Commentary on Luke 21:5-19

My son’s fourth-grade class recently received recognition for consistent school attendance. They could vote as a class on their reward, choosing between a homework pass or the ability to bring a stuffed animal to school with them. Perhaps surprisingly, they chose the stuffed animal. One kid told their parents, “You know, there’s really no such thing as a homework pass. You might get to skip it for that day, but you still have to learn it.”  

Perhaps even at this stage, these 10-year-olds have grown to know the truth that homework is inevitable, but school itself is unpredictable. Better to choose the stuffed animal to keep you company, come what may with teachers’ expectations, social dynamics in the lunchroom, or bullies on the playground. 

Jesus interrupts the conversation admiring the temple stones with talk of destruction, ecological disaster, wars, and persecution—things that are seemingly both inevitable and unpredictable. By the time Luke’s text was written, the destruction of the temple had likely already occurred. So the text is not meant to be predictive as much as meaning-making, for those who experienced it and for those who come after. Perhaps the preached event of this text can speak to the truth known deep down: There is really no such thing as getting through unscathed. The question is how people of faith are to respond, and where we find our refuge. 

Impermanence and power

The Jerusalem temple was truly an impressive sight meant to convey power and dominance. But it was created by a ruler whose power was marked by instability and paranoia. Herod wanted desperately to project power, both to Rome and to those he governed, but he was part of a system that was capricious and centered elsewhere. He experienced pressure from below and from above, as well as family relationships marked by perceived threat, betrayal, and violence. The projection was necessary because of the insecurity. 

Jesus’ words caution those who see structures like these and see only evidence of power, stability, and authority. His words about coming catastrophes recontextualize the impermanence of human achievement, whether the temple itself or governmental systems or societal structures. We marvel at our own abilities as humans and often see the achievements of wealth and power as permanent, or at least as lasting—impenetrable. 

But the fragility in the text causes reassessment. People of faith are called away from placing their trust or lasting attention on whatever large stones we see around us. We should instead assume instability, persecution, and unfair systems, and seek the power of God in the midst of them. What powerful illusions do our communities need to reassess? Where does true, divine power lie? What does it look like?

A chance to witness

It’s hard to duck out of the way of this text, even with a long view of history, especially in a world where global and national news is available constantly with endless viewpoints on what it all means. Dire predictions of subsequent developments or assessments of decisions garner more attention than measured ones. Added to this mix is a sense of accelerated instability, increasing potential outcomes. I hear parishioners say, “I’m normally not an alarmist, but do you think [X, Y,  Z] is possible?” 

Jesus acknowledges that truly bad things will happen, and that we should not be surprised when they do. Close followers of Jesus will not be spared from the effects. Apocalyptic literature, which this text echoes, follows a pattern of warnings about calamities, followed by reassurance of God’s provision for the faithful. Following this pattern, the text doesn’t have to point to any specific current events to sound familiar to our hearers and leave them with a sense of unease. If we seek examples, we can expect to find them, because these things are both inevitable and unpredictable. 

This unsettling truth is paired with 1) a reminder of God’s presence and 2) an exhortation to remain faithful. The good news comes in odd packaging. In the face of persecution and trial, Jesus says not to prepare one’s defense. This will be a chance to bear witness to the God of the universe, the One who is unchanging and powerful and yet gives his own Son for the life of the world. At first, this seems like terrible advice. If you know this is coming, and it is an opportunity to testify, surely that merits the same forethought as an Oscar acceptance speech?

But Jesus is clear in his directive that the hearers should decide not to prepare themselves, because God will provide the words and wisdom that will be necessary. The pressure to prepare ahead comes from a fear of not being able to meet the moment. It assumes that the responsibility to witness rests with the accused and that the truth is not trusted to win out over the accusers. 

Jesus’ declaration against preparation is both humbling and comforting. The hearers are not expected to be capable of mounting a sufficient defense. But Jesus promises that the defense will come anyway, from God’s presence in the midst of them. It is endurance, not triumphant acquittal or eloquent defense of the faith, that is lifted up as the virtue. 

Near the end of the church year, during times of increasingly alarming events, the twin reminders of God’s provision and our call to endure are timely and relevant. Preachers connected to the lived realities of their hearers can find the right balance to strike of comfort and challenge, law and gospel, in the news that the temple stones are not as permanent as they seem.