This All Gets Interrupted
Luke 21:25-36
A lot of Jesus’ ministry seems understated to me. Jesus uses seeds and yeast to describe the way that the kingdom of God comes into the world. He tells splendid stories about lost sheep, lost children, and lost coins just to describe what it is like to be found.
Then, all of the sudden, something shifts. Jesus moves from understatements to what appears to be wild overstatements. Signs will be in the moon and stars; nations will be confused and dismayed; waves will surge; planets will shake; people will faint. So much for subtlety!
Sometimes, I think I like the subtle Jesus, rather than the one who speaks of everything being interrupted. However, these outbursts occur, according to Jesus, because the Messiah is returning; it is a second coming of Christ. He is using the tropes of apocalyptic literature where symbols and metaphors are exaggerated for the sake of emphasis. This type of language also underscores a deep sense of urgency.
Because whenever Jesus comes, nothing will ever be the same—not the stars nor the sea, not the nations, not the planets nor the people.
In other words: Everything gets interrupted. Jesus is an interruption.
* * *
People seem to have mixed feeling about interruptions—though no one likes not being able to finish a sentence. Some people welcome interruptions. Some enjoy the spontaneity and surprise of an interruption. They could never have imagined that happening. How delightful!? Other folks lose all of their momentum and focus because of an interruption. They can never regain what they had worked so hard to create.
Why does Advent begin with such an urgent story about the second coming of Christ? Advent is the four weeks leading up to the Season of Christmas. What do we do to prepare ourselves for the coming of God into the world? We focus not just on the coming of God in Jesus, but we try to anticipate every way that God enters into our story.
Time and time again, that entrance is an interruption. Interruptions are necessary to make a story interesting. Have you ever read book without some type of interruption? Probably not, because it would be boring.
* * *
Luke 21 describes a massive interruption.
There is not a lot of context in our scripture reading today. Jesus is speaking these words at the Temple. He was dismayed about how the religious leaders ignored the plight of the widow, and he says that there will come a time when not one stone will remain on top of another. They will be surrounded by armies. They will have to flee to the mountains.
The original readers of Luke would have looked at this exact place where Jesus was speaking in this story, and they would realize that no stone was sitting on top of another stone. The time had come. The Temple had been destroyed around the year 70. This was a major interruption to their lives and faith.
This temple was at the center of religious practice and faith in the first century. How would they relate to God now? Their lives and community felt utterly interrupted. Perhaps, as Jesus describes, it really did feel like a surge of the sea and a shaking of the earth. You would have wanted to faint from the weariness. The possibility of one’s soul being reshaped by fear and trauma did not seem outlandish.
Jesus says that there is reason to despair. Interruptions are not the end of the story. Rather, they introduce us to a new character. Interruptions can introduce us to Jesus.
* * *
Jesus is an interruption.
What will Jesus interrupt in you this year? Will Jesus interrupt your pride? Will Jesus interrupt your perpetual sense of shame? Will Jesus interrupt your indifference? Will just interrupt your constant need to appease others? Will Jesus interrupt your day planner?
Jesus is the interruption. Theologian Henri Nouwen was once teaching a course at Norte Dame. While there he met an “older experienced professor who had spent most of his life [at the university.] He said with a certain melancholy in his voice, 'You know, my whole life I have been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work.'”[i]
The interruptions show us what really matters. What if the interruptions are the places that we begin to grow? What if the interruptions in our lives are really the places that we see God break into the world—unsuspected, unknown, sometimes even shocking?
I hope you are interrupted. I hope that there is someplace in your life where you experience God where everything once seemed rote and predictable.
As we approach Christmas, I can’t help but think of all the times that Jesus is the interruption. Jesus has interrupted so many lives.
He interrupted Mary and Joseph’s life—giving birth in paltry circumstances then becoming refugees in Egypt. Jesus interrupts the shepherds in the field—for now they had a shepherd of their own. Jesus even interrupts the night sky for the magi. Jesus interrupts the lives of fishermen and tax collectors making them citizens of a new kingdom.
Jesus interrupted the systems that pushed people into the margins of community. Jesus worked hard to interrupt a culture built on shame and honor. Jesus worked hard to interrupt an economy based on scarcity. Jesus interrupts a worship service to turn over tables. Somehow, Jesus even interrupts death.
Jesus comes as an interruption. Has Jesus interrupted your life?
If your life is never interrupted, it is hard to imagine if you’ve ever met Jesus.
* * *
Here is one such interruption.
There was a chaplain at Duke University. One day his phone rang and a father of one of his students was on the other line. The father was furious.
"I hold you personally responsible for this!" he screamed.
His daughter was supposed to go to graduate school, but, according to her father, she was throwing everything away to do mission work in Haiti with the Presbyterian Church.
The father continued, "Isn't that absurd! She has a degree from Duke, and she is going to dig ditches in Haiti! I hold you responsible for this!"
The chaplain, knowing not to be flummoxed, said, "Why me?"
The father said, "You ingratiated yourself and filled her mind with all this religion stuff."
The chaplain chuckled. "Sir, weren't you the one who had her baptized?"
"Well, well, well, yes."
"And didn't you take her to Sunday School when she was a little girl?"
"Well, well, yes."
"And didn't you allow your daughter to go on those youth group ski trips to Colorado when she was in high school?"
"Yes ... what does that have to do with anything?"
"Sir, you're the reason she's throwing it all away. You introduced her to Jesus. Not me!"
"But," said the father, "all we wanted was a Presbyterian."
The chaplain replied, "Well, sorry, sir, you messed up. You've gone and made a disciple!"[ii]
* * *
That’s right. Jesus is the interruption. It is the interruptions of our lives where we meet Jesus Christ. When Jesus enters our life, an interruption enters our life. Nothing can ever be the same. Jesus can’t fit neatly into your life, no matter how hard you try. Jesus is bound to make a mess. Jesus is going to rearrange and re-evaluate.
Jesus doesn’t say, “Pardon the interruption.” Jesus says, “The interruption is the pardon.”
Jesus places love where you had placed indifference—that’s an interruption.
Jesus places grace where you had placed shame—that’s an interruption.
Jesus places faith where you had placed fear—that’s an interruption.
Jesus places a service to others where you had placed the worship of self—that’s an interruption.
That’s all Jesus. That’s’ what he does. Jesus interrupts. Jesus is bound to make you go places where you might have otherwise have never go. Jesus is bound to make you give away something that you need. Jesus is bound to find you in your most fragile moment—in your most tumultuous experience—and bring you back to a new sense of self.
“Come and interrupt us, O Lord.” That’s the prayer of Advent.
* * *
My friend Sam’s life was grossly interrupted. Sam’s life had been interrupted by throat cancer. Before his diagnosis, he was self-admittedly an angry fellow. He was short-tempered, hedonistic, and ungrateful. After this interruption in his life, nothing ever returned to being the same. He was not the same person. He was surprisingly cheerful. He gave himself to other people. He started driving a van to transport other patients to their chemo treatments. He was ordained as an elder in his church. He tried to make up time with his children that he felt like he once ignored.
“Jesus didn’t cause the cancer,” he once told me. “But Jesus entered my life in that interruption. He made me whole again.”
Jesus finds us when our lives are interrupted. Jesus finds us when the world is in disorder—when the sun and seas, the nations and the planets, and the people are all out of whack
* * *
Those early Christians reading Luke were hopeful that Jesus would interrupt their chaos. It felt like everything was closing in on them. They needed to hear that when everything was going south—when the world was falling apart—it was not a time for fearfulness. They didn’t need to be anxious. Rather, it was a time of hope. It was a reason to wait and anticipate. All of these interruptions, they were a way for Jesus to enter the world again. It was nothing to be burdened by. Rather, stay alert. Pay attention. Stay diligent. You might see something you’ve never seen before. Stand up straight and raise your heads. Your redemption draws near.
* * *
Maybe Jesus isn’t really exaggerating. Maybe the sun really does fall out of the sky—it did for Sam. Maybe whole planets really do shake—as it does for people in Haiti and Alaska. Maybe the seas really do flood our consciousness. The interruptions are real.
But never are they the end of the story. Rather, they just introduce a new character. The Messiah comes again. God enters our mess again and interrupts. God enters our lives again and redirects.
And if our hearts are weighed down, if we feel the anxieties of day-to-day, we may not be prepared to welcome God’s interruption. We may try to ignore it and get back to “our work.” We might want to get back to life as usual. But it’ll happen anyway. Are you prepared for the interruption? Are you alert? Are you praying the prayer, “Come and interrupt us, O Lord?”
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Endnotes:
[i] Henri Nouwen, Reaching Out, p. 36
[ii] William Willimon, Pulpit Resource, September 10, 1995