And yet, three times in this passage, Jesus instructs his disciples: Keep watch. One cannot keep constant vigilance without fatigue. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”īut this is an impossible task. Jesus concludes this parable by instructing the disciples, “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. The doorkeeper is instructed to stay awake, but there is no indication of when the landowner might return. He describes a landowner going away on a journey and commanding the doorkeeper to keep watch. The instruction is not to spend time and energy trying to make predictions of the future, but instead, the injunction is to keep watch.īut what does this keeping watch mean, if not to interpret the signs? Jesus, as he so often does, offers a parable. Beware, keep alert for you do not know when the time will come.” Not even Jesus knows! And if not even Jesus knows, then how could anyone correctly predict the portents and signs and omens? Here, what seemed like a teaching of interpreting prophecies of signs now shifts through this last bit of the passage. He says, “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Just as the ripe fig heralds summer, Jesus says, “When you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates.”Īnd yet as soon as Jesus indicates that there might be clues that the end is truly nigh, he takes it all back. At the end of all things, what theologians refer to as the eschaton, there will be suffering. Initially, Jesus seems to give the disciples portents or signs of his return with a picture of apocalyptic terror. The gospel reading for today from Mark addresses just this question. And it is a cry that reverberates today in the hearts of all those suffering oppression, war, or injustice: God, when will you return? When will the second coming of Jesus take place? When will you rend the heavens and come to liberate us all? It is a cry that can only emerge from a place of anguish and desolation. The weight of anticipation for divine deliverance is perhaps even more keenly pronounced in the passage from Isaiah 64: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!” The desperation of the prophet is almost palpable. That first sense of longing is felt in the lyrics of today’s psalm, where three times the refrain is voiced, “Restore us, O God of hosts show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.” Traditionally, Advent is a period when the church dons bi-focal lenses: reenacting the great yearning and expectation for the Messiah articulated in the Hebrew Scriptures while simultaneously looking to the second coming of Jesus. But before the heavenly hosts show up, before the shepherds find the baby in the manger, the lections point us to the apocalyptic. In the coming weeks, the Advent readings will walk us through the story of John the Baptizer and continue on to the angel Gabriel’s Annunciation to Mary. This season is one of introspection and fasting, all in the service of entering into an embodied dramatization of the birth of Jesus through liturgical rhythms. The Advent candles and the purple or blue altar linens and vestments are pulled from their closets. Advent-that wondrous season of longing, penitence, and expectation-is upon us.
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