Pastor Bev Piro + November 17, 2024
26th Sunday after Pentecost
The disciples marveled at the grandeur of the temple, but Jesus saw its impending fall as a moment for reflection and renewal. As Mark’s Gospel recounts, destruction often precedes creation, just as birth pangs signal new life. In this sermon, Pastor Bev explores how the shattering of our perceived stability opens the way for God’s transformative work. In faith, we are called to move beyond fear into hope, trusting that God is making all things new.
Sermon Transcript
From automatically generated captions, and lightly edited for readability by AI chatbots
As Jesus came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked them, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”
Not unlike the disciples, we too look for signs of permanence. This exchange between Jesus and his disciples toward the end of Mark's Gospel is about more than what you can see. The massive temple in Jerusalem, built of large stones, appeared impermeable.
Many scholars believe that Mark's Gospel was written around 70 AD, after the temple had been destroyed. But the Gospel writer was recalling a conversation from some 40 years earlier, when the temple was the center of life and represented the presence of God, Yahweh, among them. The people Mark was writing for had seen the destruction of the temple. Stone had already fallen upon stone, and life in Jerusalem was dramatically different. The symbol of stability and the central focus of Jewish life had fallen apart, and so had their lives.
They had given their livelihoods and their lives to Jesus, who was murdered by the powers that were threatened by him. Jesus had risen from the dead, but the temple still lay in ruins. Would life ever be the same again?
Our context, of course, is radically different from first-century Palestine. But like the people in that time and place, our realities are rapidly changing. Our country is deeply divided. The institutions of brick and stone and established ideologies are changing. Like the disciples in first-century Palestine, it is increasingly challenging to find a stable foothold.
How are we to be, and what are we to do? The standard is changing, and the future is unknown. As we look at stones lying upon stones, we don't know if we should laugh or cry.
Into all their uncertainty, Jesus warns the disciples of what is yet to come. “You think the destruction of the temple is bad? Well, just wait. Still to come are false messiahs and wars, and rumors of wars. Nation will rise against nation, earthquakes, and famines.”
Last Sunday, Pastor Hector spoke about fear and how fear can trick us into thinking that we have nothing to give—that we are depleted by our circumstances. Remember that the prophet Elijah asked a widow to give him a piece of bread. She replied that she had nothing to give, that she and her son would soon die as a result of their poverty. Yet, by giving of what little she had, she was provided with ample resources beyond her imagining.
Here, Jesus is speaking not only to Peter, James, John, and Andrew but also to us today. Fear inspires big questions of who we are and how we are in the world. It causes us to raise questions about who or what we believe in and the shape that belief takes in daily life.
Who among us doesn't sometimes wonder or worry about our future and the future of the world? There are plenty of things to worry about. The intensity and the issues of those things may change from year to year, even day to day, because we do not yet live within the peace and harmony that God's creative energy intended.
I've come to realize that when I worry about the future, I'm really focused on myself: Will I be safe? Have I done enough with my life? Are the foundations of my life stable and strong? Do I live the values that I claim for myself?
Jesus calls his disciples—and us—to pay attention to the things that stand and the things that fall, not only around us but within us.
We’ve witnessed wars and rumors of war, nations at enmity with nations, earthquakes, tsunamis, famine, genocide—the list is indeed long and worrisome. And to all this, Jesus says, “Do not be alarmed.” Excuse me—“Do not be alarmed,” he says, because out of uncertainty and destruction, something new will emerge. These are the birth pangs that will make way for the kingdom of God to be fully known.
Birth pangs.
Interestingly, the Gospel of Mark does not have a nativity story. The Gospel begins with John the Baptist and Jesus already about their missions. There is no long genealogy, no shepherds, no star, no angels, no census, no story about how Mary came to be pregnant—none of it.
Diana Butler Bass, a church historian and progressive theologian, came to this striking realization as she was preaching on this very text. Her great "aha" was this: Mark's Gospel has no nativity narrative because the entire Gospel is a nativity narrative. And here it is, right here in verse 8 of chapter 13. Mark's nativity story is the unfolding birth of the kingdom of God.
How are we going to move through this time of uncertainty and suffering to make way for the kingdom of God—that time when God's presence will shine through the whole earth like a light that never goes out?
Remember last week, we sang This Little Light of Mine, and our children received flashlights. Today, when the glory of God will cover the earth as waters cover the sea, where God will make God’s habitation in human hearts—this is the birth narrative that Mark cares about.
Birth is hard. Ask any woman who has done it. Eventually, the pain and suffering that accompany birth fade as the beauty and promise of new life begin.
Like human birth, the movement from one age to another—from the end of what is known into the beginning of the new—will be marked by and attended with suffering. Something must die in order for something new to be birthed. Endings and beginnings—they go together.
Endings can be difficult and frightening. The anticipation of what is to come can also be difficult and frightening. And that's the message throughout Mark's Gospel: a new world is being born.
C.S. Lewis once referred to God as the One who shatters—the birthing God. God is a shattering God. God is the one who shatters in order for birth to happen. Lewis went on to say this: Could we not say that this shattering is one of the most important marks of God's presence among us?
It may feel like everything stable and permanent is being destroyed. The shattering of this age happens so that a new one will be born.
Even in uncertain times, we live in hope and expectation. We live in hope because we know that just as Jesus's life was shattered on the cross, the tomb could not hold him. We live in hope because we know that even though we will die, we will also rise with Christ.
We live in expectation of what God continues to do with and among us to bring God's kingdom to fullness. We give Bibles to third graders because we believe that the future is theirs, and they, like us, have a part in birthing the reign of God.
Next week, we will celebrate the end of the church year—an ending before the beginning of Advent, a time when, once again, the world labors with Mary to birth God with us.
Will life ever be the same again?
That's the question the disciples asked Jesus as they looked at the shattered temple from the Mount of Olives.
Will life ever be the same again?
We ask when we lose our footing on tumbled stones.
The answer, I believe, is this: The structures of humankind will fade and fall, but keep your eyes, your heart, and your mind on Jesus.
In Christ, death and fear always give way to life and hope.
To all this and more, we say:
Amen.
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