“But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son,[h] but only the Father. 37 For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. 38 For as in the days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, 39 and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so, too, will be the coming of the Son of Man. 40 Then two will be in the field; one will be taken, and one will be left. 41 Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken, and one will be left. 42 Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day[i] your Lord is coming. 43 But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. 44 Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.
What a wonderful way to begin the advent season!
Joyous red birds fill the branches.
In silence the snow whispers God’s peace
Offering pause for wearied stances.
As we wait for snow plows to free us
And the sun to warm frozen ground,
hoping for Christmas and springtime,
it’s Advent season all around.
Advent is indeed about hope. The first candle on the advent wreath. “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1)
As foreboding as today's gospel may sound, Jesus is talking about hope. Hope for what is yet to come. Hope for the answer to our prayer: “your kingdom come.” And faith in that hope.
How easy it is to lose sight of that hope. To get so bound up in everyday things that we forget to hope. To get so buried in disappointment and sorrow and fear that hope becomes a dream, no longer the reality of what Jesus brings. Or to get so comfortable, so set in our ways, that we become too sleepy to hope that the “Kingdom will come.” It will be change.
And if it came, would we even open our eyes and see it? This is the warning Jesus gives. If the Kingdom comes, if the Spirit moves, if the Son of Man shows up, will we notice? Will we be open to receiving what that moment brings?
Two shall be in the field working. Living life as they always do. One will be taken, joined to the Spirit, or received the Spirit, and one shall be left untouched. Perhaps one noticed, looked up from their labor, and embraced the transformation the Spirit brings. Perhaps one continued on with life as they knew it, undisturbed, unchanged.
There is one quote that I have used in more sermons than I can count. My prayer is that one day it will take our churches to a new understanding of who we are and what is possible. In her book, “Teaching a Stone to Talk”, Annie Dillard boldly writes:
Why do people in church seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute? … Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us to where we can never return.”
When the Kingdom comes, when the Son of Man comes, offering a new heaven and new earth, will we notice? Will we be transformed? Or will we be too focused, too sleepy, too content to look up?
Do we believe that where two or more are gathered, Christ is there? If so, are we transformed in some way each time we worship together? Why or why not?
The snow piled up at my door.
And just in that moment
how my soul did soar.
For I saw God there
In feathers of red and fields of white.
“It is good,” God said.
And my heart took flight.
Will we even notice?