Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
Advent opens every year, not with choirs of angels, but with some version of what is known as the “Synoptic apocalypse,” found in Mt 24, Mk 13, and Luke 21. In these parallel texts, Jesus predicts the destruction of Jerusalem, including its magnificent Temple. He foretells persecution for his followers and envisions cosmic upheaval that will precede his return (the “Son of Man”). When Luke penned today’s text, Lk 21:25-36, Jerusalem and its temple already lay in ruins. The persecution of Christians foretold in Lk 21:12-19 had begun, as survivors sought scapegoats to blame for the nation’s failed bid for independence. Luke’s readers are hungry for Jesus’ message of foresight and hope. So are we.
Even to read the apocalyptic texts of Advent 1 in church can feel awkward. Weary of news footage of raging wildfires, bomb-blasted cityscapes, and the detritus of lives and livelihoods lost to tornado or flood, congregations long for angelic choruses and a newborn in a bed of hay. Yet, Advent begins with a reminder that the redemptive hope that newborn represents matters precisely because of the overwhelming brokenness of the human condition. Luke, more than either Mark or Matthew, helps us balance the stark truth of human violence and vulnerability with hope. In Luke, Jesus punctuates his sobering vision of the future, near at hand and on the far horizon, with clear instructions to help his followers prepare and live with sustained hope (vv 28, 31, 34, and 36). “Stand up and look! Resist dissipation and despair! When the pillars of the earth crumble, know that the reign of God is near.” Today’s OT reading (Jer 33:14-16) reinforces the message of hope, although we should be clear that these verses are a flicker of light amid Jeremiah’s relentlessly dark warnings of coming devastation.
Two interpretive clues can help us connect this text with our listeners’ experience. First, the expression “this generation,” both here and in Mt, refers not to Jesus’ disciples, but to opponents of God’s inbreaking reign (see, for example, Mt 11:16). Those who resist the reign of God, says Jesus, will always be on the scene. Second, Jesus declares that when we experience upheaval—socio-political or cosmic—”the reign of God is near.” We typically read this as temporal “nearness;” but taking it in a spatial sense is actually more commensurate with Luke’s theological vision. For Luke, Jesus himself is the nearness of God’s reign (Lk 4:16-21.) The outpouring of God’s Spirit reported in Luke’s second volume (Acts ch 2) fuels the ongoing eruption of God’s reign, in deed and word, through the church.
How might we envision the nearness of God’s reign in the turmoil of our times? God’s reign breaks through when we care for the needy, without regard to race or country of origin. The reign of God breaks through when we stand with those scapegoated for society’s ills. The reign of God breaks through when we challenge, fearlessly, the surly certitudes of regimes that rule by deceit, capturing the vulnerable in a fear-inducing web of lies and conspiracy theories. When any one of us dares to enact bodily, and speak boldly, the love and justice of Jesus, God’s reign shows up among us.
At the last, when the bile and cruelty of tyranny is spent, and the last unholy regime of untruth, peddled in the name of God, has been exposed for the sham it is, the fig tree will sprout. The cosmos itself shall shudder, Jesus tells us, with the birth pangs of God’s future. “Stand up, raise your heads,” says Jesus. Welcome the time when the first shall be last, and the last first; and the risen Christ, Firstborn of God’s new creation, shall reign with love, love alone—healing, redemptive love.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 