A few years ago I came an apocryphal story in which an American professor of philosophy is visiting Asia where she has immersed herself in her research of eastern religions. She approaches a Japanese scholar and asks him to explain some of the complexities of Shinto and Buddhist belief. The Japanese scholar at first demurs.   But the American persists; and finally the scholar does his best, thoughtfully if a bit reluctantly, to explain the point in question.

The American professor listens carefully, taking copious notes, and then thanks her colleague profusely.   “Now I understand perfectly,” she says, leaning back in her chair.   The Japanese appeared puzzled.   “Really?” he asks quizzically, “You understand now?”   “Yes,” replies the American, “I have pondered this question for years, but your explanation has at last made it absolutely clear to me.”   “Hmmm,” says her Japanese counterpart with a troubled look on his face, “Then I must not have explained it properly.”[i]

When we come to gospel passages such as the one appointed for today, I am reminded of this story…if after this sermon, you understand perfectly what Jesus meant here, then I must not have explained it properly. The best we can hope for, I think, is to connect with it in some way that allows you and me to relate—as disciples to whom Jesus is speaking.

In a nutshell, perhaps we can say this much is true—that the travails of this life can sometimes be overwhelming, and the prospect of getting to the other side of the river without drowning often seems remote at best. It is mid-November, but in the church’s calendar we are at year’s end. Next week we will close out the church year by staking our claim with Christ who will come again as a king with power and great glory. For some six months now, since the Feast of Pentecost, we have been reading Mark’s gospel’s instructions to those who would follow Jesus on the way of discipleship. We have heard the parables, the anecdotes, the tips for how we are to orient ourselves in the world and continue on the journey. Two weeks ago, we celebrated the Feast of All Saints’ and received the promise that we do not have to make our way alone. It is a communal trek.

 

 

And today, we get one more glimpse of the road ahead, and to be honest, it’s not pretty—at least at first glance. The folks in the first century listening to this gospel were keenly aware of the things of which Jesus was speaking. By the time Mark wrote his gospel, the temple had been destroyed by the Romans. This beautiful temple, adorned with stones and gifts dedicated to God, had been laid waste, defiled and burned to the ground. Only one wall of stones would remain—the Wailing Wall, as it is known; the rest was rubble.

 

Now perhaps all this talk of temple worship does not resonate with us. But I know of congregations whose beloved church buildings have been destroyed by fire or tornado, and there is a lot of soul-searching for the identity that can carry them through such a devastating loss. Some manage to survive; others perish as they scatter to the winds in search of something that will replace what no longer exists. How would St. Paul’s fare if this beautiful, holy building burned to the ground tonight? How would we as a community react in the face of such a hardship? Aren’t these the kinds of questions Jesus is asking us—where will you go? Who will you be? And to whom will you turn when the world around us begins to crumble?

 

But, of course, Jesus does not end there—with only the image of suffering and confusion in mind. He offers the assurance of a promise in the face of hardship. We do not have to go frantically looking for God; God will persist with us and we will be inspired with God’s wisdom as we make our way, step by step, if we will only focus on the road ahead and not land in some ditch of despair or diversion to which the sirens of our odyssey are calling us. “Many will come in my name,” Jesus says… “Do not go after them.” The false prophets often are so alluring, especially in the peak of the storm.

 

Being a Christian does not guarantee prosperity in this world. Many preachers, politicians, and business people in our time have claimed as much, that if you are just good enough—just trusting enough in God—then somehow the road will be straightened and gilded with prosperous gifts. But I think such proponents of a “prosperity gospel” are sounding more and more like sirens calling us to our spiritual demise. And Jesus is suggesting that we must help lash one another to the mast of God’s wisdom as we make our way through these troubled waters of life. It is an odyssey.

 

 

So how do we find our way? How do we employ God’s wisdom in this confusing world?

 

I am reminded of an old adage that says when driving at night, you can only see as far as the headlights, but you can make the whole trip home that way. The wisdom is not some possession of ours that once we get it, we have won the game, and we then go home. There is no token of immunity in this life of survivors. It is an odyssey. But how do we find our way?

 

The collect appointed for today is one of my favorites of the entire year. What a wonderful turn of phrase, inspiring and poetic. “Grant us, blessed Lord, so to hear the scriptures, to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life…” Read, mark, learn and inwardly digest them. It is an ongoing process, a daily practice of connection with God…a map of sorts by which we can navigate. But it is also important to resist the temptation to idolatry—Scriptures are not God, anymore than holy buildings are.

 

And to read, mark, learn and inwardly digest them does not mean that we understand exactly how each and every morsel of the scriptures are assimilated into the Body—but that as we chew on the words of wisdom and digest them, as we swallow the significance of the cross, as we digest the mystery of the resurrection, then, in the course of the journey, we will discover the sustenance of the hope of everlasting life.

 

If we understand exactly what the hope of everlasting life means, then I have not explained it properly. But if we have a sense of what it means, and we want to experience it more fully, here and now, then the journey takes on so much more meaning, and the fact that we make it together, in community—well, that’s just gravy. And the best part: the promise of a home waiting for us at the end of the odyssey—where the one who created us, who loves us and has remained steadfastly faithful to us is waiting, expectantly, for us all with open embrace. And for that may God's holy name be praised. Amen.