Today marks the 33rd Sunday in ordinary time. In 2 weeks, we'll begin our new liturgical year with the start of Advent. At the end of our Church's year, it’s appropriate for our readings to focus on the end times. The apocalyptic nature of today’s readings can be frightening and disconcerting at first glance as we hear these words in our modern way of thinking. The Book of Daniel talks about the end times as “a time unsurpassed in distress”. After the end times, some will live forever, while others will be in everlasting horror and disgrace. Mark's Gospel tells us that the sun will be darkened, the moon won't give light, the stars will fall from the sky, and the powers in heaven will be shaken. But this dark apocalyptic message brings us not only an expectation of the light to come, but also enlightenment and hope in the darkness itself.
These readings, in the apocalyptic tradition of Jewish literature, have a dual purpose. They speak about the evils of the current age, in the trials and tribulations that are endured, but they also call us to the glorious age to come. God promises us a future moment when he will intervene, when history as we know it will come to an end. At that time, all evil will end and the righteous will be saved. The coming of this future age brings hope to the oppressed and to those in pain and suffering.
In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus' pronouncement about the end times comes just before the last supper with the apostles, leading up to his passion, death, and resurrection. This was a dark time in Jesus’ life. The communities of the early Church first heard this Gospel in the midst of their own darkness, living under a cloud of fear and persecution.
We probably all have known darkness in our own lives in one form or another. We can experience darkness in many ways: disappointment, depression, loss, or despair. Darkness can come in the loss of a job, the death of a loved one, struggles in our family and personal life, addictions, or mental or physical illness. Mary Oliver is one of my favorite American poets. I have quoted here in homilies many times. Oliver wrote about darkness in a short poem entitled “The Uses of Sorrow.” She explains that this poem came to her in a dream after the death of her life-long companion. Oliver writes: “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” The love we're called to as Christ's disciples, as human beings, can bring us great joy, but our experiences as disciples of Christ can also bring us pain and darkness; all of this makes up our journey. We can relate this to the darkness that the original group of Christ’s disciples experienced when their Savior and Redeemer was brutally killed on the cross. Think about how when loss occurs in the death of a loved one: we grieve and mourn, we feel an emptiness in the pit of our hearts. Yet, at the same time, we celebrate the life of our deceased loved one, how that life was a gift to us and a gift to our world. A box full of darkness may not seem like a gift at all. It might be anything but a gift at first when we’re struggling to come to terms with the darkness and loss in our lives. But in time, darkness can give way to awareness, forgiveness, understanding, and peace. We then can appreciate what comes out of the darkness, and what we can gain from it.
Just as the apocalyptic message in our Gospel today helps us to understand the darkness in our own lives, the journey of the Jewish people in the Book of Daniel brings us a message originally written for a community of persecuted Jews. Daniel spoke to the community at a time of unsurpassed distress, but the message and reassurance from God is that they have nothing to fear, that they will be brought to new life, that they’ll shine brightly like the splendor of the firmament of heaven. This message still speaks to us today.
When we gather together around the Lord's table to celebrate the Eucharist, we remember how Jesus faced the darkness. We remember and give thanks for the gifts that he brought out of the darkness. We celebrate Christ’s death and resurrection with the hope that it gives us to face the darkness in our own lives. We’re called to gain understanding from the darkness, and to hold fast to the light that Christ is to us and to our world. As we mark the end of our liturgical year next week, perhaps we’re at a point when we’re experiencing great darkness in our lives. But we'll enter a period of waiting in the beginning of the new liturgical year in Advent with the promise of a great light in the birth of Christ. We trust that the darkness is perhaps not what it seems on the surface, that it won’t be permanent. We’re called to have hope in our faith, as God promises us hope in the midst of the brokenness and darkness of our world. Our hope goes beyond our words and our prayers; it is the light of Christ shining in the darkness.
