Sermon for First Sunday of Advent – Matthew 24:36-44

“Expecting the unexpected” seems like the gist of what Jesus is talking about in our gospel reading for today. “Therefore be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” Sounds like an oxymoron. Now, this is just part of a really long conversation between Jesus and his disciples. Way back in verse 3 the disciples ask him “When will this be, and what will be the sign of your coming?” 36 verses and he’s still answering! Hopefully my sermon will be shorter…

“The Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” What Jesus means is that after crucifixion, death, resurrection, and ascension, he will come again to us. Like we confess in our creed – “he will come again to judge the living and the dead.” Here, Jesus is describing what his second coming will be like. How do we imagine that? Peaceful? But how does Jesus paint it? Terrifying. I mean, he starts with the story of Noah and the flood. That’s controversial. The whole world is full of sin except for Noah, the only righteous person in the entire world. So God strikes out in anger and destroys all humanity with a flood, except for Noah and his family in the ark. God’s judgment like a sledgehammer. So much for forgiveness. Of course, we know the story continues with God promising never again. God gives the rainbow as a sign. But deep down, does that feel like enough? It’s terrifying to think that God has the capacity for such unexpected violence. Who could explain that away?

We expect reassurance. So we look to Jesus the Son of God. He forgives, he heals, he loves us so much as to give himself away for our sake. In this context, what do we imagine when Jesus promises to come again? More of the same. Tears and suffering and death will be no more in the kingdom of God made manifest in Jesus. But are we always so confident? We also hear Jesus warn over and over again about coming judgment. What verdict do we think we deserve? So let’s be honest, maybe we hang onto his promises with a little trepidation. Especially when Jesus says unexpected things. Like, “They knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left.” Does that sound like a promise or a threat?

That’s disturbing, so sometimes we like to sidetrack the conversation. Some Christians get all obsessed with that image of two folks in a field, one taken and one left behind, and they go on and on about rapture. Ever see the bumper sticker that says, “WARNING: In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned”? In case you didn’t get the memo, the rapture is this idea that God is going to suddenly snatch away the righteous, the chosen few, and leave the rest of us behind here to suffer through a long series of wars and disasters and suffering and everything we hate about the book of Revelation. They call this “The Great Tribulation.” I would bet we all know some very faithful folks who believe all this. They just don’t talk about it with us. But when Jesus talks about the flood sweeping away the unrighteous, he makes it hard to know whether it’s better to be taken or left behind. Kind of an anti-rapture if you think about it. Either way, it doesn’t really help with our judgment problem. Besides, it takes a lot of chutzpah to show that bumper sticker. Do you think it implies a strong opinion about which team someone thinks they’re on? Maybe they’re right. Who are we to say? Then again, maybe it’s just God’s way of telling us who not to follow on 465.

Here’s the thing. What if Jesus isn’t just talking about the future? The picture Jesus paints sure sounds a lot like our lives right now. Who doesn’t know the pain of unexpected loss? The loss of a well-planned future that falls apart? The loss of security when we’re victimized? The loss of trust when we’re betrayed? Losing someone we love when they die. Doesn’t it feel like a part of us dies every time? Maybe not until the shock subsides, but then you become aware of this absence, this misssing piece of yourself. You wonder if you can ever be whole again. So, I have a friend here in Indianapolis, from when we started seminary together at CTS over by Butler. She’s in her first call now in another denomination. After she graduated, she also married the love of her life. And they were so in love. So many Facebook posts that would make anyone wonder how to find that kind of love. So came the day earlier this year when she got the unexpected phone call. Her husband had been murdered. Shot by someone at a party. Shot by a stranger who held the power of life and death in his hand and made a decision. Not far away. Right here. “Two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left.”

What hurts worse? The pain of unexpected suffering or the pain of expectation. The pain of fully knowing the world’s brokenness, of the death and despair that always watches us. This is the dirty little secret of faith that opens our eyes to such a flood of choices and consequences and collisions and conundrums that we can’t help but be swept away. We can’t account for all that. We don’t understand it. We still suffer and die as if we never had faith at all. Who could honestly expect this? What did Jesus expect? Every word of second coming pulls him closer to suffering and death. Did he expect to feel the agony and betrayal? Did he expect to scream at the top of his lungs “My God, why have you forsaken me?” I wonder if the reason why Jesus’ answer to his disciples is so long is because it stalls the cross until he can’t stall any longer, because he doesn’t know what to expect any more than we do?

And still he rises. After three days and the depths of hell still he rises in the power and glory of resurrection. Suffering and death shall be no more, but our new life made real and visible in Jesus’ own body. And what if this wasn’t just as surprising to him as it is to us? After all, Jesus is one of us. He has to know our fear and mistrust because he binds them to his own body so that he can put them to death. Just so that he could raise us to new life in his own self. We can cling to the fact that Jesus knows exactly how we feel when we contend with those powers of darkness that weigh us down. But we will not be consumed. This will not be the last word for us, because that word belongs to Jesus, and he gives it to us every time he says “I forgive you.”

At the end of the day, this is the only thing in heaven and earth that we CAN actually expect. Yet we’re still surprised. Maybe that’s what Jesus really means when he tells us to “keep awake” and “to be ready.” Because he knows we can’t. Here’s the thing. If we could prepare ourselves, he’d only be rewarding our discipline. If we asked for it, it would be on our terms. He definitely doesn’t ask our permission – he does it to us anyway. No, it has to be a surprise because it’s the only way we can know what a pure and free gift actually is. No conditions. No expectations. But purely for love’s own sake. And that won’t wait for the future.

“Two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left.” Jesus isn’t beating around the bush. He knows all this sudden trauma that catches us unexpectedly. But that’s exactly when we need Jesus to come most of all. To grant us a peace that really does pass all understanding. To abide with us and remind us that this is not what defines us, even when we’re not ready to hear it. And yet this loss is the one thing we have to offer our neighbors in their suffering. When they’re not ready for platitudes or empty words, but they know we see them. And so we abide with them as Jesus abides with us. Who could expect that? But that’s the thing about faith that surprises and frustrates me. Because I confess I want to know all the answers. But you don’t really know the faith you’ve got until the moment you least expect it to shine in its fullness. And it will, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But thank God he is coming very soon.