Northminster Presbyterian Church First Sunday in Advent November 29,2020 Rev

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Northminster Presbyterian Church First Sunday in Advent November 29,2020 Rev. Jessica C. Gregory Arise, Your Light has Come: Keeping Watch in the Night

Mark 13: 24-37 24 “But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, 25 and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. 26 Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. 27 Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. 28 “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29 So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. 30 Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. 31 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33 Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 34 It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. 35 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, 36 or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. 37 And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

Keeping Watch in the Night

Chaos. Hesitation. Uncertainty. Fear. These words defined Mike Scotti’s life. A proud marine, Mike fought on behalf the United States in Iraq. He was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that the terrorist attacks of 9/11 never happened again on US soil. And so, he found himself in the hot Middle Eastern desert, surrounded by the chaos of artillery flying, people fighting and dying. Mike shared his war experience on the Moth Radio Hour* during a Veterans Day special in 2014 that was replayed a couple weeks ago. He reflected that once all the politics are stripped away for those who are fighting it and those who are caught in the middle of it, war is nothing more than a slaughter. A slaughter of lives lost, innocence stolen, and unfulfilled hopes. For Mike and his fellow soldiers, that hope was finding the weapons of mass destruction that had killed 2,996 Americans on September 11, 2001. Months of sleepless nights, bloody days, and uncertain journeys came and went for Mike and his cohorts as they found no weapons of mass destruction. A year after

Mike had returned home from the Middle East, the American troops still had found none. By then, the hope of ever finding any weapons of mass destruction was gone. And with it, Mike’s rationale for the war that took many of his friends’ lives, and those of far too many innocent people. With the absence of the weapons of mass destruction, Mike’s hope for finding meaning in the war were taken away. And without that hope, his fighting and his friends’ deaths had no meaning. His belief system began to unravel, taking him to the dark depths of the abyss. Without hope, is life worth living? Chaos. Hesitation. Uncertainty. Fear. These defined Jerusalem after the destruction of the temple in 70 C.E. It is right after Jesus describes this destruction that our scripture for today begins. It is a time of not knowing. It is a time of darkness. It is a time of waiting, wondering, and wanting. Professor David Schnasa Jacobsen** of Boston University School of Theology explains the epic significance of the temple’s demise: “The destruction of the Temple represents a catastrophe of divine presence and continuity with the past.” It was not only the center of religious life but was also the convening of all things political and economic. Community revolved around it and existed within it. With the temple destroyed, the community was destroyed, too. Where would people worship God? Where would they offer their sacrifices? Where would they gather? How would they live? Without this essential connection to their past and to their God, what hope was there for a future? The conclusion of Mark 13, known as the “little apocalypse”, encourages the earliest Jesus followers to not lose hope. For in the days to come, Jesus will return in his power and glory. Peace will replace chaos, in God’s time. Until then Jesus instructs the people to keep alert—to wait and watch for his return, just like the man’s doorkeeper is instructed to before the man leaves on his journey. Chaos. Hesitation. Uncertainty. Fear. These define our year since that surreal week in March when the country and our community shut down in a desperate attempt to save people’s lives from the unknow—the easily transmitted and deadly coronavirus. Houses of worship, including this one, were closed in an instant, ending rituals, rhythms, habits and patterns that had been part of some members’ lives for decades and were simply and profoundly part of living, and for others were exciting and new. And in that moment, not unlike the destruction of the temple, something was lost—demolished— by the virus. The comfort of the sanctuary, the continuity of the Sunday worship, the community of Sunday school, and the connection with the Divine through the sacred combination of community, worship, and fellowship all ended. The virus has made clear that we cannot put our hope in any place or thing. Where then, can we put our hope? This, friends, is the place where our advent begins. We are out of place, and everything feels different. The losses we’ve endured in the past eight months are 2

countless, even as the ripples of virus continue to take away lives, livelihoods, memories, connection, and dreams. But it does not take away our hope. For, as Jesus’ followers, our hope does not reside in a place, but in God. Our hope is not buoyed by events, but by people. As the Mbangamoh family proclaimed at the beginning of worship: “Hope is like peace. It is a gift only we can give one another.” Ultimately, giving that gift to another veteran is what brought meaning to Mike’s life. A life he almost ended. He stayed in the dark abyss a long time, part of him yearning for its shadows to swallow him up and end his misery. Only Mike’s abiding love for his parents pulled him out of it. His knowing their deep love for him enabled him to love himself enough to keep going. Mike started talking and listening. He watched the Navy psychiatrist’s video created to address marine veterans’ mental health challenges, and took away three simple things: 1. It’s okay to be angry. 2. It’s okay, Marine, to be sad 3. It’s okay if you are not okay. Mike needed permission to feel this way, and to know it was okay. It was a message he had never before heard in the marines. As a warrior, vulnerability is a weakness that can be exploited by the enemy. But as a veteran, it is the only thing strong enough to pull you out of the shadows of despair. Because it is only in bringing the demons out of the dark and into the light of day that they lose their power. And it is only in letting others hear you and listening to them that one finds hope. As we commence this advent, unlike any before it, I give you permission to feel less than cheery in this season of jingling bells and merry-making. It is okay to be angry. It is okay, Christian, to be sad in this most wonderful time of the year, and it is okay if you are not okay. After all, being okay is not what this season is about. It is about leaning into the hope to which we are called; a hope not of our own making, but of God’s. A hope found in the miraculous birth of the newborn savior. A new kind of hope we light a candle for; hope that is a prayer, a protest, and a reminder that the shadows will not win. Love will win. We do not know the hour, the day, the decade or century when Jesus will return. But we know that he will. And in the meantime, we experience his presence when we find, receive and give love. We must keep awake and keep our eyes and ears open to hear love when it is shared. We must keep alert and keep our heart open to share with others when they need a comforting word—a word of affirmation and understanding. It is in giving this hope that we become Christ to one another. While we wait for Jesus to come, we work 3

to spread his peace, joy, love, and hope. And we find it ourselves. We volunteer at the Evanston Emergency Shelter. We write a card of connection. We take an online Equity 101 class through the YWCA. We donate to the food pantry. And we receive hope. Presbyterian pastor, scholar and seminary president Brian Blount*** once said: “When we’re down and out, instead of coming to God to look for a pick-me-up—as though God were a spiritual drugstore and we’d written ourselves a prayer prescription—perhaps we ought to come looking for ways to identify with someone in trouble, and give of ourselves—even when we feel given-out. Perhaps it is in the giving to others that we get the peace we seek.” The peace, and the hope we seek. Chaos. Hesitation. Uncertainty. Fear. These are part of the world in which we live, and probably always will be. But they do not win. Love wins. For the light even now is breaking in, bringing a new day. Inviting us to arise and prepare to greet God’s new hope. In that new hope, there is life. And life that is light for all people. A light shining in the darkness, but the darkness cannot overcome it. Keep alert and you cannot miss it. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Works Cited *Scotti, Mike. November 11, 2014. “A Sort of Homecoming” on the Moth Radio Hour. Heard on NPR (91.5FM) on November 21, 2020. Accessed at https://themoth.org/radio-hour/veterans-day-special- 2014 on November 23,2020. **Jacobsen, David Schnasa. December 3, 2017. “Mark 13: 24-37” on the Working Preacher website. Accessed November 22, 2020. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common- lectionary/first-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-mark-1324-37-4 ***Blount, Brian K. 2014. “Homiletical Perspective: Mark 13: 32-37.” In Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press. P. 433.