Luke is writing after the end of the world has happened, and the temple has been destroyed.¹ The first readers of Luke’s gospel would know that Jesus was referring to the destruction of the temple in 70 A.D. It was the later generations that thought Jesus’ words referred to something else.

This is how our lectionary year begins. Here we are in Advent, the season that is all about waiting for Jesus to be born, yet today we have an adult Jesus toward the end of his life talking about signs and omens and a fig tree. I think it’s the perfect way to start.

Let us not be clouded by sentimentality or superstition. We are surrounded by signs in this season. Trees are decorated, holly is hung with the garlands, and holiday plans are being made. In the midst of the hustle and bustle of this season, the signs are still there.

Look at the Christmas tree and all the trees. When the trees lose their leaves, you can see for yourselves and know that winter is near. Even so, when you see these things happening, you know that the kingdom of God is near. The kingdom is already around us, but not in its fullness. We live in the “already but not yet” season of the kingdom. Christ has come, and we are all participating in bringing Christ’s kingdom about in its fullness. We must always be on watch for the coming of the kingdom and not be distracted by our drunkenness, our worry, or the events of the day.

Yet that’s hard. We’re drunk on media and consumerism. We worry about the news, money, our health, aging. And the events are troubling with GM plants shutting down and pensions drying up, the opiate crisis continuing, climate change unabated, not to mention the latest tweets and rants.

We are awash in anguish and perplexity. Advent is the perfect remedy. A time to sit and wait. To focus on Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love. Even while our world is ending. I know a little something about a world ending. I know a little something about how Advent can remedy it.

In the summer of my sophomore year, I discovered my grandpa was having an affair. I was always with my grandpa. We mowed the yards of his various rental properties. I helped him with his beekeeping. From age 8 to 15, this is what I did.

He took me to look at a car. It was a nice sedan. I was really excited because I was 15 and soon to be driving. Maybe he was going to buy that car for my birthday. Then I saw a woman driving it. I started to notice her hanging around. I told my family, and they confirmed my suspicion.

My world ended that November. My grandma confronted my grandpa. We had to get my grandmother out and into hiding. My family was in turmoil. I was awash in anguish and perplexity. My world crumbled down and ended.

Growing up without a father, my grandpa was my father figure. Now here was yet another male who had betrayed and abandoned his family. I saw the signs. I prayed that it wasn’t what it seemed. But it was.

My world was gone. Gone were the beehives and collecting honey. Gone was mowing those yards. Gone was hanging with my grandpa at his favorite local store, sharing a candy bar and a Mountain Dew. Gone was a sense of stability. Gone was my sense of family history.

In the coming days, I began to realize that I had missed some other signs. I had missed that I was on the wrong side of a battle I didn’t know was taking place. My grandpa was very controlling. Family life was a big battle for control, a constant power struggle between my grandma and grandpa. Now that I was out of those waters, I could name them for what they were.

My world was gone. Ended. Rubble. And just in time for the holidays.

Before the end of the world, we would help decorate my grandparents’ house. We’d put up the Christmas tree with the big 1950s bulbs that were fire-hazards. We’d refill the lights that had water in them and would bubble. We’d hang the ornaments that were so familiar and loved. We would celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve with a big family dinner. My mom and my two uncles would gather and we’d be at my grandparents and then we’d head back to our respective houses. My sister and I would open presents and then we’d be off to midnight mass. It was how we did it.

That had all ended. I worried if it’d ever feel like Christmas again.

To my surprise, Advent was the perfect remedy. There were the rituals. There were the candles and the prayers for Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love; concepts I felt I had none of. I looked at the Christmas trees and all the trees. When they lose their leaves, you can see for yourselves and know that winter is near. Even so, when you see these things happening, you know that the kingdom of God is near.

We gathered together as a family again, minus my grandpa. We had to gather in secret. Yet as I stood looking around at my family, I had a sense that we would be all right. We were not able to escape all that had happened. Yet God brought us through it.

It would be different from then on. Yet the sentimentality was gone. What was left was a renewed focus on what this season means. I saw that Christmas is about the coming of Jesus. Traditions can help and they can also hinder. We have a tradition of faith that talks about the end of the world and Jesus coming again. Christians often misunderstand it and make it really dramatic. Like the Ephrata Cloister by Lancaster, PA. They took this Luke passage very literally. They slept on benches that were 12” wide and had wooden pillows so they would only sleep 2-3 hours a night so they would “be awake for the coming of our lord.” The end of the world can come in many different forms and a thousand way before we die, just as Jesus comes in every second of every day if we have the senses to perceive him.

Christmas came without the tree, the fire-hazard lights from the 1950s. It came without the family dinner. It came without my grandfather or that house I knew so well. It came without the struggle for control. It came without ribbons, boxes, or bows. Christ had come into my heart as I looked around at the faces I loved, and I knew we’d be all right.

My Grandma Bet always said, “It’d be all right in the end. If it’s not all right, it’s not the end.” Over the next years until her death in 2006², I saw a woman freed. She could love. She could talk without fear. She spoke often of her faith. She had a very subtle and nuanced faith. She would see signs and hear God in the strangest ways. She heard God when she saw a deer or watched Ellen or in little phrases she’d collect and call “Bet’s gems.”

I think she gave me that same subtle faith. One that looks for God everywhere because Jesus pops up everywhere at the most surprising times! Some see him in grand visions where he descends on a cloud. I’ve never really had one of those. Like my grandma, mine have been much more subtle.

Driving to officiate my first wedding ceremony, I was freaking out. Who am I to marry a couple?! They are just going to get divorced, because that’s all I know. I decided to get out of my head, so I turned on the radio. The Beatles’ “All You Need is Love” started playing. There was Jesus, he had come again. His message was the same: love.

I got to know my grandma in a way that I don’t think I would have done if the divorce didn’t happen. She told me how she tried to make it work for years, how she poured herself into 42 years of marriage and for awhile she felt like a failure, but then she started seeing just how strong she was to keep something going for four decades on her own will-power. She is truly one of the strongest women I have ever known.

I still see her around. She comes not on a cloud but when I see a cardinal. She loved those birds, she called them “red birds.” She is with me when I hear a good poem and my heart is strangely warmed. She is near when I have a deep conversation about faith and all the questions we wrestled with.

The world had ended. A new one had begun. There were traditions that continued. There were new ones that formed. And true to her word, in the end it was all right.

It is my hope that you perceive the Son of Man coming in a cloud or on the radio or in a family tradition or in your divorce or health scare… I hope you perceive Christ with power and great glory. My hope for you is that this season helps you shrug off the unneeded worry, stand up and lift up your head, because your redemption is drawing near. My hope for you is that you feel your loved ones close. Both those living and dead, because we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.

My hope for you is that whatever worry you are carrying, whatever care has you concerned, whatever thing has you bowed down, it is my sincere hope that this season can help you lay your armor down and find hope. It will be all right in the end. If it’s not all right, don’t worry… it’s not the end.

Works Cited

¹As discussed in the sermon “Something New is Being Born.” From 11/16/18.

² Grandma Bet’s Obit