Mark 13:1-8 'You will hear of wars and rumours of wars...'
I’ve just finished reading a
novel by William Golding (Lord of the
Flies) called The Spire.
It is the story of a
Cathedral Dean in the mediaeval times who has a vision, apparently from God, to
build a magnificent 400 foot spire on top of the Cathedral.
The fictional cathedral is
thought to be modeled on Salisbury, which boasts the tallest Cathedral spire in
England.
In the novel, Dean Jocelyn is
transfixed by this calling – he thinks the spire will bring
glory to God; it will be a visual sign for miles around that the kingdom of God
is ultimate and reigns over all.
Unfortunately for Jocelyn,
and for everyone else, it gradually becomes clear that the present Cathedral is
resting on foundations which will not support the weight of the planned spire.
The Master Builder, Roger,
tries to tell Jocelyn this but Jocelyn interprets it as resistance to the heavenly
vision.
Faith alone will be enough to
secure the spire, the completion of which will represent a triumph of faith
over adversity.
As the novel unfolds, we get
the longest and most detailed description of a church building project that is
probably recorded anywhere in fiction.
It’s all about joists and
pulleys and octagons and ropes and scaffolding and geometry in decidedly
pre-technology days.
It quite outclasses even the
paperwork we have had to complete for our faculty application to install phase
B heating in our church (which, by the way, happily begins tomorrow morning!)
The rest of the novel unfolds
with melodramatic intensity as Jocelyn becomes unhealthily consumed with his
passion for the spire and the Master Builder turns to drink to alleviate the
stress of building a huge structure that the foundations cannot support.
By the end of the novel, Jocelyn
is a ruined man, disgraced amongst fellow clergy, mentally unstable and living
in constant fear of the imminent collapse of the spire.
It is a gloomy but salutary tale about what happens when we put all our faith in earthly projects to shore
up our faith in the divine.
Jesus had a run in with the
Jews of his day over the Temple in Jerusalem.
This incredible building had
been built on the ruins of Solomon’s Temple, by Nehemiah and the returning exiles, about 350 years before the time of Jesus and was extensively
renovated by King Herod in
about 11 BC.
With some stones weighing up
to 400 tonnes each, it was capable of accommodating up to a million people.
In Jesus’ day it symbolized everything
that was important to the Jews about their religious heritage, their identity
as God’s people who were now oppressed, and their determination to keep their
religion pure.
We know that Jesus went in
and out of the Temple like any other observant Jew.
One day as he comes out, one
of his disciples points out the fabric of the building with great pride.
‘Look, Teacher; what large
stones and what large buildings!’
Now I don’t know about you
but I do often wonder to what extent the things Jesus said made his disciples
cringe.
It would have been best for
everyone perhaps, if at this point, Jesus had replied: ‘Yes, aren't they
wonderful; we’re so blessed to have this Temple for our worship. We’re so
grateful to Herod for all his renovations. Praise God for our architectural
heritage.’
Unfortunately, he immediately
replied with apocalyptic words, dire words about the Temple's destruction which, I imagine,
would have been taken rather badly:
‘Not one stone will be left
here upon another. All will be thrown down.’
You can imagine the awkward silence
afterwards.
Not one mention of the beauty
and significance of the building.
Not one mention of how important
it was for the Jews to preserve it as a sign of their being set apart by God.
Not one acknowledgement that
faith in God was in any way bound up with a religious building.
We imagine them all walking
off in silence looking awkwardly at each other as they came down the steps,
thinking to themselves, ‘What on earth was all that about?’
We know his words went down
badly with the authorities because they come back up at his trial:
‘This fellow said ‘I am able
to destroy the Temple of God and rebuild it in three days.’’
Of course it’s a catastrophic
misreading of Jesus’ words: they can only think literally and see their
building and their religion threatened.
As for his disciples, whether
upset, angry, or just plain puzzled, they needed to continue this conversation urgently
and so they come to him later that evening.
They go to the Mount of
Olives, a place where you can be still and ponder the significance of events
and conversations that have happened down in the busy city.
On this hillside within sight
of the Temple they sit and ask Jesus about his enigmatic words: ‘Tell us when
this will be and what will be the sign that all these things are to be
accomplished?’
As Jews they would not have
been strangers to the apocalyptic – the idea that God will bring history to a
final, even sudden conclusion.
They had the book of Daniel –
our Lectionary is working through it at the moment.
Daniel is a remarkable book
about the things that will happen at the end of time, things that will usher in
the everlasting kingdom of God.
It tells of the rise and fall
of kingdoms and of the everlasting nature of the kingdom of God.
The apocalyptic approach to
history – the idea that things will come to an abrupt and terrifying end - is
one that is perhaps easier for mankind to grasp than it used to be, as we
survey our ecological ruination of the earth.
Of course Jesus’ answer to
the disciples’ question doesn't mention the temple at this point at all but jumps
to the end times, which will be characterized by false Messiahs, wars,
earthquakes and famine.
You don’t have to be a
believer in the bible to see that a lot of this is happening already.
These are the beginning of
birth pangs.
Jesus’ earlier prediction
about the Temple came true of course with the destruction of Jerusalem by the
Roman army.
The Roman Generals apparently
sat surveying the incredible building and hesitating slightly before destroying
it, brick by brick, in AD 70.
The temple which was destroyed
and built again after three days was, of course, the temple of Jesus’ own body.
And here we have the heart of
what all this means for us today.
Countless builders,
architects and Christian visionaries have given us a legacy of church buildings
which dot the skyline throughout Europe, and all in their own way have
testified to the greatness and the majesty of God’s own kingdom – a kingdom
which cannot be destroyed.
This is an encouraging message
which persecuted Christians need to hear again and again, not to mention any of
us who have ever felt marginalized or irrelevant in society for continuing to
hold onto an alternative way of living – kingdom living.
We are not to be like Dean Jocelyn in The Spire, who mistook the bricks and mortar for the everlasting kingdom.
When we are stripped of
bricks and mortar, we remember that our faith is in a risen saviour who gave
his own body to death on a cross and who lives by his spirit in men, women and
children who follow him today.
Buildings can house our
memories and give us sacred space in which to pray, but they cannot be the living stones – that is up to us.
As we come near to the season
of Advent we remember, as did Daniel in Exile, that all the kingdoms of this world will
eventually come to nothing – only the everlasting Kingdom of God’s Messiah will
be eternal.
As members of Christ’s own body, let us put our hope in that kingdom and
strive to bring in that part of it which God calls us to be locally
involved in, together here where we live.
Amen.
