I recently rewatched the 1999 movie The Sixth Sense. I have seen this movie countless times, and I particularly like the scenes from various locations in Philadelphia. If you have not seen this film, I won’t spoil the ending for you, but suffice it to say that it all hinges on a huge twist.
This time when watching the movie, I was watching it with a friend who had never seen it. At every turn in the plot, I was convinced that my friend would figure out the twist at the ending before it actually occurred. Because I was fully aware of the ending, I couldn’t imagine that someone else might not figure it out. For the record, my friend never did.
We all know books or movies like this, ones that are structured tightly around a surprising conclusion. You read or watch them once, and you can never encounter them again in the same way. They almost lose their effectiveness on subsequent viewings or readings. Knowing the ending automatically colors everything that comes before.
Today, as we begin a new liturgical year, we start at the end of a story. In the unfolding of Luke’s Gospel, Jesus’s description of the end of time occurs even before he is put to death. And yet it is written after Jesus’s death and after Jerusalem’s subsequent destruction in 70 A.D. We hear the end of the story, so to speak, before the climax of the Christian narrative ever happens. Luke colors the first part of the story by viewing it through the lens of the ending. How can he do otherwise?
The end of this story culminates in an apocalyptic vision. It’s full of terrible images of natural disasters and cosmic calamities. This ending is about far more than humanity. It is about the entire cosmos itself.
In the midst of these cataclysmic events, the Son of Man comes again, riding on the clouds. There is the very real threat of being caught unawares by this Second Coming, like a trap snapping viciously on its prey.
I imagine that many, if not all, of us are disturbed by these apocalyptic visions. There is something far beyond our understanding or control that instills a deep fear within our hearts. Knowing the ending of this story colors everything from the beginning of the story, and this includes the beginning of the story of our own lives. Jesus is abundantly clear: our redemption is somehow mixed up with these fearful signs at the end of times. And if we’re not ready for it, we will miss redemption itself.
There may be no dramatic plot revelation here, but knowing the story’s conclusion has perhaps spoiled the beginning of the story. And for some, it’s difficult to read the part of the story that leads up to the ending without seeing it through the lens of fear.
Think of it. When the chronology of Jesus’ earthly life begins in a few weeks with the telling of the Christmas story, we can’t help but see it through eyes jaundiced by the apocalyptic vision of the end times. We find ourselves adoring the babe in the manger, but at the back of our minds is an eerie vision. This child will eventually suffer, die, rise from the dead, and sit at God’s right hand in glory. He will come again, and according to what we have just heard in Luke’s Gospel, it will be a frightening time. How can we look at the babe in the manger without a vision of this baby coming in great judgment? When we look at the baby in the manger, do we see him judging us, deciding whether we make it into heaven or not?
And we continue to read this story throughout Jesus’ earthly life, with our vision constantly tinted by images from Luke, chapter 21. Jesus teaches, preaches, and heals, but many reject him. With our apocalyptic glasses on, we know that one day, they will be caught unawares in a feisty trap. The good news of healing and teaching is here intertwined with condemnation.
And on the cross, crucified between two criminals on Calvary, we hear the incredible words from Luke’s account, where Jesus does not judge the criminals, who unlike himself are guilty as charged. We hear Jesus plead for his Father to forgive them, for they do not know what they have done. But is that what we really hear and take away? Or with terrifying apocalyptic visions dancing in our heads, do we only see a crucified Savior who will one day tally up points for both of those criminals and for each of us, weighing our merits and deciding if we’re in or if we’re out?
This is the problem with thinking that we know the end of the story. When we learn what the end times are really like, everything else changes as a result. Our redemption is drawing near, there’s no question about it. But it is something we might view with great terror.
And yet, I wonder if this is the only way to read this story. We can’t help but know the ending. We know how this story ends, not just with Jesus’s death but with the end of all time. Is there any other way to read this story from the beginning without being a hostage to fear?
I believe there is. This redemption that is at the heart of Jesus’s life and ministry is too often colored by the fear of eternal judgment from a perspective of those who, in the ending of the story, realized too late what was happening. The terror of those who were unprepared is perhaps mistakenly seen as the real ending of the story. But being surprised by the ending is not yet a foregone conclusion, is it?
At the heart of this story of redemption is a glorious freedom motivated purely by love. And it might be that we have lost a real appreciation of this wondrous, loving freedom because we have heard an ending of the story focused on being late to the party. But right here, right now, the story hasn’t ended yet, has it? So, could we start again from the beginning?
When we start again from the beginning of this story, it’s true that we know the ending, but this ending is different from the one we usually focus on.
In the beginning of this story, the eternal Word was there when all things came into being. In this beginning, God created us out of love and gave us the freedom to choose between good and evil because he knew that we could only experience love if we were free. And even as humankind rebelled against the order which paradoxically provided such great freedom, God continued to draw humankind back into intimate relationship. There is judgment in this part of the story, but it is a medicine for our salvation, not condemnation. It is what we experience when we turn our backs on God. This is the judgment that is meant to help us find true life.
As the story continues, when human nature became so utterly obstinate, when something much more obvious than before was needed to invite humanity into salvation, God sent the eternal Word into the world as a tiny baby who experienced the vicissitudes of human life, not to bring us condemnation and shame but to offer us the gift of remarkable freedom. This Jesus is the one who wrote in the sand before the woman caught in the act of adultery, challenging her accusers to throw the first stone if they were themselves without sin. This Jesus loved us in spite of our sin. He chose to see his image within us rather than define us by our sins.
And the ending of this version of the story reminds us that Jesus died so we might be free. He died because the world could not contain his truth, but he uttered that truth into fleshly existence through both his life and his words. In Jesus’s passion and death, we were intended to be brought from slavery into freedom, not from slavery into eternal fear. In this ending of the story, Jesus brings us from bondage into the freedom of eternal life.
Yes, the real ending of this story is our redemption. It is our freedom from captivity to sin and death, and it is already drawing near. It is nigh upon us. It comes to us on the clouds, but not like some alien spaceship ready to attack us and trap us into slavery once again. No, this redemption is a release from fear, and it comes to set us free. This is the real ending of the story.
And precisely because we know this ending, we can choose to act not out of fear but out of joyful expectation. We can lift our heads and stand up straight, confident and ready to greet our salvation. If we let Christ constantly judge our actions, all the time and in every place, it is a gift. Our lives will be one extended anticipation of the most amazing end to any story. We will live eternally with God. And Christ’s daily judgment in our lives will not be to condemn us or shame us into huddled fear. It will be an invitation to stand tall and welcome eternal life.
Because this we know: Jesus is coming on the clouds. He is drawing near. He is coming soon. We know the real ending of the story. And that is such wonderful news.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The First Sunday of Advent
November 28, 2021