Homily for the Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

On Friday the new movie ‘2012’ was released – and it’s had a big opening weekend, earning some $225 million in ticket sales. But I can tell you that I will definitely not be seeing it. I’m simply done seeing movies about the end of the world! It seems like we’ve had a real proliferation of these apocalyptic movies recently, and on top of being bored by them at this point, I’m also a New Yorker – so I’m sick and tired of watching my hometown get destroyed by some Hollywood nerd’s computer graphics.

But here we are, just a week away from the end of one Liturgical Year and the beginning of a new one with the Advent season, and we’re faced with apocalyptic readings at Mass – Scriptural readings that have to do with the end of the world; the end of time.

And just like in the movies, these apocalyptic Biblical readings are filled with terrible images of strife, distress, war and suffering: the sun and moon darkened, stars falling from the skies, heaven and earth shaken by powerful earthquakes.

But that’s about where the similarities end, actually. In the movies, the scenes of the collapse and destruction of our modern civilization are meant to inspire feelings of fear, helplessness and loss. But the scenes foretold in the Scriptures of both the Old and New Testaments were written with quite a different intention: they were meant to inspire in the believer, the virtues of faith, hope, and even joy.

For our Jewish brothers and sisters before us and now for all Christians as well, God is not a distant god, who created the world and has let in spin on its own ever since. He is understood as being at work in the world, constantly cleansing and purifying it, restoring it and making it new.

So the apocalyptic readings of Scripture aren’t meant to be taken literally, first of all – and second, they’re certainly not meant to inspire fear. They’re meant to inspire hope, because they are yet another depiction of how God brings about a new order, a glorious kingdom.

Think of the Great Flood when God drowned sin and made a new covenant with Noah. Think of the Exodus when God battled for Israel and defeated slavery and then gave Israel the Promised Land through the waters of the Red Sea. Think of Jesus doing verbal battle with the Pharisees and Scribes, and physically chasing the moneychangers from the Temple.

In all of these examples, throughout salvation history, God has fought the forces of sin and the power of darkness. And yes, for Him to establish a new order, means that the old order, and the former kingdom must pass away. As in all battles, this cosmic battle involves some terrible strife and distress . . . transitions are often painful.

If we think about it, we feel the effects of this battle every day, in our own lives. We all battle with sin and failure in our lives, and endure the many other trials of life. We struggle to do the thing that we know is right, that we know will make us the better person we want to be, because that thing is hard and demands something of us.

Or we worry that we are always struggling with the same sins – never feeling like we’re making the progress we long to make. Still, we are constantly being made anew – we are in the process of becoming who God calls us to be and He is at work is us. These are the growing pains that accompany all rebirth; the labor pains that come before all new life.

So that we don’t become discouraged or fearful about this process, we need to pay attention to the rest of tonight’s readings, and not get stuck on the shock and awe of their apocalyptic scenes. Jesus says in tonight’s Gospel: “After those days of tribulation, they will see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory, and he will send out his angels to gather His elect.”

And in the Book of Daniel we hear: “the wise shall shine brightly like the splendor of the firmament and those who lead the many to justice shall be like the stars forever.”

Friends, the point of reading these apocalyptic stories with the eyes of faith – unlike those Hollywood versions – is that we already know how the story ends! We know the end result of all this struggle and strife. We know who wins the battle and we know the good things God has planned to make of us.

When Jesus is nailed to the cross, He takes all of the evil and corruption, and sin and darkness and suffering of this world, and He absorbs it. He takes it upon Himself. Then in death He descends into Hell and battles with these forces of evil, and on the third day when He rises from the dead, He has conquered them all!

In the Death and Resurrection of Jesus, the world has been cleansed once and for all, and a new world has begun: a world where love really is stronger, and life really is more powerful than any sin or death or suffering.

That’s how these readings fill us with hope and faith and yes, even joy.
It’s true: this world is indeed ending – but it’s no cause for fear or trembling. It’s actually a cause for great joy. For with it ends all sin and suffering – and the world that replaces it is one of mercy and love.

Brothers and sisters, every time we gather for the Eucharist, Christ’s suffering and death is re-presented here on this altar: that cosmic battle by which our sin and death is defeated. And every time we gather for the Eucharist, we participate in the Liturgy of Heaven: that new world that is, even now, dawning in our midst. And so, as people of faith, we hope and pray that grace will come and this world will soon pass away – and until that day, we eat of the Lord’s Body and drink of His Blood and in them enjoy a foretaste of the world without end that is to come.