Jesus said to his disciples: “Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time will come. It is like a man traveling abroad. He leaves home and places his servants in charge, each with his own work, and orders the gatekeeper to be on the watch. Watch, therefore; you do not know when the lord of the house is coming, whether in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or in the morning. May he not come suddenly and find you sleeping. What I say to you, I say to all: ‘Watch!’” (Mark 13.33-37)
We begin a new liturgical cycle today. The evangelist Matthew guided us through the last cycle, known as Year A. Now, the evangelist Mark takes the baton and he will be our guide through Year B, beginning on this First Sunday of Advent. And while the season of Advent is front and center for the next four weeks, the readings selected to highlight this particular time of year, we should understand that the lessons from the weeks ahead are intended to last for longer than Advent. In fact, they are meant to be lessons for life.
Not a surprise then, the lesson that is given to us today by Mark looks ahead, giving the composers of the Common Lectionary cause to use this passage from Chapter 13 of the gospel to have us anticipate the birth of the Messiah, his birth ending this season of expectation and waiting, inaugurating the Christmas Season that will occupy our attention soon enough on the liturgical calendar as well as on the cultural scene.
Interestingly, Chapter 13 of Mark’s gospel often is called “The Little Apocalypse,” the name serving as a reference to the Book of Revelation, also called the Book of Apocalypse, the entirety of the book spent on John’s vision for a future time when judgment will be made upon the world and its peoples when God reclaims his creation from the hands of the evil forces that have held it hostage through the ages.
In much the same way, Mark’s focus in this particular chapter looks ahead to that same time, the day of the Lord, when the Most High God resets the world to its proper axis, ending the siege by evil forces, and restoring the good that was present at the start of creation. In fact, in the verse that immediately precedes this passage, Rabbi Jesus says, “About that day or hour, no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”
That verse gives cause to the story that we hear today, a story he tells about a man who travels abroad, leaving his servants in charge of his dealings. As we listen to the abbreviated story, it is clear that the focus is on the return of the Master, a clear signal that the Master serves as a stand-in for the Maker of the Universe. Rabbi Jesus is emphatic in the call for his followers to “be watchful and to be alert” because they “do not know when the time will come . . . when the lord of the house is coming.”
So, whereas the season of Advent looks to the near future when the birth of the Messiah is celebrated, it also serves–at least on this First Sunday–as the springboard that challenges us to look to the unknown future when the Most High God will come to earth, the day of the Lord when the score is settled, those who have done evil punished and exiled, those who have done good praised and elevated.
As a genre, apocalyptic literature looks to the future, even though it is rooted in the present. Historically, it grew out of difficult times of persecution and offered hope to people who were suffering torment and tribulations. As such, it is built on the notion of dualism, particularly good versus evil, arguing that the day will come when the suffering of the present day is ended and those who have inflicted pain upon the people will find themselves at the mercy of the Most High God who will be quick to condemn what these evildoers have done to his creation and to his children.
We might rightly ask the evangelist why Rabbi Jesus would use apocalyptic imagery in his teachings to his followers. There may be more than one answer. For one, the apocalyptic mindset was common during this time period, becoming mainstream during the first and second century B.C.E., with notable examples such as the Book of Daniel being written around 160.
That book told of the struggle of the Jewish people during the Babylonian exile several centuries earlier, but probably reflected many of the same painful experiences of the people living then under Roman occupation and domination. As before, so now those who suffered were encouraged to look ahead to a day when their suffering would end and the Almighty would punish those who had persecuted them.
As a whole, apocalyptic writing Invoked powerful images of death and destruction, of battles and catastrophes, all prescient of the passing age and the coming of a new age. Here, in Chapter 13, Rabbi Jesus does not shy away from the same imaginations, offering these predictions, “The sun will be darkened, the moon will not give its light, the stars will be falling from the sky, and the powers that are in the heavens will be shaken.” Anyone who has seen Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 war film, “Apocalypse Now,” can fully appreciate the visions.
Truth be told, the seeds of apocalyptic literature had been planted by the prophets of old who also predicted a day of the Lord, a time when justice would rule the earth and the subjugated people would be freed, a time when the Most High God would set right the wrongs done to the poor and to the deprived, renewing the earth and wiping away the scourge of evil.
Rabbi Jesus, in his own way, was following in the footsteps of these ancient prophets who forewarned of just such a day and a time when the sword of God would slaughter those who had done evil to and upon the earth. Already in the eighth century B.C.E Isaiah the prophet had promised such a day, speaking these words on behalf of the Lord God, “For my sword has drunk its fill in the heavens; behold it descends for judgment upon Edom, upon the people I have devoted to destruction” (34.5).
With this background as our guide, what can we say about Rabbi Jesus’ turn to apocalyptic imagery in Mark’s gospel and, more particularly, in this story he tells of the unpredicted return of the landowner? Moving out of the library stacks and into the real world, what should we infer is the Galilean Teacher’s purpose in relaying the story to his followers?
It seems clear that Rabbi Jesus is intent on drawing our attention to the use of our time. Even with a casual reading of the story, we find time referenced in several instances, such as “when the time comes,” and “When the lord of the house is coming,” and “whether in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or in the morning.” Not to mention his reference to the master “coming suddenly.”
So, while apocalyptic writing always looks to a time in the future, Rabbi Jesus also intends us to look at what we are doing in the present moment. He is not satisfied with putting our attention on the arrival of the day of the Lord; he wants us also to look at what we are doing here and now. This becomes clear when he urges his followers to be alert and not to be found sleeping.
His words indicate an active participation in the present moment, not a passive or indolent attitude on the part of his followers. “Be watchful!” he says. “Be on the watch!” In other words, the present moment cannot be allowed to pass by without our injecting into it the activity of the disciple, the same as those servants whom he describes as “each doing his own work”while the master is away.
The surest way to bring upon our heads the wrath of the master is to fail to do our job while he is away. If we rest idly on our laurels, convincing ourselves that we’ve done enough or that there is nothing more to do, or, more typically, there is plenty of time left to do what needs to be done, then we are dead wrong. To be found sleeping on the job is the very worst thing imaginable in the story, at least as the Rabbi tells it.
Sadly, in the very next chapter of Mark’s gospel, we will find the first disciples doing exactly that, falling asleep in the garden as the evildoers surround Rabbi Jesus to capture him, taking him hostage and soon enough crucifying him. They epitomize the servants who do not keep watch. We hear him say to one of his disciples, “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not watch one hour?” His words echo the story of the servants and surely serve as a wake-up call to the rest of us.
Plain and simple, we have much to do and the time is short. As followers of the Galilean Teacher, we have a long list of things that we should be doing and not enough time to do them all. Only a fool would think he or she has all the time in the world. When the elderly and beloved Pope Saint John XXIII was once asked by reporters why he didn’t slow down and take a rest, he answered, “There will be plenty of time for rest in eternity. For now, there is work to be done.” It was the perfect summation of the story that we find here.
As servants in the household, our job is to do the will of the Master. And, as we know well, Rabbi Jesus spent his days upon the earth doing the will of his Father in Heaven and he urges his followers to imitate him in our actions, in this way also doing the will of the Heavenly Father. And if we are unsure exactly what that means, all we have to do is look closely at the life of the Galilean Teacher.
He fed the hungry. He healed the sick. He lifted people’s burdens. He forgave offenses. He welcomed the outcast. He gave to the poor. He wiped away the tears of the bereaved and the downtrodden. He stood with the abandoned. He touched the untouchables. He welcomed those unwelcomed. He ate with prostitutes and tax-collectors. He castigated the hypocrites. And he died on a cross between two criminals, a solidarity that breaks down all the walls that we erect between ourselves and others.
It is safe to say his work did not end until he had drawn his last breath. His final words uttered were, “It is finished.” Only then did he rest from the work that the Father had given him to do upon the earth. And if we are worthy to be called his followers, then we will keep ourselves busy day and night doing the will of the Father as he did.
The writer and journalist David Brooks, in his new book, “How to Know a Person,” uses two contrasting types of people to drive home a point. He writes of people whom he calls diminishers and people whom he calls illuminators. Diminishers are those people who spend their lives looking at themselves. They have little time for others and, as a result, make the people around them feel unimportant and insignificant. They are quick to dismiss others, typically using stereotypes or prejudices as their go-to tools. More often than not, they turn a blind eye to others, especially those they consider beneath them, undeserving of their attention.
Illuminators, on the other hand, spend their days looking out for others. They care about the people around them, making them feel bigger, respected, special. They want to better understand others, always reaching across the aisle to form a connection with others, regardless of caste, clans, or number of favorable clicks. They see people. They’re able to call others by name and do not hesitate to embrace them publicly, even if they’re the little people, the ones who are unpopular or unimportant in the eyes of the world.
As we consider the story that Rabbi Jesus offers to us today, we might use the distinction that Brooks draws our attention to, challenging ourselves to spend our days as illuminators, not as diminishers. If our time is spent in seeing others, helping others, and building up others, then we do not have any reason to fear the return of the Master. Whenever he returns, he will find us doing his work.
–Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 