I suspect that many of us have a long list of questions that we want our Lord to answer when we meet him face to face. We could start with the Bible itself. Lord, tell us why God didn’t lead the people of Israel directly to the Promised Land. Why did they have to go the long way there? Tell us, Lord, why it was necessary for Joseph to be thrown into a pit by his brothers and then sold into slavery, all so that God’s people could eventually find a place of refuge in Egypt. Lord, tell us why the eyes of the disciples walking on the road to Emmaus were kept from recognizing Jesus.
Tell us, Lord, why we can’t know the day or the hour that the Son of Man will come again? Why is it that not even the Son himself claimed to know? And please tell us, Lord, which of the two women grinding meal and which of the two men working in the field were saved and which were condemned? Or do we already think we know the answer to that question?
Of course, many Christians do think they know the answer. In the rapture, those taken away are whisked off to a land of paradise, while the evil ones are left with the hell of this earth. But maybe this isn’t so clear after all. Do we really know the answer to that question? Are we really supposed to know?
It doesn’t seem that we are supposed to know. And sometimes, not knowing is precisely the point. Often, there is a supreme gift in not knowing. No one wants to know whether they will develop some horrible disease later in life. No one really wants to know how and when they will die. If we knew all those things, life would be one endless worry.
And some in the Church have banked precisely on this tactic of fear. If the ones left behind are the bad ones, then what better way to encourage good behavior than to stir up anxiety by coopting Jesus’s words. After all, if the owner of the house had known exactly when the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. We must be ready, too, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.
Such fear mongering should make us uneasy, though. According to Scripture, love is the opposite of fear. To obey God’s commandments and live virtuously simply out of fear is the height of spiritual immaturity. And centuries of wielding the stick instead of the carrot hasn’t done a lot of good for the Church. Frankly, it has done more harm than good. What is the answer, then? Are those left behind the good ones or the bad ones? Can we ever know? And if we can’t ever know, does it really matter? Is knowing the answer really the point?
Let’s try, if we can, to dispel all fear from our minds for just a moment. Let’s try to read the passage from Matthew’s Gospel without elevating our blood pressure. Let’s try to imagine how Jesus is offering us a lovely gift in telling us that we will not know when his Second Coming will be. Let’s try to find some good news in this confounding passage.
The truth is that, for now, we are all left behind. Our Lord has come, and he has gone to the right hand of the Father. We are all left behind, and that is not a bad thing. Jesus’s departure was never presented as a doomsday affair, although the disciples were certainly bereft in the immediate aftermath of his ascension. Indeed, John’s Gospel tells us that Jesus’s departure from earth was a gift, so that his followers would be given the power of his Spirit to enable them to do works even greater than he had done. Maybe being left behind and not knowing the future, for now, is a holy opportunity to live as if we are alive rather than asleep. And that is a good thing.
It seems no coincidence that all the passages surrounding today’s Gospel passage have to do with what we do in this life. They are about being spiritually proactive. They are about moving from words and ideas to deeds and actions. They are all about spiritual work and making the most of the present time. Jesus tells of a faithful and wise slave whom a master has put in charge of his household. That slave who is working when the master comes home is considered blessed. The one who takes advantage of the master’s delay in coming home and behaves badly is condemned.
Only five young women of the ten who took lamps to meet the bridegroom were considered wise, because they had the good sense to bring oil with them. The others were unprepared. The servant who hid the one talent given to him by his master was judged harshly because, out of fear, he hoarded the talent and didn’t invest it. And Jesus says that the ones who feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, and visit the imprisoned do all those things to him. It seems that what we do in this life has everything to do with entering the kingdom of God. Maybe being left behind is not such a bad thing after all.
Those who want nothing more than to be raptured away from this world often care nothing about this world. But this is the world that Jesus came to save. This is the world into which he was born, upon whose soil he walked, whose people he healed and taught, and in which he suffered and died, all so that this world might be saved. Maybe being left behind isn’t such a bad thing after all, because loving and caring for this world and the people of this world is precisely the point. Perhaps this is why Jesus doesn’t want us to know the day or the hour when he will come again.
But right now, the world is asleep. It is a time of great malaise, even within the Church. People are walking around and breathing and going about their daily tasks, but they appear lifeless. Many simply want to escape the hell of this world. They want to be raptured. They are numb from the anxieties of this world. They are plain tired of putting their trust in gods that will never take care of them. They are repelled by centuries of the Church wielding the stick. But there is also great hope, and there is hunger, too. Many are hungry for love, and they are also hungry for a Church that expects something from them because that is good news for those of us left behind.
For those of us left behind, the good news is that Jesus will come again. He will bring God’s kingdom to earth. There will be judgment, and that will be a gift because it will mean that God’s kingship is the only kingship that matters. And in that kingdom, there will no longer be any thirsty or poor or oppressed or forsaken. Christ will be all in all.
But for now, those of us left behind must wake up from our sleep. We must open our eyes and do the work that Jesus has called us to do. Now is the moment for us to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers.
Not knowing when Jesus will come again is what directs our attention to the world that Jesus came to save. It fixes our eyes on the stomachs that are empty and the lost who need to be found and the weeping who need to be comforted. It animates our very souls so that we are alive in Christ, radiating the joy of a Gospel that is the world’s healing balm. Those of us who are left behind for now are not condemned but chosen and called, called to resuscitate an apathetic and aimless generation that needs the healing power of Christ.
We are left behind, and we don’t know the day or the hour that the Son of Man will appear again in glory. We don’t know why this world has to be the way it is sometimes. We don’t know whether at the Second Coming those taken away or those left behind are the good or the bad ones. But truth be told, it doesn’t really matter. We’re not meant to know. But what we do know for sure is this: Christ will come again, and it will be the best thing this world has ever known. The only question is: will we be awake and ready?
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The First Sunday of Advent
November 30, 2025