Readings

Somewhat earlier in Matthew we hear Jesus saying this:

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it” (13:44-46).

The vision of God’s kingdom in our first reading is like that treasure, that pearl. The nations beating swords into plowshares, devoting all that expertise, all those resources, into human flourishing. That, says Isaiah, is God’s future for the nations. The last verse describes it as Israel’s charge in the present: “O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the LORD!” And perhaps Israel walking in that light will make it easier to get the nations walking in that light.

This theme of the nations doing that, you need to do this organizes Paul’s exhortations in our second reading. He is writing, recall, to the Christians living in the capital of the empire. The reveling and debauchery he alludes to may be issues among the Christians; they’re standard for Rome’s elites. That, says Paul, is the night; the day’s “near,” so “let us live honorably as in the day.” It’s still night; we live as in the day.

What’s at stake in these two readings? Well, catch Isaiah’s vision or Paul’s vision of God’s coming kingdom and the political differences that can be so important to us pale in comparison. Some of you may have seen Ken Burns’ 12-hour documentary The American Revolution that aired a couple weeks ago. One of its striking themes was the degree to which the revolution was a civil war, with rampant inhumanity on both sides. That represented a massive failure in Christian formation. Disagreements are inevitable; violence may be inevitable. Keeping God’s coming kingdom in mind should mean not keeping a supply of tar and feathers readily available.

When is God’s kingdom coming? Our texts offer two answers. Jesus in our Gospel reading gives one: “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” Only the Father knows. (Parenthetically, that “nor the Son” was disconcerting enough that while Matthew took this verse over from Mark, Luke simply omits it!) So judging simply from the titles, there are a good number of books not worth opening, web links not worth the click.

But twenty-one centuries after these words do we simply say “Amen!”? Paul’s “the night is far gone, the day is near:” “Amen?” Well, yes. Peter, already addressing the issue, writes “with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day” (2Pe 3:8). Whether that resolves the issue is a judgment call. I think not, so my wondering goes in a variety of directions. Clearly God has hit the pause button. There’s God’s answer to Job (chapters 38-41): not simply that God’s ways are several orders of magnitude above our understanding, but that we’re not God’s only concern. God spends the last two chapters celebrating Behemoth (“which I made just as I made you”) and Leviathan (“When it raises itself up the gods are afraid; / at the crashing they are beside themselves.”). We humans are often making a mess of it; the rest of creation, from the hummingbirds to the great whales, are giving exquisite full-throated glory to God.

Then there’s the time involved in creating the splendor and beauty preserved in our national parks. Yosemite Valley: the time to form those massive blocks of granite, the time for the glaciers to do their thing. So we get the majesty of Half Dome. The Grand Canyon: God introduces what will become the Colorado River: let’s see what that looks like in five or six million years. God is happy to work with long stretches of time.

Then there’s the time involved in exploring the potential of this creature made “a little lower than God” (Ps 8:5). It takes centuries to develop the musical tradition in which a Mozart, a Beethoven, a Copeland can appear. It takes centuries to develop the scientific traditions that make possible the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral, Florida. Literally breath-taking what we can do together in our best moments.

There is, as Scripture and the daily headlines remind us, more than enough cruelty and suffering to have us crying “Come, Lord Jesus.” Job and these other reflections don’t lessen that impulse, but do make me grateful that I’m not the one making the decision on timing.

So, “But about that day and hour no one knows” is one answer to the question of timing. But then there’s Jesus’ promise at the end of the Gospel according to Matthew “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (28:20), which somewhat relativizes the question of when Jesus returns. That, coupled with the exhortations in Isaiah and Paul to live God’s future now, raises the question of how much of that future might contaminate the present.

So, for example, Isaiah’s vision: only for the future? Second and third century Christians argue that it’s being realized now, evidence that Jesus is the promised Messiah. Here’s Justin, writing around 160:

“For, we Christians, who have gained a knowledge of the true worship of God from the Law and from the word which went forth from Jerusalem by way of the Apostles of Jesus, have run for protection to the God of Jacob and the God of Israel. And we who delighted in war, in the slaughter of one another, and in every other kind of iniquity have in every part of the world converted our weapons of war into implements of peace—our swords into ploughshares, our spears into farmers’ tools—and we cultivate piety, justice, brotherly charity, faith, and hope, which we derive from the Father through the Crucified Savior” (Justin, Dialogue with Trypho 110.2-3).

How much of God’s future might contaminate our present? We don’t know. The invitation of Advent—of the entire Church Year, for that matter—let’s find out.