La fin du monde. Forcément, cela sent le désastre. Comment
penser la disparition de la vie, des cultures et de la nature autrement que
comme une catastrophe, une apocalypse. Le sommet sur le climat, dans quelques
semaines à Paris, montre le souci qui s’impose peu à peu, trop lentement, de
protéger la planète. La destruction de Palmyre suscite une horreur, celle de
voir disparaître une culture ou plutôt ses restes. Imaginons l’horreur de voir
disparaître notre culture.
On pourra dire que l’on s’alarme moins du sort de ces vies
humaines quotidiennement broyées par les guerres, la faim, l’immigration, les
frontières qui se hérissent de barbelés et de grillages. On pourra dire que
l’on s’alarme moins du sort de cultures que la colonisation a détruites. Palmyre
et les vestiges d’une culture morte depuis des siècles semble préoccuper
davantage que la protection de cultures menacées aujourd’hui, que l’égalité et
la fraternité dans nos banlieues et nos sociétés.
La fin du monde, pour ceux qui crèvent, qui n’en peuvent
plus, c’est au contraire une bonne nouvelle. Parole d’évangile !
Que la fin du monde soit catastrophe ou fin de la
souffrance, dans tous les cas, elle est renversement ; elle est jugement
qui révèle ceux qui abusent des frères ; ils peuvent se faire du souci, parce
que c’en est fini de leur position de force ; est dénoncé au grand jour le
poids de souffrance qu’ils imposent. Ils mangeaient bien et buvaient tout
autant, mais c’est trop tard, leur monde est fini. On comprend qu’ils soient
pris de terreur. Pour ceux qui pleurent, c’est la fête ; leur corvée a
pris fin comme un air d’exode ou de retour d’exil. « Heureux ceux qui
pleurent, ils seront consolés. »
Dans l’évangile de ce jour (Mc 13, 24-42), on ne considère
la fin du monde que positivement. C’est le ciel qui est ébranlé, pas la terre.
C’est lui qui semble devoir être bouleversé, et, même si, sans doute, la
lumière des astres ne pourra plus éclairer la terre, rien n’en est dit. La
parabole du figuier annonce l’été et sa fertilité, non l’hiver et l’absence de
récoltes. On rassemble les élus des quatre coins du monde, de l’extrémité de la
terre à celle du ciel ; on ne parle pas de damnés.
Pour Marc, le dévoilement, la révélation – c’est le
sens du mot apocalypse ‑ est une bonne nouvelle. Il s’est manifestement
situé du côté des opprimés pour voir ainsi les choses, du côté de Dieu, du côté
des réfugiés d’aujourd’hui. L’apocalypse est une fête. Comme en été « la
terre a donné son fruit » : « le Fils de l’homme est proche, à
votre porte ».
Le monde est en feu, violence apocalyptique, la fin est déjà
là. Elle n’est pas pour dans plusieurs générations lorsque le niveau des mers
aura englouti tant de villes côtières, détruit l’habitat de millions de
personnes, notamment parmi les plus pauvres. Ce n’est pas pour dans quelques
siècles ou millénaires, lorsque le soleil se sera totalement consumé. C’est
pour maintenant. Un solennel « Amen, je vous le dis » introduit une
déclaration sans équivoque : « cette génération ne passera pas avant
que tout cela n’arrive ».
Qu’est-ce que cela signifie ? Premièrement, qu’il n’y a
pas besoin d’attendre pour juger, pour dévoiler la vérité de nos vies. Le
jugement est déjà prononcé, on sait qui opprime et qui souffre. Deuxièmement,
il n’y a pas besoin d’attendre pour voir le Fils de l’homme. Il est déjà là.
Nous ne le voyons pas ? Il y a fort à parier que nous
ne sommes pas du bon côté, de son côté, du côté des humiliés. Si nous voulons
le voir, il faut virer de bord, changer de camp : « il disperse les
superbes. Il renverse les puissants de leurs trônes, il élève les humbles. Il
comble de biens les affamés, renvoie les riches les mains vides. » Pour
voir Dieu, il faut cesser d’opprimer, même indirectement, à travers la défense de
nos sociétés riches qui refusent de partager ; il n’y a qu’à voir les
réfugiés et les mendiants, dans nos rues ou aux portes de l’Europe ou des
Etats-Unis. Et si, aux côtés des pauvres nous ne voyions, au moins nous serions
tout près de lui, car c’est là qu’il se trouve ; j’étais nu, j’avais soin
et soif, j’étais malade ou prisonnier et vous m’avez vêtu, donné à manger,
visité.
Nous ne pouvons attendre plus longtemps, en profitez encore un
peu, même si tarde la justice. Le ciel et la terre auraient beau passer, ses « paroles
ne passeront pas » : « Il disperse les superbes, renverse les
puissants de leurs trônes, renvoie les riches les mains vides. »
The end of the world. Inevitably, it smells like disaster. How can one think of the loss of life, of culture and of nature as anything other than a disaster, an Apocalypse, a day of reckoning? The World Climate Summit to be held in Paris in a few weeks shows the concern that imposes itself, little by little, to urgently protect our ecosystem from man-made self-destruction. The destruction of Palmyra arouses horror, that of losing a culture or, rather, its remains. Imagine the horror of losing our own culture.
We may deplore that we are insufficiently alarmed by the fate of foreign lives crushed by war, hunger, forced emigration, borders that bristle with barbed wire and fences, etc. We may deplore that we are insufficiently alarmed by the fate of cultures that colonization destroyed. We may even deplore that our concern for the fate of Palmyra and the remains of a culture dead for centuries seem to preoccupy us more than the protection of cultures threatened by us today, or than the search for equality and fraternity within our own ghettoes and society at large.
Yet for all those who suffer and can’t stand it any longer, the end of the world is a rather good news. Gospel truth!
In any event, whether the end of the world is apprehended as a disaster or as the end of suffering, it consists in a turn around, a revolution, a metanoia of the world itself; it is a judgment that reveals the reality of those who abuse their brethren. It is them who may have cause to worry since the end of the world will mark the end of their position of strength. Then will be openly denounced the weight of suffering they had imposed on others. They ate well and drank as much, but it's too late, their world is over. We understand why they could be in terror at the possibility of the world coming to an end. For those who mourn, on the other hand, it might very well be a party; their chore will be completed and a zeitgeist of Exodus or of return from exile will be all around them. "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted", says the Gospel.
In today’s Gospel (Mk 13: 24-42), we consider the end of the world only in a positive light. It is the heavens that are shaken in this story, not the earth (Mk 13: 24-25). It is the heavens which seem to be turned upside down, and although the light of the stars will no longer shine on the earth, nothing is said of what that could mean for earthly life. The parable of the fig tree is meant to announce Summer and fertility, not Winter and lack of harvest. The story is that of gathering all the blessed from all parts of the world, from the most far away parts of the earth straight onto heaven. There is no talk of damnation nowhere in this passage.
For Mark, the unveiling, the revelation –this is the meaning of the word Apocalypse— is good news. Mark clearly speaks from the point of view to see things thus, i.e.: from the point of view of God, on the side of all of today’s refugees. The Apocalypse is a party. It’s a celebration. As in Summer "the earth has yielded its fruit": "The Son of Man is near, he’s at your very door!"
The world is on fire, apocalyptic violence is all around us, the end is already near. It won’t occur several generations from us, when sea levels will have engulfed so many coastal cities that the habitat of millions of people will have been destroyed, especially that of the poorest amongst us. It is not to be expected in a few centuries or millennia, when the sun will be totally consumed. It is happening now! A solemn "Amen, I say to you" introduces an unequivocal statement by Christ: "This generation will not pass until all these things have taken place."
What does that mean? It means first that there is no need to wait before passing judgment and ripping away the sad truth of our worldly lives. The judgment has already been stated, we know very well who are oppressed and who are suffering. And it means second that there is no need to wait to see the Son of man before doing anything about it. He is already here.
We don’t see him? It might be safe to assume that this is because we are not on the right side of things, i.e.: on His side, the side of the humiliated. If we want to see Him, we must turn around (con-vert), switch sides: "He scatters the proud-hearted. He casts the mighty from their thrones and raises the lowly. He fills the starving with good things, and sends the rich away empty." To see God, one must stop oppressing the oppressed, even indirectly, through the defense of our rich societies that refuse to share. One just need to look at the refugees and the beggars in our streets or at the doors of Europe or the United States. And if, even while with the poor we don’t see Him, at least we would be close to Him because it is there that He has said that He would be: I was naked, I was careful and thirsty, I was sick and in prison and you clothed me, gave room, visited.
We can no longer wait any longer. We can no longer take a little longer, even if justice seems to be slow coming. Even if heaven and earth were to pass, His "words will not": "He scatters the proud-hearted. He casts the mighty from their thrones and sends the rich away empty."
Translated by Jean-François Garneau
The end of the world. Inevitably, it smells like disaster. How can one think of the loss of life, of culture and of nature as anything other than a disaster, an Apocalypse, a day of reckoning? The World Climate Summit to be held in Paris in a few weeks shows the concern that imposes itself, little by little, to urgently protect our ecosystem from man-made self-destruction. The destruction of Palmyra arouses horror, that of losing a culture or, rather, its remains. Imagine the horror of losing our own culture.
We may deplore that we are insufficiently alarmed by the fate of foreign lives crushed by war, hunger, forced emigration, borders that bristle with barbed wire and fences, etc. We may deplore that we are insufficiently alarmed by the fate of cultures that colonization destroyed. We may even deplore that our concern for the fate of Palmyra and the remains of a culture dead for centuries seem to preoccupy us more than the protection of cultures threatened by us today, or than the search for equality and fraternity within our own ghettoes and society at large.
Yet for all those who suffer and can’t stand it any longer, the end of the world is a rather good news. Gospel truth!
In any event, whether the end of the world is apprehended as a disaster or as the end of suffering, it consists in a turn around, a revolution, a metanoia of the world itself; it is a judgment that reveals the reality of those who abuse their brethren. It is them who may have cause to worry since the end of the world will mark the end of their position of strength. Then will be openly denounced the weight of suffering they had imposed on others. They ate well and drank as much, but it's too late, their world is over. We understand why they could be in terror at the possibility of the world coming to an end. For those who mourn, on the other hand, it might very well be a party; their chore will be completed and a zeitgeist of Exodus or of return from exile will be all around them. "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted", says the Gospel.
In today’s Gospel (Mk 13: 24-42), we consider the end of the world only in a positive light. It is the heavens that are shaken in this story, not the earth (Mk 13: 24-25). It is the heavens which seem to be turned upside down, and although the light of the stars will no longer shine on the earth, nothing is said of what that could mean for earthly life. The parable of the fig tree is meant to announce Summer and fertility, not Winter and lack of harvest. The story is that of gathering all the blessed from all parts of the world, from the most far away parts of the earth straight onto heaven. There is no talk of damnation nowhere in this passage.
For Mark, the unveiling, the revelation –this is the meaning of the word Apocalypse— is good news. Mark clearly speaks from the point of view to see things thus, i.e.: from the point of view of God, on the side of all of today’s refugees. The Apocalypse is a party. It’s a celebration. As in Summer "the earth has yielded its fruit": "The Son of Man is near, he’s at your very door!"
The world is on fire, apocalyptic violence is all around us, the end is already near. It won’t occur several generations from us, when sea levels will have engulfed so many coastal cities that the habitat of millions of people will have been destroyed, especially that of the poorest amongst us. It is not to be expected in a few centuries or millennia, when the sun will be totally consumed. It is happening now! A solemn "Amen, I say to you" introduces an unequivocal statement by Christ: "This generation will not pass until all these things have taken place."
What does that mean? It means first that there is no need to wait before passing judgment and ripping away the sad truth of our worldly lives. The judgment has already been stated, we know very well who are oppressed and who are suffering. And it means second that there is no need to wait to see the Son of man before doing anything about it. He is already here.
We don’t see him? It might be safe to assume that this is because we are not on the right side of things, i.e.: on His side, the side of the humiliated. If we want to see Him, we must turn around (con-vert), switch sides: "He scatters the proud-hearted. He casts the mighty from their thrones and raises the lowly. He fills the starving with good things, and sends the rich away empty." To see God, one must stop oppressing the oppressed, even indirectly, through the defense of our rich societies that refuse to share. One just need to look at the refugees and the beggars in our streets or at the doors of Europe or the United States. And if, even while with the poor we don’t see Him, at least we would be close to Him because it is there that He has said that He would be: I was naked, I was careful and thirsty, I was sick and in prison and you clothed me, gave room, visited.
We can no longer wait any longer. We can no longer take a little longer, even if justice seems to be slow coming. Even if heaven and earth were to pass, His "words will not": "He scatters the proud-hearted. He casts the mighty from their thrones and sends the rich away empty."
Translated by Jean-François Garneau
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