Advent 1B plunges us without ceremony into the midst of Jesus’ longest and most troubling speech in Mark, chapter 13. Jesus draws directly on several OT texts for images of devastating natural disaster and catastrophic conflict (vv 7-8). He predicts intense persecution for Christians (vv 9-13) and in the near term, the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem (vv 1-2, 14-19). Were Jesus speaking today, he would need to reach no further than the latest evening newscast, anywhere in the world, to describe apocalyptic chaos. One way to contextualize today’s interrelated texts would be to “bookend” the readings of both the NT and OT texts with brief outtakes from news reports over the past year: flood, earthquake, fire, terrorism, oppression, genocidal armed conflict. Or one might begin with a single stanza of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” then the reading of OT text or psalm, then another stanza of the hymn, followed by the Gospel reading and a final stanza: “O, Come . . .”
Down centuries, the devastations of earthquake, plague and warfare have inspired among Christians longings for the return of the Son of Man. In our tinder box of a world, with extremist ideologies calling for the destruction of Jews, of Christians, of Muslims, or other targeted groups, and sophisticated weaponry readily on hand to achieve such ends, it is little wonder that we, too, long for Christ to come and bring the curtain down on all of it. In such times, it is tempting to skip Advent 1 and opt instead for a gentle scene of sheep inspecting the newborn in the feed trough, angels singing above. Yet Jesus asks us to reckon with the darkness we fear, and he equips us to face it. We are not without hope: the Son of Man will surely return. The timing? That is mystery, even for Jesus.
Whether Mark 13 suggests a single climactic horizon of terrors, or a succession of them, is a matter of debate among scholars. That Jesus describes apocalypse generically, using “stock” images well established in 1st century Jewish apocalyptic literature (vv 7-8), suggests the latter. Perhaps the first apocalyptic horizon is, in fact, quite near. Jesus’ parable of the absent Master refers to the watches of the night (v 35)—dusk, midnight, cock-crow, and dawn. These correspond like tolling bells to key events during the night of Jesus’ conviction and sentencing to crucifixion, days away. The disciples’ world will implode, their safety stripped away. Jesus will return, raised from death; but then, like the master of the parable, he will depart (vv 34-36). And persecution awaits them (vv 9-13).
Jesus’ counsel as they (and we) await the world-transforming return of the Son of Man is paradoxical: “Watch for the signs” / “No one knows the hour of the Son of Man’s return, not even the Son himself.” Clearly, watching does not mean poring over Daniel and Revelation, attempting to calculate whether or not current horrors and terrors suggest it is 11:59 PM, Eschatological Time. No. Christian history shows us what faithful Christian waiting looks like. At some moment not recorded by Mark, these disciples learned (as in last week’s Matthean parable of sheep and goats) that the Son of Man will be hidden among the world’s most vulnerable, the ones they must seek and serve in their Master’s absence. Likewise, down centuries, Christian prophets of justice and midwives of mercy have snatched human lives out of the machinery of oppression and the undertow of despair.
Faithful servants do not wring their hands or seek signs in the sky. They trust the Master’s timing. They do his work with imagination and love; and they testify even in the darkness, “God’s reign comes. See amidst the rubble how the green shoots of justice anchor, how the healing leaves of mercy defy the darkness?” We wait in active hope, trusting that even as evil seems on the brink of victory, the fig tree unfurls its leaves , and every fallen sparrow is known, held in the heart of God.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 