It seemed at least half appropriate this Sunday.
Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time B
A pair of books came out back in 1989 and 1991
(which
is practically prehistoric
to whippersnappers like Fr. Tom):
the
first was Future Stuff,
and
then came its creatively titled sequel,
More
Future Stuff.
In
both, the authors made predictions
about
all kinds of gismos and gadgets
that
people would enjoy in the future—
the
“future” being the early 2000’s.
They
foresaw things like computers
that would be voice activated,
or
that could help you find your way
driving on unfamiliar roads,
and
even cars that would park themselves—
all
things we actually do have today.
(Of
course, they also predicted
we’d now have bathing suits
which
would change colors with our mood.
I’m
kind of glad they were wrong about that one!)
How
is it that people are able to make
such
fairly accurate forecasts of the future?
It’s
not, of course, by magic,
not
by looking into some crystal ball.
It
actually involves only two simple steps:
first,
taking careful note of what we human beings are capable of,
and
then taking careful note of what we human beings desire most.
It’s
one thing to recognize what’s humanly possible,
yet
another to make out what we actually
have
the motivation to accomplish.
In
the gospel this Sunday,
we
find Jesus making predictions, too—
not
about the marvelous technology of tomorrow,
but
about the end of time.
And
I think it’s relatively safe to say
Jesus
uses much the same technique to reach his conclusions:
predictions
based on both what we human beings are capable of,
and—in
a significant twist—on what God desires most.
Now—at
first glance, anyway—Jesus’ peek into the future
isn’t
quite so optimistic as those books.
In
fact, it sounds pretty grim:
full
of distress and tribulation and deep, deep darkness.
What
gives?
Are
things really that hopeless?
Isn’t
there at least some chance for an eternally happy ending?
Let’s
scratch beneath the surface of these predictions.
First,
there will be the tribulations.
In
other places, Jesus speaks of these
as
being like the pangs of birth (Mt 24:8).
(And
from what I hear,
such
things are more than minor “pangs”!)
Like
the painful labor that accompanies the delivery of a child,
so most
of us—unless we’re perfect saints
or unless
we’re sinners who’ve put ourselves
beyond
the reach of God’s mercy—
can
anticipate at least some distress
in passing
from this world to the next.
It’s
not about punishment, per se;
it’s
a matter of God’s desires and our desires
needing
to be better lined up…
…and
just guess whose are going to have to be adjusted a bit.
(For
the individual soul,
this
experience is what we call purgatory.)
God
knows well what we’re capable of—for good or ill—
because
he’s the one who made us.
And
God made us with a distinct goal in mind:
that
we would know the fullness of joy in his presence forever.
That’s
God’s desire!
That’s
meant to be our inheritance!
And
then there will be darkness.
Jesus
speaks of losing the sun and the moon and the stars
in
an era when you couldn’t just flip a switch
and
turn the lights on at will.
His
first hearers would have quickly recognized
that
darkness and light are part of a natural rhythm. (cf. J. Lienhard)
And
as the old saying goes:
“The
night is always darkest before the dawn.”
Jesus,
then, is not predicting a darkness of endless doom,
but
one of expectation—of hope-filled longing—
as
we await the return of him who is Light from Light.
We
would do well—each one of us—
to
attempt to make some predictions about the future:
not
about possible hi-tech advances;
not
even about our own probable accomplishments.
We
need to look toward the end:
the
end of time, the end of our lives.
And
we need to seriously consider our prospects for eternity.
That
is THE question, isn’t it?
It’s
the only question that ultimately matters—
the
one that’s not going away
no
matter how we try to avoid it.
This
Year of Faith is a perfect time for each of us
to
take a good hard look at our own potential.
It
should be like seeing
the
first tender leaves sprout in the spring:
a
hint of what can, what will be.
Despite
our limitations, despite our hesitations,
we
are all capable of pretty amazing things.
And
then we need to take a good hard look at our motivations.
Where
is my heart leading me?
What
direction is my life taking? What
path am I on?
And
if we realize we’re off track—whether by a little or a lot—
now
is the time to find our way back:
to
make sure that what God most desires
is
what we desire, too.
Outside
of Lowville,
where I was once assigned,
some
folks had
a large, hand-painted sign
next
to the road which read,
“Christ is coming. Are you ready?”
It
was a good, clear reminder
whenever I drove by.
Likewise,
in the fall of every year
the
Church invites her children
to reflect on the “last things”—
on
death and all that comes after.
And
in a few moments,
as we do every Sunday,
we
will again confess our faith
that
Christ “will come again in glory
to
judge the living and the dead.”
Let
us look to this future not with fear,
but
with readiness and hope.
We
know not the day nor the hour,
but
we know what God is capable of.
And
so we dare to pray:
Come,
Lord Jesus!
Come
in great power, accompanied by your angels!
Come
to gather your scattered people!
Through
tribulation and darkness,
come and lead us into joy and light!
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