The gospel reading for this Sunday is a hard text. The assigned reading, which is only the latter half of this chapter, makes a lot of sense in its historical context. It’s a cryptic word to anxious disciples in a tense time. But the meanings are less immediate when placed in our context. And while the apocalyptic genre fits with the apocalyptic focus of the first Sunday of Advent – let’s be honest: our congregations will arrive ready much more ready to talk about the Son of God born in a manger than the Son of Man coming in glory. So, where to begin? Let’s start with the text.

The first two Sundays of Advent, no matter the lectionary year, focus on Christ’s return, while the last two Sundays lead us to recall Christ’s birth. So, it’s not a surprise that this first Sunday of Advent gives us a text full of apocalyptic drama. Mark 13 is known as the little apocalypse or the synoptic apocalypse, and is one of the most argued-over passages in the gospels. The chapter is set outside the Temple, with Jesus teaching “opposite the Temple” (13:3) and foretelling its destruction. The whole chapter flows from there, because the destruction of the Temple entails the overturning of an entire social, religious, and political order. The Temple was both national cathedral and national capitol. The scenes of trial and tribulation, dislocation, and terror that unfold in Jesus’ speech are part and parcel of every stone of the Temple being thrown down. The poetic drama of the event reaches a climax in the language of verse 25, as the moon are darkened, the stars fall from heaven, and the powers are shaken. The very foundations of the universe tremble.

When placed in its historical context, this strange text begins to make much more sense. Apocalyptic literature is often thought of as predicting the future, but it is actually more a poetic commentary on present realities and powers. The cryptic language is the language of outsiders or “under-siders” in a context in which it is dangerous speak openly of overthrow or rebellion. As historical fact, the Temple was destroyed in 70 C.E. by a Roman army led by Titus during the seige of Jerusalem, but the event was signaled for a long time and was delayed by politics in Rome. Mark’s gospel was probably written during the time of that delay, to a community in Jerusalem who was living in the tense time of anticipating this cataclysm. As the disciples of Jesus waited, there were many false prophets and false messiahs who were ready to recruit and lead armed resistance. The warning in Jesus’ speech is to resist taking sides or being led astray, and instead hold fast to the message, the way, and the person of Jesus. Even if that means running away from Jerusalem; remain loyal to the Messiah Jesus. When everything is coming apart and when every stone is thrown down, Jesus assures them, that is not the end. It may look like the end, but the real ending is much better. The real end arrives when the Son of Man come with “great power and glory” to gather the faithful. The disciples must keep awake and alert to the very end.

This call is made explicit in verse 37. “Keep awake” in this tense time, do not be led astray or fall away (or asleep), so you will be ready when the Son returns. As we read the hours of evening, morning, etc. in the text, we should see that the historical moment in the gospel narrative onto which this poetic/apocalyptic moment is overlayed is the Garden of Gethsemane. There, Jesus confronted and wrestled with the same forces of distress, grief, death that will soon confront the disciples, and there too he begged them to stay awake and pray that they would not come into the time of trial.

Ched Myers, in his magnificent commentary Binding the Strong Man, thus puts it this way: “Mark calls the discipleship community to live in history with open eyes, to look deep into present events, beyond the conflicting claims of those vying for power. They must search for and attack the very roots of violence and oppression that hold the human story hostage. The coming of the kingdom has nothing to do with triumphalism; it comes from below, in solidarity with the human family in its dark night of suffering. The world is Gethsemane, and we are called to “historical insomnia.”

Now, back to Advent. This is a jarring start to the Advent season, especially when most folks in the pew are putting up Christmas trees. It’s best to name that, but still preach the Advent theme. We can focus on Jesus’ call to keep awake in darkness, distress, and turmoil while being sensitive to the contours of a complex holiday season. For as much as Christmas is (or wants to be) a joyful time, you don’t have to look far beneath the surface to find turmoil. Warm family gatherings in safe home and neighborhoods heighten our awareness of others who do not in comfort or safety; or, if we find ourselves on the other side, images or memories of those warm gatherings remind us of what we are missing. Likewise, as the culture presses us into joy or we remember happy times of years past, our memories may also heighten our awareness of personal loss or grief. Moving out beyond the personal and familial, the concerns and troubles of the world don’t pause for the month of December, even if they displaced in our awareness. Five minutes with the news will be enough to recall the tumultuous backdrop of the Advent promise.

When we become aware of darkness or distress or chaos around us, the temptation we face is often like the disciples in this text. It’s less dramatic than a world-shaking apocalypse, but perhaps not on the stage of our lives. Like them, we are tempted to trust someone or something else to rescue us, which offer the promise to restore order and comfort. False prophets and would-be messiahs come in many guises. Busyness or consumerism offers the false promise of comfort; hardening our feelings toward other with a sense of entitlement or grievance falsely promises to restore order to our noisy hearts. Often, if we false messiahs fail us, we simply do what the disciples did in Gethsemane, we fall asleep. We go to sleep, believe that we have been abandoned by God, or we give in to the despair that the loss we feel is all the truth there is.

Advent is a season that rescues us from this by being honest about the darkness; reminding us to guard our loyalty to Jesus, and reject the siren songs of false hope and would-be saviors; and telling us to keep our hearts awake with the hope that loss and turmoil is not the sign to watch for, but God’s arrival is the sign. Wait actively with faith that God will arrive, with great power and glory. Staying awake in the darkness, present in turmoil, is hard. We help each other do it in this important season by reminding one another of God’s promises. At the end of history, and at the end of each of our stories, there is not a scene of destruction and chaos, but a living Lord who welcomes us into God’s new creation of peace.