The Holy Thief

We humans love to accumulate stuff. We are squirrels, squirreling away books and knickknacks, junk drawers full of dried up pens and dull scissors and tape dispensers and charging cords we’ve long forgotten what they go to. We have attics and basements, closets and garages full of stuff. My family and I are in the process of moving, and as we’ve slowly boxed up our necessities and make the multiple trips across town to our new home, we’ve realized that we’ve got a whole house full of stuff that we don’t need. We’ve spent hours and hours sifting and sorting, separating and culling and we still have so much stuff left. It’s a tedious and sometimes painful process, going through all of our junk to determine what we might need someday, and what is just superfluous, a burden, a weight on our shoulders and our cupboards and shelves. 

We spent this past Thursday being thankful for all our stuff, and then Friday looking for the best deals in order to accumulate more stuff. It’s not a big deal, having all these things, really, until all that stuff starts to overwhelm us, until it becomes a burden. 

But more than actual things is the burden of all the emotional stuff we carry. The hurts and disappointments, the debts and fears, the grudges and the betrayals. We carry them in the attics and basements of our hearts, but they can also overflow into the kitchens and living rooms of our spirits. We hold on to this stuff with tightened death grips, afraid of who we might become if we unload some of that emotional junk clogging our veins.

But there comes a time when we realize what stuff is worth holding on to, and what needs to be let go. Or, sometimes don’t have a choice; stuff just gets taken from us without our consent, and we have to figure out what we’re really made of out of what’s leftover. 

It’s an apocalypse of sorts. Those times in our lives when our world gets shaken, when we feel like all is lost, when it feels like it’s all ending. When we have to get rid of, or when we just lose, our stuff.

Apocalypse literally means, “Unveiling.” And every year, we begin the season of Advent with these cryptic, apocalyptic texts. They tell us to be ready for the day the Son of Man will come on the clouds to judge the living and the dead. They tell us to be watchful. To be awake. To be ready.

The Son of Man will come like a thief in the night. He will come to unveil the truth about our lives. 

As in the days of Noah, people will be marrying and eating and drinking and going about their daily lives and then a wave of water will come and wash them away.

Two will be working in the field and one will be taken.

Two will be working at the mill and one will be left. So be watchful. Be ready. You don’t know the day or the hour. Nobody knows except the Father. 

I don’t think we have to take this literally. There is enough in our lives that take our breath away, enough to make us feel like we’re drowning, to make us feel like our world is ending. Life has enough opportunities to overwhelm us. 

Most of the time we’re in this in-between space: life isn’t perfect, but it’s not horrible. It’s not everything we’ve dreamed of, but it’s not our worst nightmare either.

But the days have come, and will come again, when we experience our own individual apocalypses. When life throws us for a loop and we have to figure out how to survive with a new set of circumstances. Maybe it’s a divorce or an illness, a financial set back or a death of a loved one. Maybe it’s a circumstance we choose, or maybe it’s been foisted upon us without our consent. Either way, it’s a kind of rebirth that involves a painful labor.

In the meantime, we are in the in-between. In the waiting time. The here and the not yet. Christ has come, and will come again. 

We don’t get sweet baby Jesus imagery at the start of Advent; rather, we get these frightening, perplexing apocalyptic texts that harken back to Daniel 7, when the Son of Man will come upon the clouds to judge the living and the dead. “Son of Man” has been interpreted to mean many things, but most commonly, it’s used to simply mean, “one like a human being.” The Son of Man is one like a human being will come like a thief in the night. One will stay and one will be taken. And it’s not clear whether we want to be the ones who stay or the ones who are taken.

Advent is a time of anticipation, a time when we hope and wait for the coming of the Son of man who will come and set everything to rights.

  

       That imagery of the thief is simply to emphasize the unpredictability of when he is to come. The angels don’t know when. The Son doesn't even know when. We don’t know the day or the hour, so we should be ready. There is no predicting, no estimating, no conjuring of the day. No one knows but the Father. This is comforting to me, because it emphasizes an element of unknowing to our faith. It reminds us that uncertainty is part of the Christian journey. Being unsure is part of our faith.

But what if Jesus is more than just sneaky and surprising. What if Jesus is actually a thief who comes along to filch all those things that keep us from truly being human? What if, as Nadia Bolz-Weber suggests, Jesus comes to us in our personal nights to abscond with the things that burden us, that weigh us down, that keep us from being our fullest, most human selves? 

What if the thief comes to snatch all the things we hold on to that keep us from being truly human? What if Jesus comes in the night to take our greed and depression, our fear and addictions, our narcissism and consumerism and anxiety and self-deprecation? What if God comes in our humanity to restore us to our humanity, and that means maybe we have to get rid of some stuff? This certainly feels like an apocalypse, because there are things we are terrified to get rid of that Jesus has come to take. Who are we without our depression and anxiety? Who would we be without our busy-ness and constant movement? Who would we be without our addictions or fear or judgment or insecurity? Jesus comes to take it all away from us. All the things that keep us from being who God has created us to be. It’s a peeling away of our false selves, a stripping away of all the stuff that we hold on to that weighs us down. It’s an unveiling of what’s underneath all that junk we hold on to that disconnect us from each other and from God. 

This can be scary and painful. It might feel like our world is ending. It’s truly an apocalypse. What parts of us need to be stripped away? What new heaven and new earth need to be unveiled in our lives? What personas need to be left behind? What parts of you will stay; what needs to be taken?

You’ll be going about your regular life and the rug will get pulled out from under you. Things will come about normally - maybe you’ll be at the grocery store or doing laundry or watching Friends reruns and your spouse tells you they want a divorce, or your kid says they’re depressed, or the stock market falls, or a storm comes by and tears off your roof. It’s an apocalypse, an unveiling of what you’re truly made of. Parts of you will get snatched, and parts of you will be left behind, and you’ll have to pick up the pieces. 

No. I don’t believe that Jesus comes just to take good things away from us. Sometimes good things are taken from us and God has nothing to do with it. Sometimes apocalypses just happen. But I also think there are times when there’s a Holy Thief, that some one or some thing that strips us of things we hold on to with all of our might that actually bring us down, that wear us out, that keep us from being truly human. And the apocalypses in our lives are opportunities for that Holy Thief to sneak in and strip us of the pain and the burdens that we hold on to so tightly because that’s all we think we’re made of. Jesus wants us to be ready to get rid of all that stuff. Be ready for the Holy Thief to come and take the things you thought you needed in order to unveil the true human being that you are - the true human being God created you to be.

Is the apocalypse bad or good? I think it just is. It’s part of life. There will be times when we are stripped of all our stuff and it will feel like the end of the world. But it will also unveil strength and vulnerability and dependence upon God, upon those things that are outside of yourself. 

To one person, the same circumstance could be an opportunity. To another, it can feel like the end of the world. It all depends — were you ready? Were you watching? Were you awake for the rebirth? 

Years ago doctors would put women in a twilight state in order to keep them from experiencing the full pain of childbirth. But Jesus wants us to stay awake. Stay awake to experience the full birth. It will be more painful, but also more miraculous and more life changing. We will participate in our own transformation. We will see the miracle of our own Advents, our own comings, our own unveiling. Christ comes to bring us new life, so stay awake; watch him take your burdens.
The things that make us less than human will be washed away. We’ll be working in the fields or at our desks or in our kitchens and parts of us will be snatched away. And our truest humanity will stay. The Son of Man has come, and will come, and will keep coming to strip us of the things that keep us from being fully human. It is a judgment of sorts - not of our core being, but rather of all those things we hold on to that we can let go of. It’s a refining fire, a separation of the wheat from the chaff, the sheep from the goats, the pain from the joy. 

Until then, we’re in this middle, waiting space. We’re in Advent. We go about our daily lives, marrying, eating, working, playing and striving. We’ll keep accumulating more stuff. But the Holy Thief is coming, coming to free us from the ways of being that hold us down, that bend us at the knees, that keep us hostage. 

Apocalypse is just a part of our lives, but if we’re ready, if we stay awake, we can watch as Christ comes to strip us of all our burdens and fears and debts and faults that keep us from our fullest humanity. Be awake this Advent. This coming. Watch and wait. Jesus has come to take away our false selves, our narcissism, our self-hatred, our burdens. Jesus will come to abscond with our addictions and insecurities and our fear. 

Let’s stay awake this Advent. Let’s stay awake and watch what the Holy Thief comes to take from us. It will be an unveiling. It will be a stripping away. It will be a new creation. Like watching the birth of a newborn baby, it will be miraculous. 

Thanks be to God.