26th Sunday after Pentecost, 11/17/2024

Text: Mark 13:1-8
Grace, Peace, and Mercy from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
I have always been fascinated by ruins. They have always allowed me to look back in time, a glimpse to a different society than my own. In Puerto Rico, when I was a kid and we would drive through the old mountain roads, I would always pay very close attention to these run down, old brick and stone houses with wild plants growing through it’s windows and openings, known as casillas de camineros, which were road maintenance worker residences that are littered all over those old mountain roads, vestiges of the Spanish colonial government’s infrastructure during the 19th century. And I wondered what life was like back then, who lived in these houses? What kinds of human stories arose from those spaces now abandoned? When I also looked at El Morro, the iconic Spanish fort in Old San Juan, I wanted to pierce the veil of the past, looking at the ocean and think about all the battles that could have taken place, the pirate and corsairs that attacked the old city. In another town, deep in the mountains, I got to see what we know as La Piedra Escrita, a giant boulder that has artistic petroglyphs from the indigenous peoples of the island of Borikén, from many many years before the Spaniards arrived. You can trace with your finger the lines of the symbols with its heartfelt meanings, and touch the mind of someone belonging to a world lost to time and human conflict.

If we are to be good students of history and the ruins that tell the stories of the past, one of the first things we must learn is that things fall apart. Empires rise and fall. Civilizations flourish and decay. The game of thrones and power is an ever revolving wheel. The places that used to be teeming with life are now empty and disappearing. Change and transformation, either for good or ill, is inherent to human societies and institutions. In times of great enthusiasm, many people might consider the virtues of their society and think that progress and prosperity are an ever ascending arrow shot to the sky, always progressing heavenward to more progress. But this is an illusion, a mirage that doesn’t take account of the seeds of destruction that already lie below the surface. The arrow must come down at some point. The great mystic and philosopher Simone Weil correctly observed that the belief in unlimited progress is poison, a superstition that hides the all the twists and turns, the struggles, the ups and downs, the ongoing effort and faith, yes active and living faith in the goodness of the life God has given us, that constitute human flourishing in the present moment. The promises of a better life are a hope that must be exercised.

In today’s Gospel text, we hear an apocalyptic pronouncement from Jesus, about a catastrophic change that will come that will challenge the faith of the disciples and all the people of Israel. It has to do with this grand structure known as the Jerusalem Temple, the center of gravity of ancient Jewish life and civilization. The temple was a sight to behold, a sight of grandeur. It is no wonder the disciples are caught in the glamor of its splendor: “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” It was probably seen as a sign of God’s blessing, an achievement of the people, how much have they progressed up until that point from all their troubles in the past. It can only get better from here on out, they might have thought. Jesus, however, provided a rather dour view: “”Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” What seemed permanent, immovable, too great to fall or fail, Jesus reminds the disciples, the truth of even this great achievement, it will not stand forever. The eternal, what persists no matter the circumstances, must be looked at elsewhere. It is no different here, these beautiful walls that has heard many prayers and imbued with the chants and hymns of many, it is also not eternal. This temple, by itself, is not the deep well by which we receive God’s blessings. Rather, we come to God through another gate: the gate of the life of Jesus Christ. And this gate is readily accessible wherever we gather in Spirit and in Truth. In the end, when the push of the world comes to shove, we rely and receive our being from the living and resurrected body of Jesus. As we say, here we become what we receive, Christ Himself. The church is then the living and Spirit-breathed body of the faithful gathered in Jesus name, living in faithfulness to His disruptive and life-giving Way. It is not a building that can crumble, that is static, that can’t reach where the need is. It is a moving and dynamic body that provokes one another to love beyond measure, a body where grace abounds and we are not limited by our failures or shortcomings. It is an embracing body, that can be present everywhere for the sake of the least of these. The catastrophe of the temple, traumatic as it may be, opens the way for a more radical movement that seeks to bring life from death wherever it goes.

Now, in the vacuum of the temple’s demise, Jesus warns that many will come to take the place that rightfully belongs to Jesus. And history is no stranger to these voices that seduce and entertain. Beware, we must be to not be led astray, that when Jesus calls us to radical love and mercy, that we instead foster suspicion and violence. That when these voices call for deportations, to reject, even to kill, we must not be led astray from the voice that from the beginning has spoken of a generous love that welcomes the stranger, that uplifts the lowly, that casts down the mighty from their thrones and send the rich away empty.

We are living in a time, where for many, the trust in institutions of old has been broken. Like the stones from the temple that will be destroyed, we are in a fractured society. We are not strangers to the rumors of wars and the kingdom rising against kingdom. But the life that God has made for us to live does not leave us in the lurch of catastrophe. God grows in us the seeds of a hope that can withstand the struggles of the time we live in. God exercises in us the love and mercy and faith that can brace itself against the winds of change. We are secure in His faithfulness, in His love that is our eternal sanctuary. In the ruins of our own societal struggles, we can be secure in the faith that looks to the future where God will make all things new, and is actively making things new through our very lives. Martin Luther famously said: “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”

And that is the power of faith, that today, secured in God’s grace and looking forward to His Kingdom, we plant and nurture the seeds of new life in our current circumstances. We do not need to be distracted by the mirage of unceasing progress. Notwithstanding the struggles to come or the ruins of the world’s broken achievements, we plant our apple tree of faith, hope and love, that it may bring life to all who come upon it. And the source of that life is the eternal and loving Yes of God found in Jesus Christ. Thanks be to God for this powerful life of faith that overcomes the grip of our despair. Let us pray.