16 November, 2nd Sunday before Advent: Malachi 4:1-2a, 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13 and Luke 21:5-19
From The Archers to Eastenders, The House of Cards to The West Wing, Shakespeare to Les Mis, dramas and soap operas weave together common themes: family feuds, personal ambition, star-crossed lovers, political intrigue and hopes for justice.
It’s not just the big stuff. It’s the inner workings of our own thoughts and emotions: what we want, and what is possible; relying on our own judgement or seeking advice from others.
This week, some of us saw the ways in which it did, or didn’t, work out in Monteverdi’s opera Coronation of Poppea. The title is the spoiler alert - as we follow Poppea’s rise to power. She gets her man, the Emperor; she gets the crown.
However, as the operatic narrative unfolds, we are forced to face serious questions: about the use and misuse of power; about private lives and public roles; about love, deceit, virtue and status; about accountability, corruption, entitlement and so much more.
We know that Poppea - played brilliantly by Kristina - and Nerone are far from perfect actors: In their desire for each other, they ignore advice and drive others to collude or seek revenge. In their desire for power, they become the sole arbiters of what is right and just.
Despite the moral ambiguities and harms, the music draws us into the emotional lives of these characters: into the intimacy of their world, their desires, their thoughts and actions. The beauty of Monteverdi’s score, the sentiment of the lyrics, leads us to suspend our judgement as this dangerously compelling couple gaze upon each other.
The edge is taken off the treachery as we hear the triumphant final duet. As in life, it can be hard to spot selfish motives when packaged with beauty. Yet, for those keeping in mind Roman history, we know that the lives of those with main character syndrome unravels; they meet untimely or violent deaths.
Human power fades. As Malachi puts it: the arrogant and evildoers will be stubble. Their influence will pass; there is a possibility of restoration and peace. We are called into a living hope: the sun of righteousness will rise; and will bring healing to people and nations.
In today’s gospel, Jesus picks up on the realities of violence, exploitation and injustice; a world in which he is crucified. In the midst of that, he tells his followers not to be afraid; to remain faithful to God’s love and wisdom; to not be led astray by worldly powers and ambitions.
Instead, in the words of our second lesson, we are not to grow weary of doing what is right and good.
The lives of Nerone and Poppea are recorded by Tacitus. When they rule the Roman Empire, the stones that Jesus’s disciples are still standing in all their glory. Within a decade, in 70 AD, the temple was destroyed.
The disciples admire the architectural wonder and its seemingly unshakeable weight. They are also looking at a building whose massive stones hold religious memory and identity.
When Jesus looks at the same building, he does not speak of stability and glory. Instead he speaks of change and fragility; he foretells its loss. His words resonate and unsettle, because what he says is not just true of structures but of our own lives.
To be human is to recognise that all that we hold on to will eventually pass away. From those who seem most powerful to our own relative comfort and the daily patterns of our lives: it’s not permanent.
We flourish like a flower in the field, as the funeral service puts it. And when the wind goes over it is gone; and its place will know it no more - but the goodness of the Lord endures for ever; and the Lord’s love of us.
We live in times where many of us will have a sense of being unsettled: whether that’s our own financial security or concerns about changing climate; whether it's the pace of development in our city or shifts in global political power.
Familiar norms seem less stable; the future feels less certain. This isn’t new. When Jesus talks about war and famine, we can be tempted to see our own circumstances as the fulfilment of his words.
But what if our now is yet one more episode in the ebbs and flows of human history. Jesus cautions against predicting end times. Not only is that of God alone; but also because human nature can be drawn like Poppea and Nerone into dynamics of selfish fulfillment and exploitation. The command good gets exchanged for personal desires - in corridors of power and in our own spheres of influence.
That can all seem rather gloomy and hopeless. But that is not where Jesus or the words of the readings leave us. Jesus is reminding us that human systems might break and buckle, but that new life and hope will emerge.
Do not grow weary of doing what is right and good.
This is what he bears in his own body: the truth that death comes before resurrection, loss of self before new life; repentance and forgiveness, before blessing and renewal.
We sometimes call passages like that which we have heard today ‘apocalyptic’. That means unveiling - the making known of something hidden. It is the honest disclosure of motives and where they lead. It is an insight into the ways of the world and the truth of our hearts.
It is an unveiling that is not leaving us in despair, but the gate way to healing and wholeness. Jesus stands with us offering words of wisdom and inviting us into habits of life which resist selfish desires; he invites us into a bigger story of a love that wins. Love that triumphs not in a moment of coronation, but in the choice of God’s ways; in doing what is good.
Jesus is helping us to set aside those things which are illusions - about the world and who we are - and to let go of those things we have pursued which diminish and wound. Instead we are to embrace life as a gift - to work together in mutual support and interdependence. To never lose heart in doing what is good, rather than succumbing to idleness; to continue to do what is right, rather than becoming busybodies.
It is hard to face the challenge that Jesus presents today: the lies we mistake for truth; the ways we pin our hopes on our own strength rather than trusting in God’s love for us; the things we cling onto, rather than noticing what we need to let go of; the things that feel like ruin and failure, but which might turn our hearts to the new dawn of the sun of righteousness, bringing healing and new hope.
Jesus calls us to be quietly confident in him; to love in a way that is magnificently defiant in the face of some of culture’s delusions, the imposter gods we create in our own image.
He says to not be afraid. Do not despair.
Instead, when the earth shakes, find ways of bearing witness to faith, hope and love. Tell stories that speak of changed lives, of forgiveness and new beginnings; in our relationships, make peace; try to be a little more patient with each other.
When things change and life feels hard, then love. More. Listen well - commit to being present in the places we find ourselves, knowing that God is with us. Notice what we see, speak with kindness and gentleness; praying that the Spirit is within us breath by breath.
Be faithful. Do not grow weary of doing what is good. God is faithful and with us still. In what has been, is and will be.
To keep going with such endurance demands the spiritual equivalent of the ultra-marathon coaching Sara Cox received as she undertook her epic northern run.
When we feel numb or exhausted and it feels easier to give up altogether or to give in to despair, we are called to witness to love: with resilience, courage and hope.
We do that drawing on the well-spring of our scriptures; on patterns of prayer - the prayer Jesus taught us, breath prayers, our petitions and thanks givings.
We do that by committing to rhythms of worship - of saying sorry and embracing forgiveness; of taking the blessing we receive and being that for others. We do that in committing to community - to the fellowship we share around one table; to the service of one world.
What is happening around us is not death, but birth. Such labour hurts. But God’s love is our midwife; and by endurance, there will be joy; and possibility.
Gracious Lord, in this holy sacrament, you give substance to our hope: bring us at the last to that fullness of life for which we long; through Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.
© Julie Gittoes 2025
