Читать книгу 95 Prostheses - Frank G. Honeycutt - Страница 7

“If the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into” (Matthew 24:43).

Sometimes I wonder what it will be like to live the last day of my life. Ever think about the circumstances of your death? I’ve had cancer twice in my life—radiation treatments, surgery; the best health care possible and all is fine today. I suppose I’m a candidate to ponder these vexing questions more than many. Would you want to know the details and date if that were possible? Why or why not?

I remember reading an article several years ago where the author (a historian) said a curious thing. He said that in the Middle Ages the death of choice was cancer. If you were going to die, cancer was the preferred route back then. That sounds very strange to modern ears that dread the “C”-word more than most any other. But in the Middle Ages one could die pretty quickly from ailments ranging from the plague to a spear chucked through your head in battle. Cancer gave people time—time to get your affairs in order; time to settle debts; time to pass on wisdom and gather children to your bedside for conversation and prayer.

In this so-called “information age” where so many things seem to be knowable and describable, it’s refreshing in a way that some mysteries are beyond our reach. We are not in control of our debut into this world, or our exit from it. Even Jesus didn’t know everything. “About that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matt 24:36). He is speaking here of the end of time, of course—his own return, rather than anyone’s individual mortality. But the issues are related. Jesus was not some divine know-it-all in this regard. Even Jesus had limits to his knowledge.

But that did not keep him from giving specific advice about the unknown. He likens his return to the days of Noah when people were going about their own business—marrying, starting families, drinking toasts to the good life (“more wine, garcon!”), and a catastrophe came and swept it all away. It really doesn’t matter if you think the story of Noah’s Ark really happened or not. Don’t get stuck there. Jesus’ point with this advice is that we live in a world where things can change very quickly, overnight, neither predicted nor controlled.

I recall a pastoral visit several years ago with a couple in my parish, Al and Liz Barry. (They’ve given me permission to share this story.) Part of a pastor’s job description is that he or she will bring gospel comfort and hope to the dying, but in this case it was the other way around. Liz and I gathered there at Al’s bedside for Holy Communion on a Wednesday afternoon in December. Their faithful dog, Daisy, was there too. Liz told me that Daisy would often wake her up in the middle of the night when Al needed her.

We all gathered around Al’s bed and I read this same “end of time” passage from Matthew 24. On the way to their home I thought about choosing another passage (something a bit lighter), but I’m glad I stuck with this old Advent theme. I read the story and we talked about it. Al said, “You know, my own life has been like that. We’ve been successful in our careers—very busy and successful, running around doing lots of things. Since I’ve been sick, this time has been a gift to us. I’m sad. We’re sad. But it’s been a gift to focus on God each day, focus on his love for us each day. I have grown so much in my own faith through this illness. I would never have chosen this path for my life, but in some ways it’s been a gift.”

“Keep awake,” says Jesus, not so much a coercive warning, but rather as an invitation to notice the mysteries of this great gift of life. “For you do not know . . . you don’t know on what day your Lord is coming.” Al Barry died three days later. But he was also one of the most fully awake people I’ve ever known.

In a beautiful tribute to his son, Adam, Richard Lischer writes:

There are only a few plots in the world, but every one of them hinges on death. Death is the ultimate sanction. It lends its edge to every tale, whether an action-adventure film or Romeo and Juliet. Everything in the story either anticipates death or responds to it. Pay attention, the author or screenwriter warns, somebody might die. The only mystery is: by what contrivance of plot will it happen or be avoided?2

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I suppose it might be tempting for a preacher to use this Bible story in a manipulative, fearful sort of way. Karl Malden plays a preacher in the old Hayley Mills movie, Pollyanna, who delivers a chandelier-rattling sermon one hot summer Sunday titled “Death Comes Unexpectedly!” with parishioners sweating and squirming in their pews.

With few exceptions, finger-pointing sermons (complete with threats) don’t really help people change all that much. I was in downtown Chicago several years ago, came upon a street preacher with a microphone on Michigan Avenue, had a bit of time, and decided I’d give the guy a listen. I stayed about thirty minutes and was surprised that we actually agreed on many of his concerns. But I also noticed that most people ignored the poor guy—probably because he was yelling at them.

People really do want to change. I recently discovered an Internet website titled ivescrewedup.com, an online confessional where people need only list their age and city of residence. Here are a few confessions: “I confess that I’ve stolen about $15,000 while working for a family member.” Said another, “I am struggling with self-harming, bulimia, and anorexia, but no one has noticed.” And yet another: “I confess that I have had premarital sex repeatedly with multiple partners.”

There’s a lot of darkness in our lives—a huge need for confession, repentance, and forgiveness. It’s easy to conclude that Jesus is yelling at us in this old passage from Matthew. “Shape up while you’ve got time, or else!” But I think that’s missing the point. For Jesus is not an in-your-face sort of Lord here. In fact, he likens himself to a thief who comes in the night. In other words, Jesus refuses to be obvious about his return. He will not appear on Hollywood Squares as a game-show contestant: I’m back. His return will not be announced on the six o’clock news so that we can squeeze him into our busy calendars. Jesus’ return is unscheduled, unexpected, unscripted. He will come like a thief. And why will Jesus come this way? Well, you know why. “You said Tuesday, Jesus? I don’t know. How does Thursday look for you? Can we meet then?” Jesus knows that our meetings with him tend to get postponed for a variety of “compelling” reasons.

As much as anything, this old story is concerned about the dailyness of the Christian life. Jesus wants us to live each day as if it’s truly our last. Not out of fear. But to invite us to true and full “wakefulness” to what this life is for. Jesus does not return to “get” us. He’s already gotten us, as I understand the promise. He got us real good in our baptisms.

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I’ll admit it. Sometimes I do wonder about how I will die and when. But the far more interesting question is how Jesus (alive inside us, his church) invites us now to live. Advent is hands down the season of the church year when the church is most out of step with the surrounding culture. Here’s a little experiment you might try. In the next few days, try taking this Bible story from Matthew to any shopping mall in your town. Find a little bench. Read this story again to yourself. Not out loud, just to yourself. And then look around. Advent is a jarring alternative to the American holidays.

So keep awake. Not because Jesus is out to get you, but because in baptism he’s already gotten you.

For further reflection:

1. Ponder the connection between the words Advent and adventure.

2. Look up the word apocalyptic in a Bible dictionary and discuss how this ancient biblical genre might be rescued from Christian fearmongers.

2. Lischer, Stations of the Heart, 169.