The End Is Near

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 63; 149, Micah 7:11-20, 1 Peter 4:7-19, Matthew 20:29-34


The world has been ending for a very long time.

When I was a child, priests and Sunday School teachers, caught up in the atmospheric dread of the Cold War, terrified me by preaching the imminent end of the world and the threat of Russia. I confided my fears to my mother, and it turned out when she had gone to Catholic school at the same parish, the priest and nuns gave the students a specific date to expect the end. She too was terrified until the date came and went. There was supposed to be some lesson in that about being prepared, but all she seemed to learn was a distrust of the clergy.

Peter, like many disciples, genuinely believed Christ would be returning in his lifetime or shortly after, but it didn’t happen. The hundreds of predictions of the end of the world since then have been miserably wrong. One of these more recent debacles was blamed on faulty decimal placement.

On this last day of the liturgical year, we look forward to the beginning of Advent and the new year. Except we don’t traditionally welcome it with parties and feasts. It doesn’t have an equivalent of Ash Wednesday which precedes Lent. Instead, our scripture readings turn to apocalyptic themes and prophets of doom. The stores may be full of twinkling lights and cheerful music, but they represent the false promise of satisfaction via worldly accumulation. Without the rich contemplation of Advent, they offer little more than a picture of a feast offers a starving family.

The world will end someday. Until it does, we are left to contemplate how to balance living both as if it will happen tomorrow, and as if it will happen millennia after we have passed.

But how different do those lives look?

In either case, our neighbor struggling with depression will still need a kind shoulder. The bellies of hungry children halfway around the world won’t stop rumbling. We still need to forgive that person who wronged us sooner rather than later. Our sacrifices and our love and our faith are neither more nor less meaningful, and always necessary. Advent is the time we set aside to remember that while we mourn the broken nature of the world, we are also waking to the promise of its new life in Christ.

The end is near. We need not fear it, for so is the beginning.

Comfort: Christ makes the world new for us each day.

Challenge: Remember the past, live the present, shape the future.

Prayer: Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.
So I will bless you as long as I live; I will lift up my hands and call on your name. (Psalm 63:3-4)

Discussion: Do you observe Advent in any way? If so, what does it mean to you? If not, do you see any value in it?

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Closing of the Year

Tomorrow begins the season of Advent – the beginning of the church’s new liturgical year. That makes today a sort of New Year’s Eve. As we begin both a new year and – as we complete our journey through the two-year daily lectionary – a new phase of Comfort & Challenge, I thank you for the blessing of your company on these last seven hundred and thirty-five days.

New Year’s Eve is a time for looking both backward and forward. “The Closing of the Year” was introduced to the world 25 years ago as the opening song of the strange and beautiful movie Toys starring Robin Williams. This song performed by Wendy & Lisa captivated me then, and still speaks to me about how we can bring each other love and hope. I hope you enjoy it as I do.

Blessings to you in the closing of one year and the beginning of the next!

I Want That

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Today’s readings (click below to open in new tab/window):
Psalms 84; 148, Isaiah 24:14-23, 1 Peter 3:13-4:6, Matthew 20:17-28


If you didn’t tell people you were a Christian, would they feel compelled to ask about your hope?

The First Epistle of Peter, written to an audience spanning the Roman provinces of Asia Minor, is concerned largely with the relationship between Christians and the surrounding culture. In response to a growing sense among non-believers that Christians were troublemakers, dissidents, and generally immoral the letter encouraged Christians to respect authority and to face discrimination and persecution for doing what is right as opportunities to achieve solidarity with Christ’s suffering.

The letter advises: “Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence.”

Why should people care enough to ask about someone’s hope? Because when we follow Christ, it should be obvious we “do not fear what they fear.” When we don’t fear what other people do, it makes them uncomfortable until they know why. And what are these things people fear? Radical forgiveness (both human and divine). Disregard for public opinion. Willingly becoming a servant to all. Death. Life.

If we never mention being a Christian, people should still see these traits in us. And any unease it causes them should fade when, with gentleness and reverence, we explain our faith.

A good friend of mine, raised without religion, arrived at faith not because Christians tried to talk her into it but because, in her words, “I saw a light in them and thought, I want that.” This light was evident in their everyday attitudes and actions, and buoyed them up through both difficulties and celebrations. Strong-armed evangelistic tactics would have been wasted on her, but the fruits of the Spirit were a compelling witness.

It’s not for us to judge whether the light of Christ dwells within the heart of any individual, but Christians can certainly create barriers to obscure it. Anger, fear, hostility, condemnation, self-righteousness, and stubbornness are all like shades we draw around our hearts. Each one makes it harder for the light to shine into the world; draw enough, and it is obscured entirely. Then no one has anything to ask about, because we look the same as or worse than the rest of the world.

We can positively influence the world’s (and our own) perception of the faithful without making demands or forcing ourselves upon it. The witness of a servant full of hope and without fear is a remarkable thing. Let us strive to be a people who cause other people to say, “I want that.”

Additional reading: for thoughts on today’s passage from Matthew, see Ask? Away!

Comfort: The light of Christ shines within you.

Challenge: Let is shine in the world as well.

Prayer: As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought for me. You are my help and my deliverer; do not delay, O my God. (Psalm 40:17)

Discussion: Have you known anyone who lights up a room without saying anything?

Join the discussion! If you enjoyed this post, feel free to join an extended discussion as part of the C+C Facebook group. You’ll be notified of new posts through FB, and have the opportunity to share your thoughts with some lovely people. Or feel free to comment here on WordPress, or even re-blog – the more the merrier!