Starting The Story In The Middle

The Christmas tree is up at our house. I know it’s only the beginning of Advent, but we didn’t want to wait for holiday cheer. So on Friday, we picked out a tree, got out the hot chocolate, put on some Christmas music, and decorated. We told stories as the ornaments went up. The kids compared their current hand size to the handprint ornaments of their early childhoods. We recalled a family trip to Alaska as the fuzzy black bear ornament went up. I’m probably the most sentimental of the bunch, and I reminded everyone for the umpteenth time that the design on the tree skirt looks like the one on my wedding dress. My nostalgia level was on high. With a trimmed tree and a golden retriever underneath, I swear that, at least for a moment, our living room could pass for the sentimentality of an L.L. Bean holiday catalog. And in the midst of all that reminiscing, I also thought about the future. I wondered what the kids will remember about these holidays when they’re grown. Which of the decorations will hold special emotional significance for them? I’m still mad that my older brother got our childhood nativity set, which was rightfully mine. I suspect my children will fight for custody of the Superman ornament. He has flown at the top of the tree for years now. Which is fortunate for him, because that keeps him safely out of the puppy’s reach. 

We have only lost a couple of ornaments so far to the dog. Which is not because she’s particularly well behaved. It’s because we have had to keep a close eye on her since Monday, when she got spayed. I don’t have the heart to put that ridiculous cone around her head, so we have had to watch her constantly to keep her from pulling out her stitches. This means fewer ornaments for her, and a lot more belly rubs. The Advent theme of watchfulness has taken on a whole new meaning for us this year. 

I bring that up not only because I like to tell you about my puppy with some regularity. It’s to invite you into a thought experiment. Imagine you were going to tell the story of this puppy’s life as a member of the Alexander family. You could start the story with her birth in Batesville. Or you could begin the story with the day we brought her home. These would be logical places to start. From there you could tell about her youthful antics, about her hopefully long years of companionship, and then about her old age and the conclusion of her life. You probably wouldn’t start the story this week, with us being watchful over stitches, somewhere between her beginning and her end. And yet, that’s exactly how the church begins its great story. 

Note that we don’t start with Christmas or with Easter. Nor do we start with the creation of the world or with its recreation at the end of time. Advent starts somewhere in between, with a word from Jesus about our need to stay awake. How strange. And not only are we starting a new church year today, we are also starting the three-year lectionary cycle of readings. What gospel would you choose for the very first one, to launch the good news of Jesus? In a surprising choice, the very first words of the gospel we hear are from the 24th chapter of Matthew: “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man.” There are warnings about people being left behind or taken away, instructions to keep awake, and the coming of the Son of Man an unexpected hour like a thief in the night. The church sure knows how to wish everyone a Happy New Year, doesn’t it?

Let’s see if we can figure out why we start with this strange gospel. But I think we first need to establish what it does not say. What do you think of when you hear: “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.” Perhaps you’ve heard of the Left Behind series or other popular sellers of the apocalypse that use the coming end times to scare people. We are encouraged to worry that we will be the ones left behind when the rapture comes, if we don’t get our acts together in time. But being left behind is only one possible translation of the Greek, and it’s not even the best one. The verb for taken, which we apply to the ones we’ve been told will be the winners, is more immediately translated as taken away, like a prisoner. That’s less appealing. And the verb for left is more often translated as forgiven. In which case, we’d want to be left behind, forgiven really, and not hauled off in handcuffs. If that doesn’t convince you about the shoddy translation we’ve been sold, remember that Jesus sets this teaching in the context of the Noah story. Noah was the only righteous one to be found at the time, and he was left behind on an ark while everyone else was taken away in the flood. This reminder comes from a smart Presbyterian named Mark Davis who wrote a book called, Left Behind and Loving It. Whatever you think about Greek translation issues here, he reminds us that we should always hold open the possibility of multiple meanings in scripture. And, more importantly, we should remember that Jesus’s teaching were meant to be life-giving, not scary. All the stories of his life, the parables, the healings, the miracles, were never about scaring us to death. We have to interpret passages in light of the whole story. So if we can shake off our worry about passages like this one, something better can open up. 

Let’s talk about that thief in the night, the one who could show up at anytime. Jesus tells us to be like a homeowner who prepares, maybe by putting up a fence, locking the doors, and getting a dog. I don’t think he meant to never sleep, because that would be strange advice. He meant to live as if the thief is coming. The second coming of Christ could be now, or it could be at the end of time. We don’t know, and Jesus himself didn’t know, according to Matthew. Just be ready, he said. 

What does it mean to be ready, to be prepared? If this advice is in keeping with the rest of Jesus’ teachings, the answer must be good news. Being prepared means watching for signs of God’s kingdom, vigilant for its arrival. It also means anticipating the future with hope instead of dread. Jesus’ coming, whenever it happens, will be a joyful event, like his first coming at Christmas. We have no reason to fear otherwise. In the meantime, being prepared is about being close to Jesus and staying close to his ways, living out acts of mercy, and love, and peace. Those are things we can live more fully into now, those divine acts we can touch here on earth. There’s no need to wait. We could even start today. Come to think of it, following Jesus’ advice to stay awake to God’s nearness would be a brilliant way to start the new year. 

So those are my thoughts as I read this gospel by the Christmas tree lights, with a sleeping dog at my feet. I can’t imagine that Jesus wanted me to be afraid in that moment, or for any of us to be afraid in the uncertainties of the future. So the church, in its wisdom, decided to begin its great story with a passage from somewhere in the middle, to find us where we need to be found, still in the middle of our own stories. Jesus wants us to embrace him now, before we know what happens next. Because in this anxious and fearful world, being awake to Christ and watchful for the kingdom is simply a better way to live. Happy New Year.