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Writer's pictureMarissa Galvan

GRATITUDE AND THE GIFT OF PEACE AMID UNCERTAINTY

This sermon, based on Mark 13: 1-8, was preached by Rev. Marissa Galván-Valle on November 17, 2024 (Proper 28). It is the third sermon of a series called: “Gratitude And the Gift Of....”


The man in the white robe

When I was younger, I spent my summers working as a director for youth conferences at the Synod’s camp in Puerto Rico. Some of our younger leaders also spent their summers there. Occasionally, they were so exhausted that, when night came and the tweens were misbehaving and didn’t want to go to bed, they simply couldn’t handle it anymore.


One time, one of our leaders came down to see us, saying he couldn’t deal with the kids any longer. He was agitated and wanted to go home. We tried to convince him to stay because it was after midnight and the camp was in the mountains of Puerto Rico. The road would be dark, and we knew he could have an accident if he left. Despite our efforts, there was no convincing him. He insisted on leaving, got in his car, and raced out of the camp. We were left there, praying that he would make it home safely.


A few minutes later, we saw a car’s headlights coming back down the road. It was him. He got out of the car, his face showing the same agitation we had seen before, but now mixed with fear and amazement. When we asked what had happened, he said that as he tried to cross the bridge over the Guacio River, a man in a white robe appeared in the middle of the street. He stopped the car, unsure of what to do. Terrified, he decided to turn back to the camp. He was visibly shaken, and when I asked him to calm down so that we could understand what he was saying, he snapped, “Don’t tell me to calm down! I can’t calm down!”


I Can’t Calm Down

As I watched social media after the election, I saw people celebrating and giving thanks to God for saving America. I also saw people declaring that democracy had died. Some lamented the lack of civility they were witnessing, while others were gloating or calling for peace and unity now that the election was over. I also saw posts saying things like: “Don’t talk to me today. Don’t even attempt to comfort me; I don’t want it. Hate won. Racism won. Ignorance won. Don’t tell me to calm down!”


In this state of anger, fear, sadness, and disillusionment, it is difficult to find comfort in people telling you to smile, quiet down, or see the bigger picture—platitudes we often resort to when trying to avoid conflict. Yet at the same time, these moments challenge us, after some time has passed, to try to hear the subtle voices attempting to make sense of the times we are living in and to find glimpses of salvation, hope, and peace in the midst of it all. It is hard and challenging… but as we saw in the passage today, this has happened before.


The Little Apocalypse

As Jesus and his disciples leave the temple in Jerusalem, one of the disciples comments on the grandeur of the temple buildings. The Roman historian Tacitus described the temple complex as a mountain of white marble adorned with gold, a “temple of immense wealth.” In response, Jesus makes a startling prophecy: the impressive temple, admired for its massive stones and architecture, will be completely destroyed, with “not one stone left upon another.”



Later, on the Mount of Olives, Peter, James, John, and Andrew ask Jesus privately when this will happen and what signs will indicate that it is near. I wonder if they asked out of anxious feelings or with nervousness in their hearts. After all, this was God’s temple—the place many Jewish people believed to be the closest point of contact between God and God’s people.


But Jesus warns them to be careful not to be deceived, as many false prophets will come, claiming to be the Messiah. He tells them that they will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but they should not be alarmed because these things must happen, and yet they are not the end.


He also mentions that nation will rise against nation, and there will be earthquakes and famines. These events, he explains, are just the beginning of “birth pains,” suggesting that they are precursors to greater tribulations to come.


All in all, this does not sound like good news. What do you mean this is just the beginning?


This section of Mark is known as the “Little Apocalypse.” This is a term I’m very familiar with, as the Book of Revelation is called Apocalipsis in Spanish. Robert A. Bryant reminds us that…


“all of chapter 13 is rooted in Jewish apocalyptic thought, and central to such thinking is the belief that God controls history, that the world has become so evil that only God can save it, and that God will rescue the world from evil at the time of God’s own choosing, establishing a new creation in which righteousness characterizes everyone in it.”

But there’s a twist to this story. It is believed that the Gospel of Mark was written around A.D. 66–74, a period that encompasses the Jewish revolt against Rome (A.D. 66–70) and the subsequent destruction of the temple. The tone and urgency of the narrative, particularly in Mark 13, seem to reflect the turmoil and upheaval of this era.


So, as people read this passage from Mark, they have already witnessed the destruction of the temple. They have experienced the crushing power of the Roman Empire, which violently suppressed the Jewish revolt. They walk by the temple ruins every day, a stark reminder of their loss. They have lost loved ones. It feels as if hate has won, as if evil has prevailed. In the midst of this devastation, it is hard to hear words of hope. It is hard to live without fear. It is hard to be calm. It is hard to find peace.


An intentional peace

In the children’s story, we find a crow that chooses to look up, searching for a way out of the constant cycle of fear that grips her entire community. Sometimes, peace is not something we find easily—it is a choice we must make repeatedly. Peace is not just about living in tranquility or escaping the noise and chaos around us; it is an intentional decision to hold onto wellness, well-being, hope, and the opportunity to soar above our tribulations.


This choice is not easy. Sometimes, we respond to violence with violence. Our words can lean toward catastrophe and apocalypse. We often see through eyes clouded with anxiety, perceiving enemies everywhere. Yet it is a true sign of resilience, resistance, and even rebellion when we choose peace in the face of apocalyptic circumstances.


Emilie M. Townes reminds us that for African slaves, the contradiction between the dehumanization of enslavement and the promise of salvation was stark. The struggle with the apocalypse of slavery “made it difficult to separate the yearning for salvation from the vision for a new humanity where people were defined by the freedom found in God’s grace, rather than the enslavement meted out by human cruelty and greed.” That is why they could sing songs that proclaimed:


Oh, freedom, Oh, freedom,

oh, freedom over me.

And before I’d be a slave

I’ll be buried in my grave,

and go home to my Lord and be free.


It may be that we are living in an apocalyptic time. Such times have come and gone throughout history. It feels as if no stone will be left upon another. We hear of wars and rumors of wars. But Jesus says something crucial that we must strive to hear: “Do not be alarmed; the end is still to come.” And we need to believe that an end to the suffering is still to come. An end to the fear is still to come. An end to the pain is still to come. The choice of peace is possible, and for that we are grateful.


May this gratitude, born from Jesus’ reassurance that even in times of great distress there remains the possibility of a peace grounded in trust, faith, and the knowledge of God’s grace, inspire us to offer the option of peace to others—just as champions of peace have done before us: Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., César Chávez, Dorothy Day, Lech Wałęsa, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela, Malala Yousafzai, Rosa Parks, and Henry David Thoreau, among others. Together, they—and many more—demonstrate the enduring power of nonviolent resistance as a means to confront injustice and inspire lasting change.



Write music. Create art. Send letters. Give offerings. God’s grace and peace are with us. I still believe that the man in the white robe was God’s presence, taking care of that young man in his time of crisis. And I still believe that, even if this is only the beginning of birth pains, the end will come… and God’s grace and love will prevail.

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