We begin every church year with an apocalypse story from the Gospels. This year, Matthew warns us “the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” (Matthew 24:36-44) Generally speaking, the apocalypse is not considered a good thing. No one sends out engraved invitations to an apocalypse. No one asks you to put the apocalypse on your calendar. In fact, according to Jesus, no one even knows when it will happen – so don’t expect an alarm, let alone an invitation. You will simply be going about your daily business, and when the apocalypse comes, you will be either taken or left.
We have been taught through generations of dualistic theology to fear the apocalypse. We are surrounded with movies, books, and art that describe the apocalypse as absolute destruction. We don’t have a nuanced understanding of this genre of prophetic literature and so we take its symbolic language and sometimes violent narrative to be predicting the future rather than a metaphoric description of justice for all the injustices we are currently suffering at the hands of others. Apocalyptic writing is a way for the oppressed to invoke a prayer for God’s justice to rain down upon the earth and create a new earth. If you want to know more about how to read apocalyptic texts I suggest you read Walter Wink.
Apocalypse does not actually mean disaster. It is really a Greek word that means an unveiling or revealing of the truth. Apocalypse is a revelation of something valuable from a divine perspective and perhaps a glimpse of the world as it really is. The apocalypse in this original sense is an opportunity to see clearly what is going on. The apocalypse places TRUTH before our eyes by uncovering the truth or improving our focus or removing the distractions.
So, why are apocalyptic predictions so scary and earth-shattering? Why does the revelation of truth come wrapped in stories of darkness and destruction?
As we enter the season of Advent, I’ve been meditating on the gift of darkness. The nights get longer, the days shorter, and very the change in circadian rhythm adjusts the whole attitude of my animal being. Without the endless daylight of summer, I am inclined to be more intentional about my day. Sundown at 4:30pm puts a fence around my ability to fit in one more thing. Limited time inspires me to be more focused and turn my gaze inward. I am encouraged to become reflective through the long stretch of evening. I might complain a bit about the early nightfall, but darkness gives me a new insight into the apocalypse.
In the darkness, I am actually better equipped to “see” what is really important. Under the blazing light of day, everything is visible: the truth and everything else. The truth gets covered up with a thousand beautiful distractions. But in the darkness, the distractions are silenced. Nightfall comes and wipes the slate clean – and all I can see is the flickering candle of truth. The busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and my work is done… then I can finally see God’s mercy, a safe lodging, holy rest, and peace that was there all along, just hidden underneath the excesses of life.
Perhaps, the apocalypse has gotten a bad rap because we are afraid to let night fall on our distractions. We don’t like to let go of the day, melting away all that we thought was so important in order to reveal what God knows to be essential. In the apocalypse we have an experience of loss to endure before we can see the revelation of God’s truth.
Come and sit with me as night falls, in darkness all will be revealed.
