Several years ago, a member of the congregation I served asked if I would officiate at a relative's wedding. I agreed as a favor, even though I had some concerns based on rumors I had heard. When I showed up at the severely in need of renovation beach hotel, I received news that the ceremony would be delayed while the groom secured a sound system. After the groomsmen assembled a makeshift sound system, I stood in the main hall awaiting the wedding party's arrival. After a few minutes and some scurrying back and forth, the couple arrived with their attendants and processed into the hall as the lyrics from an R.E.M. song blared, "It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine." I smiled and thought, what a curious way to enter a marriage. Years later, I learned the couple split up.

This Sunday in the Western Christian tradition, the season of Advent begins with selected readings addressing the coming end of the world. Many people associate the month of December with Christmas or Hannukah, so this first Sunday in Advent seems out of place to many. But adventus in the Latin means the coming, which is a reference to the in breaking of the infinite into the temporal.

Sunday's gospel from St. Mark is haunting and daunting if read from a literalistic point of view.

Mark 13:24-37
"But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in clouds' with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. "From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly, I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. "But about that day or hour, no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you, I say to all: Keep awake."

My goodness, this does sound like the end of the world as we know it, but I’m not feeling fine.

Passages such as this are very much in the tradition of apocalyptic literature, which Judaism and Christianity inherited from the ancient Persian religion of Zoroastrianism. At its core, Zoroastrianism emphasizes a never-ending battle between good and evil — a contest between the religion's God, Ahura Mazda, and an evil spirit, Ahriman. Believers can make good or bad choices; Zoroaster urged them to think good thoughts, say good words, and do good deeds.

The Hebrew Bible and the Christian New Testament books of Daniel, Ezekial, selected passages in the gospels, and the Book of Revelation all contain influences of these apocalyptic writings. But this literature is not merely a part of the past.

Apocalyptic visions of society's catastrophic collapse have become ubiquitous in contemporary books, movies, shows, and even news headlines. Zombie plagues, climate catastrophes, pandemics, rogue A.I., alien invasions - our screens overflow with disturbing scenes of civilizational ruin. The metaphor of apocalypse powerfully speaks to present-day societal anxieties. But what deeper meaning does this persistent imagery hold for modern consciousness? Examining apocalyptic thought throughout history provides insight into why this theme continues to dominate the collective imagination.

The archetypal roots of apocalyptic vision trace back over 2500 years to Persian Zoroastrianism’s prophecy of history ending in fiery Armageddon. Apocalypse symbolically encodes a worldview of good and evil, order and chaos, locked in eternal battle toward some final reckoning. It envisions the violent destruction of existing institutions as a painful yet necessary phase enabling society’s salvation, rebirth, and transformation.

Why does apocalyptic expectation continue to grip the imagination so powerfully in a supposedly rational scientific age? Depth psychology perspectives provide insight. 20th-century psychologist Carl Jung saw apocalyptic visions emanating from the collective unconscious – a kind of common pool lurking beneath humanities awareness. Just as we are fascinated with horror movies at Halloween, so too human beings are captivated by energies personified as destructive monsters and demons. Apocalypse symbolically expresses this psychic tension. It reveals society's buried fear of getting devoured by unacknowledged inner shadow.

Additionally, apocalyptic stories reflect anxieties around the shadowy side of technology and late capitalist systems spinning out of control. Concerns about the climate crisis, global pandemic, nuclear war, and robotic overlords all originate from a sense that the engines of scientific "progress" inevitably invite catastrophic unintended consequences. Like in ancient myths of flood and fire destroying corrupt civilizations, today's tales of climate disasters and zombie plagues manifest fears around reckless hubris provoking nature's wrath.

Yet, apocalyptic narratives also touch on a deep-rooted longing for cleansing revelation and societal rebirth. Destruction opens the space for creation anew. After the prophesized Ragnorak battle in Norse legend, the world regenerates peacefully. Biblical Armageddon presages a thousand-year utopian rule. Apocalypse becomes a means of imagining flawed structures of greed and oppression consumed to nourish new possibilities. Our collective obsession with cataclysmic collapse intimates a profound, if unconscious, wish for revolutionary positive change.

Perhaps all of this end of the world talk, functions to process anxiety and grief about ongoing injustice and environmental harm. Compelled to witness humanity's destructive capacity daily in headlines and social media feeds, fantasies of apocalyptic resolution offer an unconscious salve. Externalizing fears into symbolic collective narratives can create meaningful space for contemplating cracks in existing systems. This could facilitate awakening new purpose and collaborative action.

For all its visions of dread, apocalyptic imagery also strangely renews hope. It pulls back illusion and clears space for truth-telling and conscious reckoning that critically illuminates the path ahead. Apocalypse as a metaphorical forest fire exposes societal shadows and releases regenerative seedlings to nourish rebirth. A sobering memento mori, it cautions that the future rests on awakening from delusion now before time runs out. We may welcome revelation instead of disaster. For the opportunity still exists to create renewal without all-consuming calamity.

Michael Meade's book "Why the World Doesn't End: Tales of Renewal in Times of Loss" explores the theme of apocalypse and renewal. Meade delves into the symbolic meanings and wisdom found in mythic origin stories, folk tales, and religious narratives. He draws parallels between these ancient narratives and the concept of renewal following crisis or destruction, much like the jack pine tree, which requires the heat of a forest fire to release its seeds. These stories from various cultures, including Judeo-Christian, Hindu, and Mesopotamian traditions, emphasize that apocalyptic events often symbolize new beginnings rather than absolute ends.

In Mark’s narrative above, I note the image of the fig tree. “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near.”

We could trace a whole line of imagery around trees in sacred literature from the tree in an ancient garden to the tree on Calvary to the tree of life in revelation. Perhaps it’s this image borrowed from nature that helps us see the apocalypse in its original meaning, that of revealing or to uncover. Could it be that the cycle of regeneration – birth, death and rebirth is our most helpful perspective on all things apocalyptic?

Until next time,

James Hazelwood, writer, bishop, and spiritual director, is the author of Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life and Everyday Spirituality: Discover a Life of Hope, Peace, and Meaning. He has a new book in process, a collection of essays on the two realms of life. It is due out this winter. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net

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