Rumors redux

Someone forwarded to me today an online newsletter put out by a prominent Adventist independent ministry. The newsletter claimed that some quarter century ago an Adventist pastor (one who just so happened to be big into survivalist training) dreamt that Jesus would return when America had a black president, "tall and thin, with close-cropped hair and large ears" who becomes a "terrible dictator." The pastor in question is not available for comment, being presently dead, but the newsletter states, "Apparently, the story was verified to be true."

The newsletter adds that only "time will tell" whether there's anything to this, but they apparently felt the inevitable fear-mongering was worth the chance that there might be something to it. We'll all know for sure either way sometime in the next 8 years, right? I looked up the most recent newsletter by this organization, which reports that a lot of people have inquired about it, but they're too busy to look any further into it. I did notice that another newsletter referenced "the middle verse of the Bible," which is an urban legend--the Bible has an even number of verses. That says a lot about their commitment to accuracy--and the sloppiness of their sensationalism.

Never mind that Adventists have always believed that prophecy is utterly conditional. Or that this is but the latest in a long stream of speculation about presidents and current events. Before my time the first non-Protestant president stirred excitement. When I was a kid people feared the unknown Georgia peanut farmer, catapulted into the presidency, who was surely about to bring the end-times. Uh, nope. Then Ronald Wilson Reagan had three names of six letters each: 666. And Saddam Hussein was fulfilling the prophecies about Babylon. And Bill Clinton had a whole buncha secret black helicopters he was gonna use to impose martial law . . .

Of course, the right-wing hysteria that surrounded Clinton got flipped backwards when George W. Bush took over, and we were all supposed to rally around the good Christian president (and be absurdly upbeat about a war doomed to disaster). But now that a Democrat's back in the White House, the fear-mongering is back with a vengeance. I just pray that the anti-government attitudes that brought us Oklahoma City, the Atlanta Olympics bombing, etc. don't erupt in an even worse way. But with the world as wrecked as Bush has left it, there's plenty to truly worry about--not the least of which is the people selling fear.

End

by Nathan Brown

When I am most honest with myself, the idea of the Second Coming simply freaks me out. While Paul describes looking forward to “that wonderful event when the glory of our great God and Saviour, Jesus Christ, will be revealed” (Titus 2:13, NLT)—the “blessed hope” of the King James Version—there is at least a part of me that often struggles to join in his joyous expectation.

The concept of Jesus Himself—God of the universe—tearing a hole in the sky and stepping into our world, stamping out everything evil and bringing history as we know it to a crashing end demands some attention—and some courage. Even in the Bible stories, glory, angels, trumpets and earthquakes are not the most comforting things with which to be confronted. It seems the thought of coming face to face with God—whatever that means exactly—should scare us.

And, of course, it just seems all so foreign to the day-by-day, physical reality in which we live—the only reality we have ever really known. Throw in the strange and frightening things that many of our readings of Bible prophecy suggest will form the prelude to this shattering event and I can understand why many people might fail to appreciate the blessedness of our “hope.”

But what are the alternatives? As one of Douglas Coupland’s characters in his novel of last year, The Gum Thief, puts it:

“How could you possibly be alive and on earth and have a set of eyes and ears and a brain and not figure out that some kind of end is near?”

Left to ourselves, it seems apparent our world will eventually and inevitably succumb to any number or combination of doomsday scenarios, of which the world never seems to be in short supply. And even truly facing the inevitability of our own death and the death of those we love should be enough to bring us at least occasional shudders of panic. Factor in all the injustice, brutality and tragedy in the world as we see and experience it, and it’s a bleak picture.

In these times of dark honesty, the only thing more frightening than the Second Coming is the “risk”—that raises its spectre in moments of doubt—that it might not happen, there is no real hope and, as a result, we and our world are ultimately meaningless.

And so we turn back to the promise of the Second Coming, as frightening as it might seem at times—not because it’s the better of two fearful options but because it is the only source of true hope.

The recurring theme of the Bible is that one day, God will return to our planet. He will remake our broken world, He will set wrongs right and He will live with His people. This is offered repeatedly as God’s final answer to our temptations to despair in the face of our global and personal tragedies and crises.

And the most significant element in any discussion of the second coming of Jesus must always be Jesus. When He left the earth, the central promise given by the angels to the newly-alone disciples was that He who would return would be “this same Jesus” (Acts 1:11, KJV). Becoming confident in the hope of the Second Coming means allowing our fears to be swamped by the assurance of who Jesus is, His eternal love, His unquestionable goodness and what He has done for us.

Jesus isn’t the one who will be changed—it’s us, whatever that means. “Yes, dear friends, we are already God’s children, and we can’t even imagine what we will be like when Christ returns. But we do know that when he comes we will be like him, for we will see him as he really is” (1 John 3:2).

However daunting the prospect of Jesus’ return is in so many ways, we will recognise the same Jesus we have come to know in the gospel stories and through the life experiences we have already shared with Him. There will be something so essentially right in that moment—an overwhelmingly holy awe that may well feel a lot like terror, as well as an indescribable joy.

We can’t imagine, we can’t help but be unnerved but—knowing the God we do—we can hope and we can trust.