Hebrews 10.11-14, 19-25
Mark 13.1-8
The week before last, on the day of the US Presidential election, Fiona Hill, the Chancellor of Durham University, sat in conversation with 600 people in the cathedral, 150 of them local sixth formers. As you know, Dr Hill is from Bishop Auckland, the daughter of a miner, who became National Security Advisor to three US Presidents. She gave one of the most powerful testimonies at Donald Trump’s impeachment in 2019. That afternoon, sitting here in the cathedral, we didn’t yet know the outcome of the US Presidential election. The audience wanted to know what a second Trump presidency would be like. What would be its significance for the global economy and international relations – for Ukraine, the Middle East, relations with China? Could this be momentous?
Events like Trump’s political comeback and the recent appointment of very controversial figures to his government tend to dominate our news and become the subject of debate and conversation. We rightly want some perspective on what’s going on. What’s going to happen? What does this mean for Europe and NATO, for the future of a global vaccine programme? In a world blighted by wars and rumours of wars, how will US foreign policy and an unpredictable Trump presidency affect Ukraine or the Middle East? These are big, global events. What does it all mean?
In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus talks to his disciples about these big and overwhelming events as they sit quietly together on the Mount of Olives overlooking the Temple in Jerusalem. ‘When you hear of wars and rumours of wars,’ says Jesus, ‘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…This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.’ The disciples had just left the Temple and they talked of how solid and dominant it seemed. The stones were so huge, some of them 100 tonnes in weight. Surely this could never be shaken. Surely it would not pass away. But only a generation later, in 70AD, the Temple would be destroyed in war with the Romans, and all that remains of it today is the western wall. That was surely a momentous event.
Christians have, of course, faced countless momentous events throughout history. The fall of the Roman empire was thought to be the defining moment of history, as was the French Revolution in 1789, the Russian Revolution in 1917, and the two World Wars of the last century. For some Jewish thinkers, the holocaust of the Second World War was the defining moment after which all words are empty. There is, literally, nothing that can be said following the industrialised murder of 6 million people. Wars and rumours of wars abound.
In terms of our Christian faith, we have a particular perspective on these big and momentous events. Of course, many of these events define an era or form the life experience of generations. They dominate. But there is only one historical event in the light of which we interpret the whole of human history, and that is the event of the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Whilst part of history, the event of Christ is not just another item in the history books of the world. That’s why endless debates about the historicity of the life of Christ – who was the historical Jesus and did he really rise from the dead? – whilst important in many ways, these debates don’t really get to the heart of the matter. Why? Because they turn the crucifixion and resurrection into just another happening in history. Instead, scripture tells us that Christ defines history from within history. But what does that mean? The crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus announce God’s judgement on human history. In the end, Christ tells us what history means. That judgement of God is not condemnation and rejection of sinful humanity. God’s judgement is forgiveness, reconciliation, and peace. The violence and wars of the world are not our ultimate, defining story. Jesus Christ is our defining story. Jesus Christ is Lord.
This last week saw another momentous event very close to home, the resignation of the Archbishop of Canterbury following the publication of the Makin review. Philip wrote to the Cathedral community this week about this and if you haven't read his letter, I encourage you do so. The Church, of course, is reminded again that our attention and responsibility lie first and above all else with the victims and survivors of abuse. At the same time, there is and will be much soul-searching and penitence within the Church as a whole. How do we place the tragedy of abuse and our failures to respond appropriately within the story of Jesus Christ? How does Christ help us to understand this painful and momentous event? One response might be to say triumphantly “Jesus is Lord!”, as if that claim dismisses the tragedy of abuse and our failure to confront it. No. The story of Christ does not triumphantly dismiss our pain and failings, because at the heart of Christ’s story is the crucifixion. That’s where all our pain and failings are made visible in the body of the Son of God on the cross. They’re not erased or ignored. They are made more visible as Jesus is raised up. But as they are made visible, so too the love and mercy of God are made yet more visible, not to dismiss our pain and failings, but to redeem them.
As the Church comes to terms with the events of the last week, there will be angry words. We’ll want accountability, of course, but we’ll also want to blame – that’s a natural human response. We need to find our hope and confidence not in ourselves and our institutional capacities, but first in the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the love and mercy of God. That must give us confidence to hear the tragic stories of survivors, to see that pain borne by Christ and made visible on the cross, and to look for the love and mercy of God made yet more visible. The author of the letter to the Hebrews, in today’s first reading, writes of this kind of confidence in God: ‘Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together…but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.’ God is faithful. That’s an oft-repeated statement in the earliest letters of the New Testament, the earliest pieces of Christian literature. God is faithful. In the face of big, overwhelming and sometimes tragic events, God is faithful. The final judgement upon history is peace with God and with one another. We continue to look for and strive for the arrival of that Kingdom where God’s peace, which passes our all our understanding, knows no end.