The End of the World

“It’s not the end of the world.”

If I had a brick for every time my mother said this to me growing up, I could have built a castle. One that comes complete with a moat whose bridge I could dramatically pull up so I could sulk, in the window of the highest turret, sighing loudly so every passerby would know how I suffered.

Because sometimes we act like it’s the end of the world — whether we are a little kid angered by a playground snub, a teenage girl flipping out over an assignment for English class or a college student distraught that she got scheduled for four opening shifts in a row at the coffee house where she works (yes, these are all examples taken straight from my life, why do you ask?).

And sometimes, it really does seem like the end of the world. We lose someone we love to cancer. We miscarry a child before we even get to see his tiny face. The rent is due, and the bank account is overdrawn (also all examples taken straight from my life).

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us that when the sun is darkened and the moon no longer gives light, we must look for him, because his time is near.

He’s talking about The End of the World. The big one, the apocalypse. But why do I think he’s also talking about the end of the world — those sufferings large and small, real and imagined, that make us feel like the sky is caving in?

In both instances, he draws near to us. So let us look for him.

©LPi