Thomas J Parlette
“Spoiling the Christmas Spirit”
Matthew 24: 36-44
12/1/19
There is something vaguely unfair about our lectionary passage for today. After a week spent laying the groundwork for a merry Christmas, in which many of us decorated our homes, put up lights outside or maybe got a jump on our holiday shopping, it’s a little jarring to come to church and listen to these words of ominous judgement, where “there will be two in the field and only one will be taken.” It seems vaguely unfair to open our Bibles and be confronted with these vivid and clearly un-Christmasy images from Matthew.
“But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father…”
It sort of spoils our Christmas spirit to hear about the end of the world.
I like how Anna Carter Florence approaches this passage. She wonders if you could learn exactly when and how your life would end – would you want to know? If you could learn when and how the world would end – would you want to know? If you could learn exactly who would be taken and who would be left – would you want to know?
She goes on to say that she first started thinking about this passage one summer “when I was camping with my family in Quebec. I was sitting at an outdoor restaurant, in a small park overlooking the river. Next to me was a man drinking a bottle of locally brewed beer with an interesting name – “Fin du Monde”- “the end of the world.” He had a book, but he wasn’t reading it. He took off his glasses and stared at the river. He looked glad to be there, or maybe relieved, and I wondered if there were other places – work or home – where he could have been, or perhaps should have been at that moment.
Nearby, a young family spread out a blanket for a picnic on the grass. They ate their sandwiches, and then the two young girls jumped up and began turning cartwheels. The father ambled off to get something from the car. The mother started a conversation with the baby, in that singular language that exists between parent and child. Mommy smiled, baby smiled. Mommy cooed, baby cooed back. The girls turned more cartwheels and Dad returned with more drinks. I thought to myself, “Then two will be in the field, one will be taken and one will be left.” Could these parents ever choose between the kids? Could the children ever choose between their parents? Is that the end of the world, being forced to choose. Was there even a choice to be made?
There was a flurry of activity at the other end of the restaurant. Waiters hurried by with trays of champagne flute glasses filled with something orange and sparkling, and in a moment I saw why. Wedding guests were arriving for an outdoors reception near the river. Flower girls played a game of tag around the tables and a violinist tuned up her instrument. The bride arrived, resplendent in ivory satin. She and her groom looked like a picture out of a storybook. They posed by the river as the photographer snapped away – family members hustled in and out of various shots. I thought, “For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man.” Standing on the banks of the river, on the threshold of their new life together, would this couple want to know, if they could? Would they still have chosen to marry? Would they pray for happiness, or prepare for the end?
Le fin du monde – the end of the world. Kind of spoils our Christmas spirit to think about it, but we know it’s coming someday, one way or another. The end may come from global warning, or perhaps a nuclear war or maybe a black hole will swallow us all. There are lots of possibilities, lots of theories and more than enough predictions. But Matthew is quite clear about one thing – “About that day and hour, no one knows. Only God.” No one knows when. No one knows how. No one knows who. No one knows why. We just know that it will happen.
And the only thing we can do, says Matthew, is to keep awake. Our only job is to watch and be ready.
Perhaps some of you have seen the movie “Mr. Brown” YUou might recall the scene in which Queen Victoria’s advisors make a bold plan to help the Queen with her depression over the death of her beloved husband, Albert. They hire a young soldier, John Brown, to bring the Queen’s favorite pony to Balmoral. They hope that riding will take her mind off her grief. Each day, John Brown stands outside her window and waits for the Queen to ride. But she refuses. One day, she sends him a message that she may never come down to ride. His waiting is useless.
John Brown sends back a reply – “When her majesty does wish to ride, I shall be ready.”
This first Sunday of Advent, we do the same thing – we make ourselves ready, by watching and waiting for the coming of our King.
But waiting is hard, and it sometimes seems pointless. Why wait. Let’s just put up the decoration and start singing Christmas carols already. Waiting is not something we are good at. Standing outside the window, never knowing when or if, does seem useless.
No, we are not good at waiting. Patience is not something we have in abundance. We’re not good at waiting and not knowing. We want to know when and how and why and who. We like to know.
Part of it is that we believe knowledge gives us power. If we know the specifics, we might be able to do something about it. And sometimes that is true.
But in this case, knowledge of when the world will end – Matthew says “No.” It won’t give you power. It won’t give you control. It will just bring you heartbreak.
If you could be the one to decide when, and how, and who and why – would you really want to be? Would you really want to hold the fate of each stranger and loved one in the palm of your hand and be forced to choose?
Since the fall of communism in Hungary, each citizen now has the right to go to the government and request their official file. In it, you can read the reports and denunciations that have been filed over the years. A clergyman was asked if he intended to retrieve his file and he said “No. What would I learn? That a colleague perhaps, denounced me? That a friend betrayed? What would I do with that knowledge? Would it make a difference in how I live? I think not. I do not want that knowledge. I leave it to God.”
Some things are getter left to God. “Of that day and hour, no one knows – only God. So keep watch. Keep awake.”
It seems to me that God has given us the greatest blessing. Our job is only to watch and attend to life, and love those around us. Our job is not to choose or predict. In God’s immense wisdom and compassion, God has spared us that most painful of tasks, and given us a table by the river to enjoy life while we wait.
In the meantime, it might help to remind ourselves what we are waiting for. For instance, in a small Swiss town, there was a church that was famous for its organ. The music from this instrument was so moving, so resonant, so rich, that those who heard it swore that they could see visions of God. Worshipers would leave the church every Sunday inspired and renewed to live their lives to the glory of God – all because of the awesome music of this wonderful pipe organ.
But over time, the organs pipes began to lose their rich sound. The music became thin and mediocre. The pastor brought in repairmen from all over Switzerland – but to no avail. None of them could restore the organ to its former glory.
But then one night, a shabby-looking stranger came to town. He went to see the pastor and asked if he could spend the night in the church. The pastor was a little suspicious – but he decided to let the man stay.
Later that night, the pastor awoke to the sound of beautiful music coming from the sanctuary. It was the rich, resonant, soaring tones that had once filled the hearts of the townspeople. He ran to the church, where he found the whole town had gathered. And there they sat in reverent awe, praising God for the beauty they were experiencing. And at the organ sat the shabby-looking stranger.
When the music stopped, the pastor asked, “Who are you?”
The man said, “My name is Mueller.”
“But who are you that you could restore the beautiful music of our organ?”
The stranger smiled and wiped some dust from the mantle of the organ. There in gold letters was the name “Mueller.”
“Many years ago, I built this organ with my own hands,” explained the stranger. “Now I have come to make it sing again.”
It’s not easy to wait, and it’s not easy to live with uncertainty. Maybe it spoils your Christmas spirit to practice the patience of Advent – to sit and watch and wait.
But that’s what we are called to do – and someday Christ will return and make God’s creation sing once more.
So let us come to the table and be nourished for the wait.
May God be praised. Amen.
