyone can look at a fig tree and when you see the leaves budding know that summer is near. Watching for God is that simple. Anyone can do it if they want.

But to say it is simple does not mean that what God does is predictable. That clue comes when Jesus says, “Therefore, keep awake — for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly.” Evening, midnight, cockcrow, and dawn are the four hours of the evening watches according to the way the Romans reckoned time.[6] Even in an age before mechanical or electronic timepieces the watches of the night were predictable and understood. There was nothing mysterious about them. But the time when God comes isn’t like the watches of the night. You have to be alert always.

Do you want to be alert for God? It’s simple. Anyone can do it. But it’s also a mystery to which you must be attentive.

So I’ll tell you a story to help us see both the simplicity and the mystery. Somewhere I read this Christmas story called “The Secret of Snootbaum.” I don’t know who wrote it by I’m going to call him Sam. (If you know from whence this story came, please let me know so I can add that to my notes.)

Thirty-five years before, Sam, who was ten-years old at the time, and his eight-year-old brother John stood arguing loudly at the back of Woolworth’s. They were on a Christmas shopping expedition and Sam was convinced that he knew exactly what kind of gifts would please their mother. The brothers were arguing in front of a large display shelf filled with ugly, plaster-of-paris poodle dogs that John had decided would be the perfect gift for mother. Sam thought they were grotesque. Each stood about two feet tall and came in a garish variety of colors: shocking pink, brilliant blue, and flashy yellow. John had his heart set on a blue one.

“She’ll hate it,” Sam stated flatly. “What in the world will she do with such an ugly thing?” (Tact was not one of Sam’s strong points.)

“She’ll put it out where everyone can see it. She’ll love it, I know she will,” said John.

“Ha,” Sam snorted with ten-year-old wisdom. “She’ll be ashamed to have it in the house.”

Nothing Sam said made any difference, and John walked out of the store proudly carrying what to his older brother was the most hideous gift possible. Sam was sure that their mother would make fun of the ugly poodle. He was sure that John had really made a fool of himself.

Many, many years later Sam still remembers the smile of delight on his mother’s face when she unwrapped that ugly blue dog. Many, many years later Sam can still hear her tell John that it was exactly what she wanted for Christmas. Many, many years later he can still hear their father chuckling and saying, “John sure has a knack for giving Christmas gifts.” Sam didn’t understand it then. No matter how you looked at that dog, it was ugly. Yet it was given the name Snootbaum and for years occupied a place of honor on the hearth of the family’s fireplace.

Twenty-five years later Sam finally began to understand. His daughter Laura was seven then, a little girl who loved animals passionately — sheep, dogs, cows, goats, pigs, and horses. A large bag of plastic animals could occupy her for hours as she sat on the floor pushing them this way and that, weaving stories about them.

That year she and her Dad went shopping for Christmas presents. What caught her eye for her father Sam was a six-inch statue of two pigs hugging each other. One’s snout was cuddled on top of the other’s, and their hooves were tucked cozily under their chins. A slogan on the base of the statue read, “Ain’t love grand?”

Indeed it is, Sam thought to himself about his darling daughter’s gift. Indeed, love is grand!

Now when Sam looks at that small statue, he doesn’t see two silly pigs. He sees a little girl who went shopping with her heart. The pig statue becomes more precious to him as the years go by because when Sam looks at it, he remembers a little girl who gave from her heart a gift that was really her. And he also remembers a little boy saying, “Mom will love it because I do.” Walt Whitman once said, “When I give, I give myself.” It is a characteristic of children more than adults.

So it is that a gift of the heart is what lasts. Sam said, “My brother John and my daughter Laura knew this at a young age. It took me a quarter of a century to unlock the ‘Secret of Snootbaum.’ But I finally understand.”[7]

Friends, that is what we are to watch for. We are to watch for gifts of the heart. For whenever there is a gift of the heart, Jesus is very near. Whether Jesus’ second coming is this afternoon or a million years from now, the gift of his coming is the gift of God’s heart.

This the mystery. It is so simple, even a child can understand. It is so wonderful it takes a lifetime to live. Therefore, be alert. Always.

[1] Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities (New York: Signet, 1997) 13.

[2] Leonard R. Klein in Roger E. Van Harn, ed., The Lectionary Commentary: Theological Exegesis for Sunday’s Texts, The Third Readings (The Gospels) (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2001) 279.

[3] Ancient commentators struggled mightily with Jesus “not knowing.” Augustine and many others essentially said he DID know but he just didn’t want us to know. Hilary of Poitiers’ comment is typical: “Is it credible, that he, who stands to all things as the author of their present and future, should not know all things? … All that is derives from God alone its origin, and has in him alone the efficient cause of its present state and future development. Can anything be beyond the reach of his nature, through which is effected, and in which is contained, all that is and shall be? Jesus Christ knows the thoughts of the mind, as it is now, stirred by present motives, and as it will be tomorrow, aroused by the impulse of future desires. Whenever God says that he does not know, he professes ignorance in deed, but is not under the defect of ignorance. It is not because of the infirmity of ignorance that he does not know, but because it is not yet the time to speak, or in the divine plan to act.… This knowledge is not, therefore, a change from ignorance, but the coming of a fullness of time. He waits still to know, but we cannot suppose that he does not know. Therefore his not knowing what he knows, and his knowing what he does not know, is nothing else than a divine economy in word and deed.” Thomas C. Oden and Christopher A. Hall, eds., “Mark,” Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, New Testament, vol. II (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1998) 192.

[4] Marion Soards, Thomas Dozeman, Kendall McCabe, Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year B Advent/Christmas/Epiphany (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1993) 25-26.

[5] Walter Brueggemann, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, James D. Newsome, Texts For Preaching, Year B (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox, 1993) 9.

[6] Morna D. Hooker, The Gospel According to Saint Mark (Peabody, MS: Hendrickson Publishers, 1991) 324.

[7] Many years ago I copied this story into my sermon notebook with no indication of where I found it or who wrote it. A Google search on “Snootbaum” produced no citations. My apologies to the author and original source for using it without attribution.