Apocalyptic Imagination
Mark 13:1-8
As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.
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We don't often talk about the apocalyptic in the Presbyterian tradition. It could be because anything related to the apocalyptic would be considered indecent and not in order. Though I often wonder if our aversion to the apocalyptic in Western Presbyterian/Reformed theology stems from our privileged position, the lack of a need to reimagine the world in a way that more closely aligns with the heart of God.
I've pondered this as I've served on administrative commissions that have overseen the closing and sale of church property. Often, it seems like the churches that buy these buildings once owned by Presbyterian congregations come from cultural or economic backgrounds that preach a message that challenges the listener to imagine life outside the confines of a brick-and-mortar building; it almost serves as a temporary home.
Their apocalyptic imagination starkly contrasts with a church I once visited, where the people were immensely proud of their building and the resources they put into it. Though their building was pristine, they had a reputation for loving it more than the people who lived around it. You walked a few blocks from the main strip and encountered visible signs of poverty.
In the coming days, we will need to embrace a vision of the apocalypse. It is a vision that those of us in positions of power need to hear as Jesus's words may feel abstract or distant: "Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down." The idea of disruption can be hard to grasp, let alone why it might be necessary. But there's an invitation here—a challenge to us: Can we begin to connect with the radical transformation Jesus speaks of? Can we embrace discomfort to make way for something new?
Making way for something new by turning the temple into rubble would be a ludicrous idea if it came up in Jesus’ time. The temple was a magnificent sight to behold, yet Jesus, before the reading for today, condemned it as a place of hypocrisy. It was a building made of stone built on the backs of the poor, the widows, the oppressed, and the marginalized. To Jesus, it is not a monument to the divine but a symbol tainted by oppression and exploitation.
And herein lies the tension; the place that should exude the justice and love of God instead becomes a source of injustice. The apparent splendor of the temple distracts the disciples enough to the point where they miss Jesus' teachings. Nevertheless, Jesus warns them again, "Not one stone will be left upon another."
No stone will be left unturned. For Jesus, the temple, a byproduct of sin, could not be reformed; it needed to be broken down and made anew. For those who have never experienced such a radical change, it could feel disorienting or nerve-wracking. Yet, for the vulnerable and the marginalized, it is good news. As we look towards embracing a vocabulary that incorporates the apocalyptic, not as a means of destruction, but hope, how might Jesus' words apply to us? How might they also apply to our churches and institutions that rely on shame and oppression? Could these things we hold near to our hearts be a part of the problem? And if so how can we redeem what has been broken?
While Jesus's message may disturb those who like order, he doesn't leave us without hope. Jesus doesn't end with the temple's destruction; Jesus shifts to the language of "birth pangs," new birth. What will involve pain and discomfort, in Jesus' view, is just the beginning of something new. It is a hopeful vision, a hopeful future taking shape through transformation, by tearing down to build back up. It is a vision of apocalyptic imagination, an imagination that frames not just the end of things, but also the beginning of things.
Do we find ourselves in places where we can't be bothered challenging the status quo? Or do we find ourselves in places where Jesus's apocalyptic imagination resonates with us because it gives us a glimpse of what can and should be? Where we find ourselves may determine how we hear Jesus's words this day. In Jesus' vision, the gospel casts hope for a world where systems built on other's fears, discrimination, and oppression will not be allowed to stand.
Jesus' words here do not pronounce doom or condemnation. Instead, they promise that the stones we lay will not last forever, that God will praise the times we get things right and will be present when we must dismantle systems that put others down and exclude them. In a continuous cycle of tearing down and building up, we experience "birth pangs" that challenge us to lean hard into a vision for life together that is not founded on who is welcome or who holds power but on the pathway to a more just and compassionate world that years for the abundant love of our Creator.
Jesus calls us to a radical re-imagination of our world and our role within it. To those who are attacked simply for who they are, God's word brings comfort, for God's Spirit moves to break the chains of oppression, to tear down stones that need tearing down. For those who may benefit from the same systems that built the temple, God's word brings a wake-up call, for God will not allow us to sit idly by while creation and our neighbors cry out for justice.
Jesus's apocalyptic imagination invites us to examine all aspects of our lives. It challenges us to question what we may be holding onto and what we need to let go of. It asks if we are helping to prop up systems or beliefs that exclude rather than welcome. It pushes us to examine whether we are resisting the change God is calling us to be a part of.
Friends, there is no time like the present for us to start embracing Jesus's apocalyptic imagination. The days ahead will require we embrace God's radical transformative love, which tears down walls that divide and erects bridges and pathways that connect in their place. As we step into this way of imagining the world and our lives together, may we do so with a willingness to embody the new life God is bringing forth that calls us not to settle for systems of oppression and injustice but to aim higher for life and community founded on the abundance of God's love.