Proper 28.B.24
Mark 13:1-8
The Rev. Melanie McCarley

I recall the first time I stepped foot into St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. I knew the building was large—but walking inside—well, it just about took my breath away. It was that grand. Everything was on a monumental scale. The sheer size of the place is overwhelming. It reminds me, a bit, of the great stones that caught the disciple’s attention as he left the temple in the Gospel passage appointed for today.

So, here is a bit of background on the Temple. According to the first century historian, Josephus, the Temple of Jerusalem, in Jesus’ day, was an awe-inspiring wonder. Newly reconstructed by Herod the Great, the temple’s retaining walls were made up of giant stones. In fact, one large stone, that has been uncovered during excavations is fifty feet long and eight feet tall! One stone! To place it in perspective, consider that the temple itself occupied a platform twice as large as the Roman Forum and four times as large as the Athenian Acropolis. Herod reportedly used so much gold to cover the outside walls that anyone who gazed at them in bright sunlight risked blinding themselves.

So, really…we shouldn’t be surprised when one of Jesus’ disciples says to him “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” And now it gets interesting, because Jesus responds with a question of his own: “Do you see these great buildings?” Do you see them? Of course the disciple sees them—in fact he is almost blinded by the gold, dazzled by the size of the stones, awed by the columns—you get the picture. Why does Jesus ask the disciple if he can see what the disciple has just invited Jesus to see? Aren’t the two of them seeing the same thing? Well…no, actually they’re not. They aren’t seeing the same thing at all.

The disciple sees buildings—the work of human effort. Our Savior sees through to the human heart. Those grand stones, they won’t last. Like every human institution or plan to make something great—things fall apart. And, most of the time, the reason is none other than ourselves—our own infighting, corruption, deceit, war and struggles is what cause their demise.

In other words, the temple that Jesus cares about—it’s not the one made of stone, it’s the temple of the human heart. Why? Well, because God can’t be domesticated. Mortar and stone—that’s not going to hem the Almighty in. God exceeds every edifice, every symbol, and every institution (even the church).

When Jesus says: “Not one stone will be left here upon another, all will be thrown down.” The disciples still can’t quite make their way through to the human heart—they are focused on a time frame. They want to know when the temple is going to be destroyed. What our Savior offers is an apocalyptic vision rife with messianic imposters, wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes and famines. But before we do what seems like second nature when confronted with an apocalyptic passage—casting anxious glances at current events and wondering who those imposters are and what current signs we see that may herald the “end times”, I think it’s important to listen for the larger message that Jesus is conveying in this passage. Namely—when you hear of these things…”do not be alarmed.” Do not be afraid.

In other words, Jesus is telling his disciples that rather than paying attention to the building of the temple—its stones, its strength, its staying power, they need to be paying attention to themselves and others. They need to be looking inward rather than outward—for this is where true hope is to be found.

I imagine that for those who are inclined to be preppers—building bunkers, purchasing emergency food supplies and learning how to live off the grid, this advice must be profoundly disappointing—but, nonetheless, it is what I believe to be true. In the end, the strength of stones will not save you. The God of love is your only hope.

Another way to look at this passage is to hear these words and acknowledge that though we want to know precisely when these things are to take place, so that we can be ready—that perhaps this is the point. Jesus is inviting us to be ready all the time. We are not being called to live our lives complacently—with little thought of God or our neighbor—until we are sure about the signs so we can hastily clean up our act in the last hour. Rather we are being called to live always in a state of readiness, eagerly anticipating the activity of God. In other words, we are to live as though all times are, in fact, the end times.

What’s more, we are not to live in a state of anxiety—but in joy and with confidence. Jesus insists on calm strength and generous love, even in the face of disaster. “Don’t be alarmed,” he says, when truth is shaken, and nations make war, and imposters preach alluring gospels of fear, resentment, and hatred. Don’t give in to terror. Don’t despair. Don’t capitalize on chaos. God isn’t in the business of fear mongering, God doesn’t incite suspicion. God doesn’t thrive on human dread.

Instead, be perceptive. Look for the signs and cultivate peace, choose hope, grow patience and bear this time (like every time) well. Bear it with the kind of love that Jesus, himself, has modeled for us. A sacrificial love. A love that (in the words of St. Paul) bears all things, believes all things, hopes all thing, endures all things. To do this now—in this present moment—is just as important as it has always been. Think of it. This Gospel lesson is indeed Good News. It is not frightening—but assuring, it is hopeful, and gracious in the truest sense of the word. It reminds us of the power of God and the importance of who we are, what we believe, and what we do—in this moment, and in all times to come. In Jesus’s name. Amen.