The Myth of Progress
Text: Mark 13:1-13
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Every culture has its myths that lie at the center of its identity and gives it a sense of purpose. The Greeks, the Romans, China, Japan, even our own United States all have their myths that unconsciously drive everything they do and say, whether it’s about themselves or others. Sometimes these myths are obvious, like the tales about the gods and goddesses of Olympus or the heroes who founded a nation, like Romulus and Remus, or King Arthur, or even cherry trees and not being able to tell a lie. But other core myths are more subtle. They have no cosmic characters at the center, no hero’s journey, but they influence the thought of that society. The most seductive myth of our own culture is that of constant progress and advancement—that things are continually always moving to something better, freer, smarter, more understanding, more liberating, or otherwise greater than what’s gone before. Yes, it might be granted that there are setbacks from time to time, but the right side of history will always win out—or so the myth goes—and things will continue to improve in the long run.
This myth of constant progress is especially alluring, even in the Church. Throughout history, people have thought that if they could just nudge things a little more in one direction or the other, that it would be the new glorious kingdom of heaven on earth. That mindset has shown up time and again. The unbridled optimism of the turn of the century going from the 1800s to the 1900s was especially ecstatic in its belief that paradise on earth was almost within grasp…completely unaware that two World Wars were about to remind everyone that you can improve technology, philosophy, education, and everything else—but none of it will change the human heart. None of our advances will fix what is darkest and cruelest in fallen human nature.
We do it in our personal lives too. If we could only get this or that thing fixed, then everything would be OK. If we could only have one or two months without unexpected expenses, we’d be fine. If we could only solve our personal issues—find a little more breathing room, get a little bigger house, get some more free time, then we’d finally be in bliss. If only that problem, or that aggravation, or that pain, or that person were out of the way, then we’d be good. If we could only expand our ability to make everything right, if only we could get the right person in power, or the right group, or the right party, or ideology, or whatever—if only, if only, if only. We’re moving in the right direction, we seem to think, but we need it to move a little more, which we’re certain will happen…eventually.
Ever since the Fall in the Garden of Eden, we mortals have convinced ourselves that we know what would be best, how things should go for life to be perfect here on earth. And so our first ancestors tried to seize the one thing that they thought would move them further along on the chart of being like God and they ate that which they were not supposed to eat. And so the people at the tower of Babel attempted to elevate themselves to the heavens, to be gathered in one place and increase in numbers and in power. And so we have all followed: for something to be good, it means that it has to be getting more impressive, more popular, bigger, more numbers and followers, more likes, richer, stronger, and so on. And so the disciples of Jesus called out to Him in our Gospel reading, thinking they were seeing progress toward something bigger and greater and more beautiful: “Look Teacher, what wonderful stones and what wonderful buildings!”
But Jesus does not play along with this myth. He brings these flights of grandeur to a sobering—and realistic—close. When the disciples pointed out how big and beautiful the stones of mighty and wealthy King Herod’s temple construction project were, He replied, “Do you see these great buildings? There will not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down.”
Why? Why does Jesus bring this imagined march of progress to a grinding halt? It’s not just to throw cold water on His disciples’ enthusiasm. Remember, Jesus is the Lord who created joy after all; He’s no wet blanket. Rather, His purpose, as it always is, is to get His followers to stop looking at themselves as if they had just discovered some secret back door into heaven, and to lift their gaze to see all the wonderful eternal things that God has set before them.
And so, to ground the disciples—and us—Jesus speaks of wars and rumors of wars, of being delivered over to council after council, court after court, standing trial before kings and governors, brother betraying brother to death. These things are the birth pains that announce the end is about to begin. These things are not the progress that we think we should be seeing as history goes forward, but they are to serve as warning flags that those who trust in Jesus above all those other things should start looking around for Him to rescue them, and nothing else—because He will. These things, as intimidating as they seem, are simply the things that those who follow Jesus can expect in these gray and latter days. And all of it certainly happened to His Apostles, who were martyred, beaten, driven out of cities and left to run for their lives, falsely accused, and more. It has happened to Jesus’ followers and it continues to happen to Christians all over the world, from the time of Jesus’ ascension to now. If anything, the world’s hatred toward Christians has increased. There have been more people martyred for the faith in the last century than in the previous 19 centuries before it. Things are not getting better. If anything, they’re winding down.
Why? It’s not just because Christianity has some hard things to say. It’s not only because Christianity is, for some reason, on the wrong side of history, or that it’s offensive or backwards or whatever other labels its haters want to place on it. No—it’s because of this: those who follow Jesus’ path can expect these things because this is what happened to our Lord Himself. He was handed over to councils, bounced around between them before His crucifixion. He stood trial before kings and governors, King Herod and Governor Pontius Pilate. He was betrayed by one He counted as a brother, His own Apostle Judas Iscariot. He was hated by everyone in that crowd that cried out, “Crucify Him!” There was even an earthquake and the sun went dark at the moment of His death on the cross. These things, which He prophesied, were the beginning of the end. From the moment Jesus died on the cross, this universe has been in the end times.
It is enough for a disciple to be like his Teacher. So we, in these last days, are being shaped and formed to be like our teacher, Jesus. We follow where He has gone, even when our flesh does not want to, even when it’s frightening or intimidating or uncomfortable. Even when it seems like things aren’t getting better.
To what end? Why? Or rather, why can we face these things with a level of confidence that the world, with all its myths of continual improvement and pleasure, cannot bear to face? It’s because our sufferings, our trials, the moments we bear our own crosses, draw us ever deeper into Jesus’ cross—and that’s what save us. These things, as dark as they are, do serve a brighter purpose: they show us our true source of life, peace, and restoration. All those other things will eventually fail. Money will get spent, health will wane, youth will evaporate, leaders will stumble, nations will fall, the great stones of the temple in Jerusalem have indeed been thrown down so that not one has been left on another. It’s always gone that way. Those things don’t deserve your faith. But Christ will be with you through it all. The one who endures to the end will be saved. And we have One who did endure—He went through it all, ages before us—and we hold tight to Him in faith. He brings us through it. He rescues us from all those other things failing. He saves us from ourselves. And He does it to bring us into something better, something the world could never provide: new and eternal life. Or as the prophet Daniel foresaw: “Many of those who sleep in the dust shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to everlasting shame and contempt. And those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the sky above, and those who turn many to righteousness like the stars forever and ever.” That is your destiny—to rise, to live, to shine, to be with your God forever. In the name of Jesus, who is coming to do this, Amen.
