Mark 13:33 - 37
My father and his dad were avid fishermen. Any kind of fishing -- off of a rowboat on a lake, hip deep in a mountain stream, fly fishing, worm fishing, it didn’t matter, just so they were fishing. They would catch fish as well, and there were many Fridays we dined on rainbow trout. But I never got into fishing. I was about six when my dad decided to take me on a fishing trip. He bought a junior size fishing pole for me and bundled me into the car at 4:00 in the morning when it was still dark. We drove for what seemed like forever -- I fell asleep in the car -- and finally we reached the upper reaches of the Little Big Horn river, which at that point was about twenty feet from shore to shore. Dad helped me thread a worm on my hook and showed me how to cast the line -- and then told me he was going upstream and would be back later. I remember sitting with my back to a tree, imagining that there was a bear out there eyeing me hungrily. I prayed that I would not have to confront a fish. Hours and hours seemed to go by until Dad returned, his creel containing four nice - sized trout. I tried to avoid going fishing again, and eventually my Dad seemed to figure out that it wasn’t my thing.
So what does that have to do with Advent, you ask? If you listen to today’s first reading and the psalm, you hear the Jewish people crying out “Where are you, God? You were there for our ancestors, but now you have left us alone.” That’s a sentiment I think we can all relate to -- where is God these days? Why is Covid happening? Can we count on our elected leaders to make good decisions? When is BLM and antifa coming to Western Massachusetts? It seems like society is breaking down and nothing is predictable anymore. And all the clues we depended on to interact with other people are covered up by masks; and of course we move around trying to avoid interacting with each other. And that feeling of abandonment, of being left entirely alone, is what I felt for the first time as a six year old sitting on the bank of a river.
The Church begins it’s liturgical year today. During cycle B we will hear most of the Gospel of Mark. Like Isaiah, Mark lived in a time of great unrest, of persecution, but the difference was that the people for whom Mark was writing had a totally different outlook -- Jesus, who had risen from the dead, had answered the cry of their ancestors and having accomplished his purpose in dying and rising from the dead, was going to return any day now and bring with him the kingdom that he had promised. That’s the point of the gospel passage we just read. In a way, it’s a complement to the first reading. All we know is that He will come to shepherd his people -- and it’s crucial that we be ready.
My six year old self sitting on a river bank in Montana felt abandoned, but deep in my heart I knew that Dad would return for me sometime and take me home where there were no bears or threats of a fish taking my hook.
And I think that is what advent is for. It’s a time to recognize that all of our certainties are not really certain. It’s a time to remind ourselves that we are all getting older, and like every human being before us will gradually or maybe suddenly lose our strength, agility, even our ability to remember things. If I am free of physical pain now, that won’t be forever. And I will lose people I love -- and I already have. And sadly, the day will come when all my stuff that I’ve spent money on will be part of a yard sale or carted off to Savers.
And it is then, when we really reflect on those things, that we will understand those words of Isaiah -- “Oh, that you will rend the heavens and come down.” It is then that we know, deep in our bones, that we need a savior. And then we reflect on the promise of Saint Paul, that God is faithful. And the assurance of Jesus that while we don’t know when, the certainty is that the Master will come again, when we don’t expect it. But if we are vigilant and remain steadfast, his coming will fulfill our deepest hopes.
Advent is a time to remember that nothing we do can save us, nothing we have can protect us. No one we love can go through our pain, suffering and eventual death for us. But we look far off to that stable in Bethlehem and hear the cries of a newborn and with Mary and Joseph and the shepherds, we rejoice because God has been faithful, God has heard the cry of his people, God has sent us a savior.
