Advent 1 - Matthew 24: 36-44

No matter how many times we’ve heard these verses, there’s still something shocking in hearing Jesus. God incarnate, saying the words ‘I don’t know’.

We just don’t expect to find those words on his lips, and to be honest, they leave us a little uneasy, here at the start of Advent.

By nature, when it comes to what’s important, we want to be sure about things.

If your doctor studies your x-rays and your bloods and then shrugs her shoulders and says ‘To be honest, I don’t really have a clue what’s going on here,’ it doesn’t inspire confidence.

If you’ve had the electrician in and as he’s leaving he says ‘I think that should be all right- but just keep your fingers crossed’ it’s not exactly what you want to hear.

We like our people in the know to be in the know! And we judge their competence by it.

And maybe that’s why in a lifetime of listening to politicians I don’t think I’ve ever heard one of them say the simple words ‘I don’t know’ in response to a straight question. Experience suggests it’s wise to be wary of people who always have an answer for everything.

Well let me set you a better example this morning by freely admitting to just one small corner of my ignorance.

The first Sunday in Advent always takes us into the passages in the gospels which focus on the end times, or the second coming, or whatever you want to call it. And I have to confess that even after years of familiarity with those passages, I’m still not entirely sure what they mean.

Are they literal or metaphorical?  Is all that they talk about in the future, or is it pointing to the cataclysmic destruction of Jerusalem and its temple in AD70?  Chances are, it’s probably both – that’s certainly what the commentaries suggest. But separating out all the different strands and arguments is a bit like untangling several different sets of Christmas tree lights. In the dark. With thick gloves on. It’s not long before you’re asking yourself if it’s worth all the hassle!

Now if you go and Google, or visit churches of a different flavour, you will quickly find people who seem to be in the know and are only too eager to spell it all out for you with wide eyed enthusiasm. They’ll bombard you with obscure Old Testament references and wave chronologies and timetables under your nose as though it were all crystal clear.

But you know what – for all their certainty, I’m pretty sure they’re guessing too. They’re just not prepared to admit it.

So in a way, I actually find it quite refreshing that when Jesus is asked the Advent question – ‘When is God coming? When will all of this happen” - and his honest response is ‘I don’t know’.

That admission of unknowing was a considerable embarrassment to the early church, to the degree that some early manuscripts of Matthew’s gospel actually leave out the bit about the Son of Man not knowing the day or the hour.

But most leave it in, which is – I think – a good thing for us. It’s good to know we’re not alone in our unknowing. Because if there’s one question the church has been asking for generations, it’s this one – When is God coming? when is everything going to be straightened out?

And that’s not an abstract theological question. It’s a cry of the heart.

When we deal with crises and disappointments in life and look for God’s help and deliverance. Or when we look at the broader canvas of life, and despair of a world that seems incapable of living in peace or bringing justice, we find ourselves asking ‘When is God coming? When is everything going to be straightened out?” It’s the perennial question of humankind, and especially the faithful.

You’ll remember Mary and Martha – friends of Jesus – and their brother Lazarus who had died. Do you remember what both sisters said to Jesus when he came to the village and made his way through the mourners to see them? “Lord, if you had been here, our brother would not have died”. In other words ‘where were you?” Where were you, when we needed you?”

And that’s our question - Where are you God? When are you coming?

We want an answer. And Jesus says ‘I don’t know’.

But I do know this. When God comes, it will happen suddenly and unexpectedly.

People will be going about their everyday lives. Two men will be working in the fields. One will be taken, the other one left. Two women will be grinding flour, one will be taken and the other one left.

When God comes, as the Son of Man, it will be like a thief in the night.  You won’t get an email confirming a burglary appointment.  There won’t be a knock on the door and a five minute warning. It’ll just happen.

All Jesus can say about ‘when’ is that it’s going to be sudden and unexpected. And some people are going to be ready for it, and others will be caught unawares.

And how will he come? Well again, there’s no easy answer to that. We can’t place those kind of limits on God. It’s up to God how he makes himself known.

To Abraham and Sarah God came in the form of three visitors they shared a meal with. It was only afterwards they realised who they’d been entertaining.

To Moses God flared up in a bush that burned but wasn’t consumed , kindling hope in the heart of a man who thought his life was already over in early middle age.

To Samuel, just a young boy, he came as a voice that seemed familiar and unfamiliar at one and the same time. Three times he mistook it for the voice of Eli, the old priest he worked with. But on the fourth occasion, he understood and made his response.

To the disciples in the boat, thrown around on a stormy sea, he came on the waves in the dead of night, looking for all the world like a ghost. It was only when he spoke that their terror died down and they knew who was with them.

Or think of Mary in the garden, beside herself at the thought that someone had stolen Jesus’ body away.  She lay there sobbing her heart out til a shadow fell over her in the morning sun, and she heard her name spoken on lips she thought had been stilled forever.

When will God come? How will he come?

We don’t know. We can’t say.

But of this we can be sure. He will come.

He will come, as he’s promised, at the end of days – to bring justice, to set things right once and for all. To finish God’s work of creation. And every eye will see him, the Scriptures say; and every knee will bow before him. The child born in such ignominy will be seen again as a King in glory.

But in the meantime, he also comes to us now, in ways that are more subtle and that need discernment.

Only Saul saw the divine light on the road to Damascus. His travelling companions didn’t see a thing. Only Christ heard his Father’s voice as he rose from the waters of baptism. The others thought it thundered. Looked to the skies for rain.

In the present, God often comes to us in the hidden, in the small, in the mundane and that’s why the perennial cry of Advent is ‘Wake up! Pay attention! Be ready – for you do not know how and when God will visit you.”

But what does it mean to be ready?

Well the next few chapters of Matthew, Jesus spells that out for us, and it’s not about looking for signs and portents, working on chronologies, or selling all your stuff and going to live on a mountainside awaiting the end of the world.

Being ready, simply means being about the work God has already given us to do!

He tells a parable about ten young women going to a wedding banquet – five of them plan ahead because they’re thoughtful, and bring oil for their lamps; the other five tag along thoughtlessly without making any preparations and then realise too late they’ve no oil and they can’t get into the party. They’re not ready.

Don’t live your life thoughtlessly, Jesus is saying. Think about your priorities. Think about where your time’s going. Think about what you really value in life. Make room for God.

He tells a parable about a man who entrusts some money to his servants before going away on a trip. Two of them invest it wisely and make more money, one just buries it in the ground because he’s scared to lose it. And he’s the one who gets an earful when his master returns.

Don’t be cowardly, Jesus is saying. You’ve been given gifts to use in God’s service – gifts to benefit others. Make sure you use them!

And he tells a parable about the end of days, when there will be a reckoning for how we’ve lived. It’s known as the parable of the sheep and the goats. Those who saw and responded to need – who shared their resources and their time and their presence are blessed, while those who didn’t see the need, or didn’t care about it, are condemned.

Don’t think only of yourself, Jesus is saying. When you look after the poor, the hungry, the sick, the stranger, the prisoners, you’re looking after me, even If you don’t realise it.

Through these stories, Jesus is teaching us that getting ready for the coming of God isn’t about doing new and extraordinary things.

It’s being aware of God as you go about your ordinary life. As you prioritise, as you use your gifts, as you share the things you’ve been blessed with. If you do that, you will be ready for his Advent.

How does that sit with you this Christmas, I wonder?

We’re all so busy at this time of year. There’s a list of things to do as long as your arm and  most of us are run ragged by the time we get to Mid December!  Are we so busy getting reading for Christmas we forget to get ready for Christ? Do we somehow contrive to miss him, in the very season that bears his name?

As we go about the things we have to do, are we taking everything at surface value, or are we willing to look a little deeper and embrace the possibility that God might be asking us to minister his grace as we deal with that tired looking sales assistant, or that difficult set of circumstances, or that chance encounter with an old friend.

Or is life a challenge just now? Are things so dark and difficult that God, at best, is an afterthought? Dwarfed beside the reality or the complexity of the things you’re trying to deal with? Can you allow yourself enough breathing space to pause and remember that there’s no place on this earth, no situation in life, where God cannot and does not come to sit with his people – bringing his light and his life?

When will God come? How will he come?

Even Jesus couldn’t answer those questions.

But of this he was sure; and we can be too.

In his own way, and in his own time, God will come.

May we be ready to meet him when he does.

Inspired by a sermon by Fred Craddock