Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

As we approach the end of this liturgical year, the selections from scripture remind us not only of the end of the year but of the end of time itself. It is an annual time to pay attention to some of the more difficult passages from the bible. They speak of the tumult and trouble associated with cataclysmic events marking the end of things as we experience them.

Daniel is one of the Old Testament books that carries this kind of freight: "there shall be a time of trouble, such as never has been since there was a nation till that time"... (12:1). It is not without cause that Daniel says such things. This type of literature arose in Judaism in times of particular struggle. It is an attempt to explain why those who are righteous must suffer while those who are wicked survive and thrive. Their answer was that in the end God will right all wrongs. If the justice of God cannot be discerned in the events of the day, then surely God must have a plan to put things right at the end of time.

The situation that forms the backdrop of Daniel is the oppressive rule of the Seleucid dictator Antiochus Epiphanes in the mid second century B.C.E. Epiphanes considered Hellenistic culture so superior that the Jewish way of life was under violent threat.

It's a context that readily reminds me of the plight of our sisters and brothers in Guatemala. There is a long history of genocidal activity related to the Mayan people; and the prejudice, racism, and oppression that support such violence continue.

The Mayas have been under siege for many centuries. With the arrival of Columbus and the conquistadors who followed, it is estimated that Mayan populations decreased from 20 million to 5 million (including deaths due to diseases brought along with the Europeans). Indigenous peoples have held the lowest status in society ever since. At first, they were slaves, with the children of the Spanish (Creoles and Ladinos) holding land and power. When independence from Spain was established in the 19th century, little changed except the crops (from indigo to coffee). The "democratic revolution" of the 1940s and 50s started a different trend, but that was interrupted by United States interventions. Only in the last decade or so are the ravages of the ensuing four decades of civil war beginning to be overcome. And still, the Maya remain poor, oppressed, victimized, and largely unrepresented in government. They make up some 60 percent of the population.

During our days in Guatemala, I began increasingly to notice the profound contradictions present in the culture. It is apparent even on the money. It seemed odd to me that a nation still infected with racism against its native peoples would portray Mayan figures prominently on its money. The Quetzales incorporate drawings found in ancient Mayan sites.

This contradiction gets expressed also in the ownership and operation of archeological institutions. Both at archeological preserves—we were treated to a Mayan ceremony at Mixco Viejo Archeological Park—and at the Popul Vuh Museum (displaying Mayan artifacts), there were no Mayans to be seen. All of those who cared for, ran, and guided tours at the sites were Ladinos (of Spanish descent). I was particular amazed that our tour guide—Rose Marie—at the Popul Vuh displayed special pride in the Mayans. She would comment frequently about how the Mayas led history in various ways. They were the first, she said with obvious pride, to invent the "zero" so essential to modern mathematics—well before the Egyptians. And she noted with glee the discovery of a Mayan pyramid that is likely both significantly larger in total mass and taller than any in Egypt. She also said several times when referring to the pottery that the designs reminded her of modern art. "Look," she said, "that could be Art Deco." And "See that depiction of a bird on that vase; it looks just like the single-line dove of Picasso. He must have stolen that idea from the Mayans."

And yet, here she was, a Ladina in a Mayan shrine—in a culture that continues to operate in ways that work to eliminate surviving descendents of that great ancient people. One of our lectures at the Sister Parish Center was from an anthropologist who detailed the ways that genocide is still practiced, along with her involvements in many court cases—some now in the International Human Rights Count—related to acts of genocide.

There are many ways that religion tends to deal with these matters of human oppression. One is to use religion as a kind of "opiate" that Sigmund Freud noted, an approach that pours onto the suffering people the palliative salve of future hope. That hope tends to be couched in the realm that follows life in this world. The second is to focus on personal salvation rather than social transformation. And the third is to take action in order to better the lot of people. The creation of base communities and other forms of community organizing is sparked and spurred by the far more overwhelming weight of scripture calling for justice in this world. This has worked its way into what is called "Liberation Theology," with forms of group bible study and cooperative action that have often improved the lives of peoples in Central and South America.

My own perspective on apocalyptic is that it can be both helpful and dangerous. It is helpful in that it reminds us of God's desire for justice. God calls for and acts for justice especially among those who are poor and oppressed. Those who are unjustly treated in this life may hope for redemption and a reversal of fortune. In this way, the apocalyptic perspective reminds us that things are not the way they should be and that God stands against many of the systems and structures of the world. Today's reading from Mark offers judgment, for example, in the form of predicted destruction of the Temple, which no longer served in godly ways.

It is incumbent upon us to judge systems and structures through the lens of God's will for justice and peace.

The danger in apocalyptic thinking is that, when taken out of context, it encourages a certain passivity. In the apocalyptic mindset, God is the one who in the end makes all things right, irrespective of human activity. And that's true; it is God's work. At the same time, we can sometimes forget that God calls us to participate in God's redemptive activity.

The tagline of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America again seems appropriate in this context—as it was in Jeff's sermon last Sunday. "God's work; Our hands." We can use our hands too in this work, doing what we may to see that justice prevails.

I am thankful that our little delegation made some efforts along these lines. We met with Stephen Steger, Political Officer at the United States Embassy in Guatemala City. We appealed for help on two scores. The first was the practical matter of getting visas for our Guatemalan sisters and brothers who desire to travel north on Sister Parish delegations. These have been hard to come by over the past few years, especially for young and unmarried persons who, they believe, hold greater potential for trying to remain in the U.S. after their arrival. We let the embassy officer know that the Sister Parish track record is perfect; there has been not a single attempt on the part of a delegate from the south to stay in the United States. He promised to advocate for better access to visas for Sister Parish delegates. And he has done so.

The other matter is becoming increasingly dear to my heart, made far more poignant by the witness of Teresa and Vicente and Martin and Enrique—the four folks from Chichipate who joined our delegation for two days. We spoke of their struggle over land rights in the face of mining interests in the area where Chichipate is located. Our native Maya friends and their ancestors have lived on and farmed these lands for centuries, and mining companies—mostly based in Canada—have gained government concessions giving them rights of a questionable nature to engage in mining—nickel specifically. Mr. Steger made the mistake of calling the Mayans "squatters." I corrected him.

Our four friends related heart-breaking stories of the violence done to them, to their families, and to their neighbors. The van, into which some 70 bullets were sprayed on September 28^th by armed agents of the mining company and the State, was driven by Teresa's nephew. Martin's son was also in the van. Both were injured; Martin was shot twice in the shoulder. One person was killed, but no one from Chichipate was mortally wounded. The issues surrounding such events are complicated, and we asked Mr. Steger to conduct an investigation.

We are thankful that he was making plans to visit the El Estor region. We are now working to put him in touch with the folks in Chichipate so that they can tell their story directly to him. We hope and pray that this will help our embassy understand more fully the various aspects of the conflict.

It's notable that while I wrote this sermon on Thursday afternoon, I listened to a newly-released music CD entitled "Coal Country Music." It was produced by Heartwood, an organization I belong to that works to preserve ancient woodlands here in the United States, including work against the strip mining that continues to be practiced in the coal-rich mountains of Appalachia. Proceeds from that purchase will support efforts to establish justice for the troubled folks who live in those mountains and who are affected adversely, much like our friends in Guatemala, by abuse of lands and persons. I acknowledge, of course, that this too is a complex matter.

The apocalyptic words of the bible speak both to us and to the people of Guatemala. They give voice to a yearning of heart and soul for justice. May that yearning seep into our very being and move us to solidarity and action for the sake of God's justice in the world. Amen.

May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord unto eternal life. Amen.