1Let us gather close in these uncertain times (wait, these are certain times, cancel that2), just as our ancestors did before us, and remember the strength and purpose that flows through our veins.
We come together now, just as they did, drawing courage from one another and reminding ourselves that we do not face these challenges alone.
Fear may linger in the air (but courage breathes here too), disbelief may cloud our minds (but we can also choose faith), and the world may feel as though it has grown colder, more distant, and unrecognizable (yet warmth, connection, and familiarity still remain within us). But remember, we have always been a people who can face the darkest of times and still create miracles of love and possibility.
We have faced setbacks, endured hardships, and still, we rise, resilient and unwavering (proving our capacity for endless growth and transformation). We are not strangers to the trials and tribulations of history (and we have triumphed time and again). We have been shaped by the fires of resistance and forged in the spirit of perseverance (becoming stronger with every challenge).
We have been guided by voices that dared to dream of a world overflowing with justice, love, and wholeness, voices that called us into action, that called us to care for one another, to uplift the downtrodden, and to never lose sight of the vision for a better tomorrow.
In times of darkness, we have always found light, not because the world handed it to us, but because we made it ourselves, kindled it from the embers of our hope, our love, and our unity.
Reimagining Mark 5 and Mark 13:1-8 for Liberation in Uncertain Times
In this moment of transformation (not just uncertainty), as we witness the resurgence of hate, legislated hate, and feel the palpable fear that seems to freeze us (yet love and courage have never left us), Mark 13:1-8 becomes an important companion text to Mark 5.
Mark 5 tells the story of Jesus healing three individuals—a demon-possessed man, a woman suffering from chronic bleeding, and Jairus' daughter, the daughter of Jairus, who was a synagogue leader—each of whom is restored to community and life.
Mark 13:1-8 depicts Jesus and His disciples departing from the Temple, which was the central place of worship for the Jewish people, representing their religious, cultural, and social life. Jesus predicts its destruction, warning of false prophets, wars, and natural disasters, which He describes as the beginnings of sorrows (but also the beginnings of something new). My interpretation says, "The beginnings of birth pangs."
It provides a lens to help us understand not just the traumas we carry, but also how we might break through that frozen state, find hope, and rekindle our movements of liberation.
The prediction of the destruction of the Temple may feel unsettling (but it also clears the way for something new to be built). The grandeur of something so seemingly solid and permanent being laid to waste is a clear reminder of impermanence, vulnerability, and the necessary discomfort of facing the destruction of old systems that may no longer serve us (making way for growth and renewal).
The Shaking of Institutions
When Jesus predicts that the grand stones of the Temple will be thrown down, He is speaking to a profound unraveling of institutions.
The Temple was not just a building; it embodied the disciples' expectations, a structure that symbolized the stability of their faith (but true faith is not bound by walls or institutions). Today, we might see echoes of this in our own political and social landscape. The swing of this country towards a figure like Trump represents a shift in ideals and institutions that many believed to be strong and unshakeable (but even this shift presents an opportunity to rebuild stronger, more just foundations).
This unsettling vision shakes us deeply (but it also inspires us to seek a higher vision), and in Mark 13, Jesus does not tell us to rebuild the same Temple—He points us to something beyond these structures.
That something beyond, requires third eye, requires faith, requires the dream, requires the prophetic.
Hope in the Beginning of Sorrows
The Book of Mark, in chapters 5 and 13, presents us with powerful stories of both healing and destruction. In Mark 5, we witness Jesus's healing power as he restores individuals to wholeness and reintegrates them into their communities.
He heals a demon-possessed man, a woman suffering from chronic bleeding, and Jairus' daughter. These stories are not merely tales of physical healing; they are reminders of the restorative power of community and connection. They highlight the importance of collective action, mutual support, and radical love in navigating turbulent times.
However, Mark 13 paints a different picture, one of societal upheaval and the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem (which opens space for renewal and transformation). The Temple, a symbol of stability and faith for the Jewish people, was predicted to be reduced to rubble. This prophecy serves as a stark reminder of the impermanence of institutions and the need to be prepared for change.
Somebody say, "Trouble don't last always."
Jesus says that the wars, the rumors, the earthquakes, and famines are merely the "beginnings of sorrows" (or "birth pangs" in some translations).
Birth pangs—labor pains—are a metaphor of hope, despite the suffering.
They tell us that something new is coming into the world, that the shaking and pain are not without purpose (but are part of a greater unfolding).
As we grapple with fear, confusion, and a sense of being overwhelmed (yet also anticipation and hope), we are reminded that the destruction we witness is not the end; it is the process of something else being born.
Re-Rooting Our Hope in One Another
The lyrics from the song 'God Put A Rainbow In The Cloud' remind us of the divine promise of hope even in the darkest times:
"When God showed Noah in the grand old arc, He put a rainbow in the cloud. When the thunder roared and the sky was dark, God put a rainbow in the cloud."
This imagery of the rainbow in the cloud speaks to God's commitment to guiding and caring for His people, even when the storms of life rage.
Just as God put a rainbow in the cloud to lead Noah and His children to the Promised Land, we, too, can find signs of hope in our present-day challenges.
When it looks like the sun wouldn't shine anymore, God put a rainbow in the cloud, signaling that even in moments of upheaval, there is always a way forward filled with possibility and grace.
Instead of being frozen in fear (we can move with love), or seeking to cling to what was, we are called to embrace the birth of the new—to reimagine, relaunch, and resurrect movements of liberation.
The three people healed in Mark 5 did not simply overcome individual afflictions; they were restored to community. The demon-possessed man was sent home, the woman made clean was brought out of isolation, and the little girl was given back to her family. These acts of restoration remind us that our response to destruction, to fear, and to uncertainty must be rooted in communal care and reconnection.
The grandeur of the Temple may crumble, but our power lies in the strength of our relationships, in how we come together to heal.
The institutions that seemed to ground us may shake (but our true foundation remains unshaken), and our hope is not rooted in them. It is found in the love we extend to one another, in the ways we uphold each other as stones are thrown down around us.
We must be the stewards of each other's healing, stepping in with a readiness to see past the destruction and into the promise of what we can build in its place (a promise filled with hope, love, and unity).
Relaunching Liberation Movements
Drawing parallels to our present day, we see the resurgence of figures like Donald Trump as a sign of the crumbling of ideals and institutions many believed to be unshakeable (yet this also signals the start of something fresh, where liberation can flourish).
This shift towards a figure like Trump brings unease and uncertainty (but also the possibility for meaningful change), much like what the disciples must have experienced when faced with the prediction of the Temple's destruction.
But just as Jesus offered hope in the midst of that prophecy, we too can find hope in the face of contemporary challenges.
We are called to be active participants in building a better future. This involves:
· Resisting oppressive systems
· Reconnecting with our ancestral wisdom
· Fostering a spirit of collective liberation
We must not become paralyzed by fear (but empowered by possibility) or cling to the remnants of a broken system. Instead, we must embrace the birth pangs of a new world, recognizing that the destruction we witness is not the end, but the beginning of something new and transformative.
This reimagined reading of Mark 13 and Mark 5 is a call to relaunch our liberation movements. To recognize that even in the uncertainty—even as we hear of wars, of falling stones, and the breaking of what was—we are bearing witness to labor pains, not an apocalypse.
To face this moment, we must be willing to do the work of hope (a hope that inspires action and nurtures possibility). Hope is not passive; it is not just waiting for the storm to pass. Hope is active. It moves us to nurture community gardens in the middle of the wreckage, to organize for justice even when policies and leaders disappoint us, and to open our doors to those in pain, believing that the world being born is worth laboring for.
Let us remember that as long as there are hands to hold, voices to uplift, and communities to care for, there will always be stones that we can use to build something new—even if it is not the Temple we once knew, which, in this context, represents the structures of Trump's America.
Trump's America must transform, and in its place, we can create sanctuary in each other (a sanctuary founded on justice, equity, and boundless love). Together, we can transform sorrows into the first cries of a new world being born, birthing liberation out of the very things that sought to bind us, and allowing God to work through us to restore our original state of joy, peace, faith, hope, and love.
Birthing liberation out of the very things that sought to bind us.
Amen
Birthing Hope…is formatted for Marvin’s preaching style.
Here is a list of all the AI generated parenthetical additions in the sermon:
(but courage breathes here too)
(but we can also choose faith)
(yet warmth, connection, and familiarity still remain within us)
(proving our capacity for endless growth and transformation)
(and we have triumphed time and again)
(becoming stronger with every challenge)
(not just uncertainty)
(yet love and courage have never left us)
(but also the beginnings of something new)
(but it also clears the way for something new to be built)
(making way for growth and renewal)
(but true faith is not bound by walls or institutions)
(but even this shift presents an opportunity to rebuild stronger, more just foundations)
(but it also inspires us to seek a higher vision)
(which opens space for renewal and transformation)
(or "birth pangs" in some translations)
(but are part of a greater unfolding)
(yet also anticipation and hope)
(we can move with love)
(but our true foundation remains unshaken)
(a promise filled with hope, love, and unity)
(yet this also signals the start of something fresh, where liberation can flourish)
(but also the possibility for meaningful change)
(but empowered by possibility)
(a hope that inspires action and nurtures possibility)
(a sanctuary founded on justice, equity, and boundless love)
These parenthetical notes provide a positive and affirmative reframe for the sermon’s messages, turning moments of potential negativity into opportunities for hope and growth. Let me know if you'd like further adjustments!
Marvin K. White is a distinguished poet, preacher, and public theologian, currently serving as the Minister of Celebration at GLIDE Memorial Church in San Francisco. He holds a Master of Divinity from the Pacific School of Religion and is the author of four poetry collections: Our Name Be Witness, Status, and the Lammy-nominated last rights and nothin’ ugly fly. Marvin's work articulates a vision of social, prophetic, and creative justice, engaging audiences through his dynamic blend of art, theology, and activism.
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