The church year goes in a cycle, and at the beginning of the cycle is the season of Advent. So that means that in only a couple of short weeks, we will be completing the current church year and moving into a new one. And that means our readings these days are speaking about the end times.
And to that we say, “Yuck!” Who wants to hear about that? Wars and insurrections. All the chaos. All that mayhem. A world enveloped in darkness. It reminds me of a grand version of a power outage. A power outage like a miniature end times scenario. You get an eerie feeling. ‘Now what?’ you ask. “Who can I call?” “How long is this going to last?” And then of course, “Why didn’t I replace the batteries in the flashlight?” It’s like a miniature moment of reckoning.
I remember one time talking to my sister about her son’s graduation from college. Finally after four long years, freedom! (My sister and her husband felt especially free from tuition). But she said the looks on the graduates’ faces were hardly looks of a newfound freedom and bright future. Instead, she said she saw lots of somber faces, hugs and tears.
All of which is very understandable. But the focus seemed to be on a past that was now coming to an end. Although that word “commencement” means beginning, as in, “beginning of a new future,” that was not the mood of the occasion. The graduates were caught up in the pain of having to let go of a past that was very meaningful to them.
In the life of faith, their challenge might be our challenge. We become so immersed in the past—or in the status quo– that we forget the new beginning. But new beginnings are exactly what the gospel is trying to tell us. It’s not about the tragedies or calamities in our lives—important as they are. It’s not about wars, insurrections, and the darkness it brings. It’s about the God who lies just beyond it. That’s how trials and tribulations become not reasons for unending despair but instead reasons for hope. I remember working with a mother whose teenage son went missing. Nobody could find him. They didn’t know if he safe or unsafe, or even if he was still alive. It was a parent’s true nightmare. But the only thing that kept her going was her faith. Somehow, she was able to believe that the fate of her son was in the hands of a God who would never lose him. They did eventually find the boy, but her perseverance was a true example of Christian hope. It’s just the kind of hope that we need in these end times of salvation history.
