Dig Deeper into this Sunday’s Gospel: Read Mark 13:24–32
Years ago, when my children were relatively young, it was always a hoot when my husband would return home after an extended absence. Their squeals of delight intensified as they glimpsed his car pulling into the driveway. Their little noses pressed up against the window; their eyes focused on the vehicle from which their beloved daddy would soon emerge. Jumping up and down (and sometimes on top of each other) in excitement, the suspense was too much for their little bodies to hold inside. Every moment that brought him closer, their eagerness grew, their little voices rising louder as they called out for him. When finally he was there, right in front of them, arms outstretched to envelop them, head bending down to receive all their kisses and nuzzles—oh, how they clung to him.
After the business of bringing in his bags, answering all of their questions, after the giggles from accepting his small tokens died down, and after they had regaled him with the details of their lives he missed, my children returned to the business of their day. Missing mere hours before, now upon his return, there existed a marked peacefulness in their countenances. Their father had returned home. His presence now caused what felt jumbled and out of place in their hearts and world to be rightly ordered again.
In this week’s gospel passage, Jesus gives His disciples (and us) a glimpse of what to expect when He returns at the end of the world, the end of time. It will be after a period of tribulation, a time unsurpassed in distress (Mark 13:24; Daniel 12:1). After this suffering, the end will come, and the universe as we know will be changed; there will be total darkness (Mark 13:24), the Son of Man will be seen “coming in the clouds with great power and glory” (Mark 13:26), and angels will “gather his elect” (Mark 13:27).
Scholars and followers alike have predicted the end of times throughout history and posited what the period of tribulation might look like. Some say we are in this “time” now. What is certain is that the Son of Man has not yet come. As much as we may furiously scan the clouds and desire Him to come posthaste due to our disappointments or tribulations, it isn’t the appointed time. Yet.
These words from Mark’s gospel and Daniel’s prophecy from the first reading this week can seem foreboding, threatening, and ominous, causing fear and anxiety among believers. But, tucked away in this passage is a glimmer of true hope, a hope that will not disappoint (Romans 5:5), a hope that the end is not a time to fear, but rather a time to anticipate.
“He is near” (Mark 13:29).
Yes, the world as we know it will pass away, causing cataclysmic shifts in our reality. We have, however, hope that remains: hope that Jesus “is near, at the gates” (Mark 13:29). In these days, this present moment, this generation of the Church will experience fasting “when the bridegroom [Jesus] has been taken away from [us]” (Mark 2:20). This fasting—often in the form of unexplainable suffering, grief, sorrow, loneliness, confusion—can feel interminable, unjust, can leave us heartbroken, weary, and despairing.
But, my friend, Jesus promises this season of fasting will not last forever. He promises our mourning will turn into dancing (Psalm 30:11). Jesus, our beloved, our Savior, our Good Shepherd, will return for all His lost sheep. And we must anticipate His return with a hope that remains embedded in the very core of our soul, a hope that remains firm, pressing us forward, keeping us standing and unshakeable in the storm.
As my children anticipated the return of their beloved father when he was away from them, so too should we anticipate our Beloved's parousia, the second coming. Might we prepare for it by allowing ourselves to enter into a childlike expectation of His return?
Like children of a good Father, can we imagine ourselves pressed up to a window, peering at the clouds, just waiting, waiting for Him to appear in all of His glory? Can we be filled with awe and wonder—letting giggles of joy escape our lips—at the glimpses and tastes of heaven that He leaves for us? Can we be so moved with joy at being reunited with the One who cherishes and delights in us, the One who cannot imagine heaven without each of us, that our bodies cannot contain the joy, cannot contain the love, that His light radiates and transfigures us from within?
In just two short weeks, we will begin Advent, embarking on a journey toward the stable in Bethlehem, a time in which we prepare our hearts for the Incarnation, the first coming of Christ, when “He appeared, and the soul felt its worth.”[1]
Let’s just sit with that for a second. Our souls felt their worth the very moment our blessed Lord was born.
To Jesus, our souls are worth shedding the outward glory of being God so He could enter our world of flesh, our world of suffering and darkness, to lead us into freedom, eternal life, united and reconciled with the Father (Philippians 2:6–8). This truth is the living hope that remains with us and rests in our hearts. Remnants of hope from His first coming keep us confidently awaiting His second.
May we anticipate His glory and majesty, His kingdom to come with renewed childlike faith, with the hope that remains. May we delight in the knowledge that upon His return, He will bring with Him gifts of heavenly measure. May there be a marked difference in our posture; may our hearts be settled, steadied, and at peace, trusting that we will be held close in His outstretched arms. May we breathe a sigh of relief, resting in His promise that at the appointed time, He will return for you and me. May we hope for that glorious moment when everything in our world will be as it should be, as it is rightly ordered to be.
Oh, friend, do not give up hope. He is near.
With you on the journey,
Jeannine
Food for thought or journaling…
Do I await the second coming of our Lord with anticipation, eagerness, and excitement or with regret and fear? How can this season of Advent, awaiting Christ’s birth, illuminate how I should prepare my heart for His second coming?
Father, I ask You to place in me the virtue of hope. Increase my hope and belief that there is a room in Your mansion in heaven, a place in which Jesus has been preparing just for me, where “He will come again and take [me] to himself” (John 14:2–3). Increase my hope and belief that You will bring a new heaven and a new earth, and I will have citizenship there (Revelation 21:1; Philippians 3:20). Increase my hope and belief that Jesus, Your Son, who will come at the end of time, will “make all things new” (Revelation 21:5), that You will restore all the time that the locusts ate (Joel 2:25), that You "will wipe every tear from [my] eyes, and death will be no more” (Revelation 21:4). My hope, Lord, is in You. Amen.
[1] Placide Cappeau, “O Holy Night,” accessed 11/6/2024, https://hymnary.org/text/o_holy_night_the_stars_are_brightly_shin.
