Advent, the most intentionally “both and” season, begins
with the apocalypse. In our anticipation of the celebration of the incarnation,
we are at the same time, awaiting the final days before the fulfillment of the
Kingdom. And we acknowledge that the coming glory belongs to vulnerable, as our
God became a vulnerable baby and ended His mortal life vulnerable on the cross.
In the spirit of vulnerability I’ll confess that one verse
from today’s reading troubles me greatly. Essentially Christ says that the end
times will come within the lifetime of those present. The reason I think this
is something Jesus actually said is that the Gospels were written after Paul’s
letters. Paul initially thought the resurrection of all faithful was in
process, but eventually explains why it wasn’t happening now even as the
faithful that died were remaining dead. If Jesu hadn’t said such a thing, I
doubt it would be added by the Gospel writers, especially Luke, who traveled
with Paul.
Was Jesus wrong? Was the second coming delayed or cancelled?
Did something prevent it? Are there not enough Christians that actually follow
his commandments to make it worth his effort? Those saints that Paul said were
sleeping have been sleeping a damn long time. Now none of this shakes my faith,
since my faith is rooted in the presence of God and not just the words. But it
does make me wonder what else Jesus might have gotten wrong.
As I was reading this passage again in preparation for this
Sunday, it struck me, didn’t St. Steven, the first martyr, see something like
the vision Jesus said the current generation would see? Aquinas calls it the
beatific vision, to see God face to face. As Steven was dying, he saw his
beloved Lord, God, friend and co-heir there with him. In Steven’s most vulnerable
moment, the vulnerable God was with him in love.
We’re a culture that wants to fix things, change things,
make things happen, we’re a Martha culture. As a result we’re terribly
uncomfortable with vulnerability. Mary, by contrast, quietly anoints Jesus for
his upcoming burial, letting him know, without words that she will be there
with Him in His death. In those terrifying moments of knowing we can’t stop
tragedy from happening, all we can do is sit silently with the suffering ones.
I’ve been very very angry about a great many things of late,
and haven’t been terribly good at preventing that anger from coming out
sideways at people who don’t deserve it. And much of that anger is about things
I can have no effect on. Like the kidnapped children our government is keeping
in concentration camps. The Holy Innocents of our time. But that anger is a
defense against the pain I feel in solidarity with those kids. This situation
hits me where I’m vulnerable.
And love, my friends, is inevitably vulnerable. With the exception
of the mama bear moment when you can lift a car to protect your babies, love
makes you vulnerable. No one has the knowledge and opportunity to hurt you as
much as a loved one.
I had a difficult time earlier this month explaining the
whole ‘love your enemies’ thing to a youngster. I think now, it’s about
remaining vulnerable in the face of true threat. Not to become a martyr, but
rather to be open to God. To be able to hear that small still voice when our
instincts are to fight or flight. And then to trust God will let us know what
to say or do.
This is all we can really ask of God. God isn’t going to
swoop down and protect us in our most vulnerable moments anymore that God
rescued Steven. We can ask, and can often receive god’s guidance in how to survive
the things that take place. For many surviving the holidays can be hard enough.
More importantly though, ask God for guidance on how to love well.
Take time this season to practice loving Jesus, whether in
infant form, or crying at the grave of Lazarus, or grieving his cousin John, or
being beaten and flogged, or being a wise spiritual teacher, especially to
those the scribes would not come near, and in doing this we will now that a
loved one is always near and will be with us in the end.
