Mark 13:1-31 · Signs of the End of the Age
When The Fat Lady Sings
Mark 13:1-31
Sermon
by Steven E. Albertin
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That great twentieth century prophet of Yankee Stadium, Yogi Berra, said it well when describing the uncertainty of any athletic contest: "It ain't over 'til it's over." Until that last fly ball is caught or strike is called or ground ball is thrown to first base and the last out is made, the game is not over. Anything can happen. And more often than not it has. Everyone has a story about dramatic comebacks in the bottom half of the ninth inning. I suppose that is why Red Auerbach, the former great coach of the Boston Celtics, used to irritate so many of his opponents when he would lean back and light up that huge cigar. It was Red's way of announcing his confidence. Even though there would be time left on the clock, he was sure that the game was as good as over and his Celtics would win. As he leaned back puffing on his cigar even while the players still raced up and down the court, he knew it was over. Such arrogance piqued his opponents and delighted his fans.

I think it originated in some eastern ballpark a generation or so ago. I'm not sure of its exact origins. You still see fans expressing the sentiment today on large banners and posters which they love to flash for the television cameras. It expresses the eternal optimism of sports fans who are unwilling to give up until the last out is made or the clock has finally run out: "It's not over until the fat lady sings." And the fat lady hasn't sung. Therefore there is still hope. Their team can still pull it out. Of course, the same phrase is reversed by the team whose fans are confident that victory is theirs and want to rub it in to the opposition: "The fat lady has started to sing."

When the last out is made and the final buzzer sounds, it's over. "The fat lady sings." There is no changing what has happened. The game gets chalked up as a win or loss. There is a sense of finality to an athletic contest. There are clear winners and losers. When it's over, it's over. I suppose that is one of the things that makes athletic contests so appealing. There is a sense of finality, a sense of clarity about them. When the NCAA champ is crowned, when the Super Bowl is over, when the World Series is finished, there is no question about who is the best. It's over. Final. Complete. Finished. There is a winner and there is a loser. So much in life lacks this sense of finality. Few things ever come to closure. It always gets dragged out until tomorrow. There are always shades of gray and little that is black and white. Questions always remain unanswered. Life is filled with ambiguity. It gets frustrating. We wish that someone would draw the line. We wish that someone would settle the score. We wish that someone would set things right. We wonder if this will all ever come to an end or if life is an endless circle, eternally spinning with no sense of direction, the same things happening over and over again, something without beginning and without end. Maybe the fat lady will never sing.

The universe seems to have been around for billions of years. It could be around for billions more years. These numbers are mind-numbing when you think that humans have only been recording history for five or six thousand years. I remember a conversation I had with my father many years ago. I must have been a small child who was shocked by the cruel treatment I had received from my friends. He reminded me how I shouldn't be surprised. People are sinners. The more things change, the more they stay the same, when it comes to human nature. "There is nothing new under the sun."

Perhaps that is why Jesus' words in today's Gospel seem so unreal, almost farfetched. Almost 2,000 years ago Jesus spoke graphically of the end of the world. The universe will literally fall apart and he will return riding on the clouds in all of his glory for the final judgment. He will finally set things right. The bad guys will finally get what they had coming to them. The good guys, here called "the elect," will finally get saved. Finally, at last, there will be some closure on human history. Finally, the last out will be made and the final buzzer will sound. Finally, there will be clear winners and losers. Finally, the fat lady will sing!

But that was 2,000 years ago. We are still waiting. I can just hear Yogi Berra reminding us, "It's not over 'til it's over." Most of us go on living our lives as if the end will never come. There will always be a tomorrow. If anyone seriously thinks that the end is coming or that the end is near, then we are ready to call the men in the white coats to take them to the nearest psychiatric hospital. People who take seriously Jesus' words in today's Gospel, who believe that the end is near, who warn us of the impending judgment of the world, are either ignored or ridiculed as a bunch of religious fanatics. When we think of people who have a vivid sense of the end of the world, we think of people like Jim Jones or Ted Kaczynski or some survivalist sect in the wilderness of Montana stockpiling weapons for the impending day of doom or some weird religious commune in which everyone commits suicide in order to be saved before Halley's Comet or some other intergalactic missile crashes into the earth. In other words, when it comes to the words like today's Gospel, either Jesus was mistaken about the end of the world or he was talking about something else. Either way, we along with the rest of the world go on living our lives as if the fat lady will never sing.

But like that pesky fly who keeps buzzing in the bedroom and disturbing our nap, there always seem to be those interruptions, these disturbing surprises that jolt us of our routines, reminding us that our lives will not go on forever, that there very may well be that day when the fat lady sings.

That lump in your breast, the blood in the toilet bowl, the shortness of breath, the sagging muscles and graying hair, they all remind us that the end is getting closer. The cosmos may not be falling apart but our lives will one day fall apart. There is nothing we can do about that. A friend of mine once said, "Life is dangerous. It can kill you." And eventually it does. No one gets out alive! And it may not just be our health. All too often I have seen people who are in the pink of health but whose world and universe are literally falling apart. A wife is devastated when her husband one day announces that he is filing for divorce. He has fallen in love with someone else. The high school football team has been working hard for months to win the big game against their archrival, but they lose. They have failed. And to those players, slouching on the bench, some with tears washing the mud off their cheeks, it is the end of the world. More than once I have seen middle-aged men, who seem to have had the world by the tail and were on top of their careers, reduced to blubbering shadows of themselves, egos destroyed, haunted by self-doubt, devastated, because they had become another casualty of the latest corporate merger. For them the fat lady has sung.

For a modern and enlightened world that doesn't believe that there will ever be an end, we do an awful lot of worrying about the end. The millennium is approaching and fears about the Y2K problem, global warming, and nuclear terrorism are popping up all over the place. The future seems to stand or fall on the basis of what Alan Greenspan utters or on the forecasts of the latest stock market analyst. Some people say their prayers before they go to sleep at night. Others won't close their eyes until they have consulted their bedside astrologer. Late night television is filled with the testimonials of those whose lives have been given new hope and direction because they have had a psychic reading of their future.

It may not be over until the fat lady sings. But the world is convinced that one day she will sing and it had better be ready.

Jesus' vivid description of the last day in today's Gospel may at first glance seem fantastic and farfetched. But upon further review, it may not seem as fantastic and farfetched as we had thought. Whether the fat lady sings at our next breath or next hour or next week or next month or next year or next century or next millennium, it ultimately doesn't make all that much difference to you and me. Whether the cosmos or just our personal lives go up in flames, it doesn't make any difference. The point is this: we are afraid that we won't be ready when the fat lady sings.

It should come as no surprise then that Jesus' disciples and friends are constantly questioning him about when that time will arrive. They want to know when the fat lady will sing. But Jesus steadfastly resists giving them any kind of timetable. When he does speak of the signs of the end, the signs are so vague and general that they are of no use. Any attempt to figure out a timetable for the last day, whether on the basis of Jesus' words or the bizarre imagery of the Book of Revelation, is futile. As Jesus reminds us in today's Gospel, not even he knows when the fat lady will sing. Only the Father knows. The question is not if the fat lady will sing. The question is when she will sing.

If that is the case, then why does Jesus hint that these things will happen within the lifetime of the current generation? He may not know the exact minute and hour, but he does have a general sense of its nearness. And it's definitely not hundreds of years off in the distant future. The same could be said for Saint Paul and many of the early Christians. At one point they too believed that Jesus was going to return and bring down the curtain on history in their lifetime. But after 2,000 years it still hasn't happened. No wonder we wonder if the fat lady will ever sing.

Some scholars have argued that Jesus wasn't really mistaken. We just have failed to understand him. Jesus wasn't referring to the end of the world but to the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple in 70 A.D. That experience was disastrous for the Jewish people. For them it was the ending of their world and everything in which they believed.

But such an interpretation still doesn't take Jesus' words at face value. It assumes that Jesus' talk about the end of the world has meaning for individuals and their personal lives but says nothing about the end of the cosmos and the judgment of the universe. In other words, the world may have ended for the Jews of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. Our world might come to an end when we breathe our last, whenever that is, but the universe goes on. The stars keep burning, the planets rotating. The galaxies keep expanding. Life goes on infinitely, forever. Nothing really changes. Maybe my father was right. "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

It is tempting to believe this way. I suspect that this is the way many of us try to make sense of the universe. But it is wrong. It is the perspective of unfaith. It is the resignation of someone who no longer trusts the promises of God.

Jesus literally meant what he said. It was no metaphor or figure of speech. He did not intend to mean something other than what he actually said. Jesus expected the end to come in "this generation." And it did.

If the Last Day, the end of the world, means the final and ultimate judgment of the whole universe, then that has already happened. It happened when Jesus was nailed to the cross, when he suffered and died. It happened when Jesus was raised from the dead three days later. It happened when Jesus was ascended into heaven to take his seat at the right hand of the Father. This is the incredible message of the gospel. God was in Jesus Christ reconciling the world to himself. God was in Jesus Christ executing his final judgment on the world. And because Jesus trusted the promises of his Father, even unto his death, he was raised from the dead.

The Church has this wonderful message to announce to the world: Because of what Jesus Christ did, God has executed his final judgment on the world. Because of Jesus, we are acquitted of our sin. Because of Jesus we are forgiven, set free from the powers of death and evil and granted eternal life.

But that message remains "hidden" in the simple words, humble sacraments, and ordinary deeds of compassion carried out in the church. That message is promised now to be believed by faith against the appearances of a world where it seems that the endless cycle of sin and death will continue forever. What now remains hidden, what now is believed by faith and not by sight, will one day, on the Last Day, be revealed to all. Then it will be clear to all, even to those who have chosen not to believe, that Jesus was who he claimed to be. Then it will be clear to all in the heavens above and on the earth below that Jesus was right. God is gracious and merciful. God can be trusted. God will keep his promises to those who have trusted him.

On that day not only will our lives be different, but also life will be different for the entire cosmos. The universe as we have known it will come to end. And there will be a new heaven and a new earth. On that day all will be set right. On that day there will be no longer any doubts or questions. It will be clear to all. The fat lady has begun to sing. It's over.

In the meantime, we live in a world marked by a sense of the already but not yet. By faith we trust that our final destiny has already been determined for us in Jesus Christ. But the final arrival of that fate has not yet come. So, we live "between the times," the time of our personal salvation and the time of the salvation of the universe.

It is like being awake during those precious few minutes before dawn. The sky is still dark, but you are confident that the sun's first rays will eventually begin coming over the horizon. You are confident that in the next hour a new day will finally come. And there is nothing that can change that.

It is like being present at the moment of childbirth. Despite the pain, the parents live with the certain hope that new birth, new life, a new beginning is about to happen. It is like that fig tree to which Jesus refers in today's Gospel. It may be the dead of winter, but the signs of new life are upon us. As that tree becomes tender and puts forth its first new shoots, we are sure and certain that summer is near. We wait with hope, between the times, already knowing that the summer has begun even though it has not yet actually arrived.

I once heard a preacher describe the battle of New Orleans as an example of what it is like to live "between the times," in the already but not yet, with the certain hope that when the fat lady sings, it will be a glorious day. Andrew Jackson fought and won the battle of New Orleans some days after the Treaty of Ghent had actually been signed, bringing to an end the hostilities between the U. S. and England. Jackson's side had already won, but the battle was fought anyway because there were still existing "pockets of resistance" which had not yet received the news of the treaty. So also do we fight on against the "pockets of resistance" which challenge the victory of God, whose treaty was signed at Calvary and the empty tomb. The evidence of God's victory may not always be clear. But we live "by faith." We believe against the evidence. We trust the promise of the Gospel.

When we gather around the font to baptize in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, that baptismal candidate is already experiencing the final judgment. That person is already experiencing the last chapter of his life as he dies and rises with Christ. The fat lady has sung. When we gather around the table to eat and drink the body and blood of our Lord, we are eating and drinking with all the saints of every time and place, with Abraham and Moses and Isaiah, with Peter and James and Paul, with Grandpa and Grandma and all those who have trusted the promises of God. When that bread and wine touch our lips, it is also Jesus touching us, welcoming us home at the final judgment. The fat lady has sung.

In the meantime we live with hope. Those unexpected interruptions in life may threaten us and call into question our future. But we do not need to be afraid. Jesus has given us his promise. And Jesus reminds us that even though heaven and earth might pass away, his words will never pass away. He keeps his promises. Our future is in his gracious hands. Let the fat lady sing!"

CSS Publishing, Lima, Ohio, Against The Grain -- Wor, by Steven E. Albertin