In the three types of advent, we’ve got to number three. First was the arrival of baby Jesus, second the more subtle coming of Jesus through his people, and now we’re looking at the not-at-all subtle coming of Jesus in power and glory to wrap up human history as we know it.
Flee the wrath to come!
The ‘second coming’ of Jesus does not seem to be a very popular topic, in or out of church. I can’t remember the last time it was preached on in mine. This is not surprising. It has some embarrassing apocalyptic baggage and only seems to be embraced by some quite scary Christians. When we used to visit family in Northern Ireland in the 70s and 80s we’d see FLEE THE WRATH TO COME painted on roadside signs and even framed in cross-stitch on the walls of family homes. Terrifying! I guess at that time it was a staple of a certain style of preaching.
Thankfully there are some very entertaining reactions…
Clearly, the return of Jesus is linked in many people’s minds to wrath, judgement and terror. To be fair, this idea was not simply made up by some preachers. Jesus himself makes some pretty scary statements about the time of his return:
There will be signs in the sun, moon and stars. On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea. People will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world, for the heavenly bodies will be shaken. At that time they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.
Luke 21:25-27
He also talks about coming like a thief in the night, almost like he wants to catch people out. And he’s clear that, like a shepherd separating sheep from goats or a fisherman sorting good fish from bad, he plans to judge each one of us. How could this message be anything but terrifying?
Maranatha
But that’s not the whole story. There are other angles to Jesus’ return. If it’s all about fleeing the wrath and facing damnation, then why do we find the early Christians saying, ‘Come, Lord!’ (maranatha) with such fervour?
Back in the 90s I did a course in theology called Workshop. I think it was designed for people like me – enthusiastic, faith-filled evangelicals with a habit of checking in our brains at the door of church. This course turned out to be a feast for both the intellect and the soul. It challenged and reshaped lots of my assumptions – and one of these was the return of Jesus.
For the first time, hearing the Workshop teachers present an in-depth, biblical perspective, I saw judgement as something to be welcomed. I saw it not as an act of vengeance that destroys the whole planet (bar a few lucky souls) but an intervention full of mercy that restores it. While it will come with fear and awe, it is a time of putting things right, overturning oppression and injustice, liberating creation, returning all things to their true selves. The whole created order longs for it:
…the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.
Romans 8:
So this may be why, at the start of this advent season I had a eureka moment, a very beautiful one, which made me think that nothing in the world could be more desirable than Jesus coming back.
Waiting for the bridegroom
I had joined a virtual retreat led by David Cole, and he played us an achingly beautiful Celtic version of O Come Emmanuel. That morning I had read a passage in Mark in which Jesus describes himself as a bridegroom. As I listened I got a sense of being a bride, waiting for her groom. I pictured myself walking down the aisle of a church towards the altar. This central aisle had a carved wooden screeen running down the middle. On the other side, keeping pace with me, is the bridegroom. I can catch glimpses of him through the holes in the screen – a hand, an eye, a smile. I know that we will reach the end of the screen and then we can join hands and the wedding can take place. But for now he and I are still separate, betrothed but not yet married. There was such a sense of anticipation and longing, I thought I was going to have to turn off my camera to sort my mascara out.
I look forward to the return of Jesus, not as a terrifying judge nor as a thief in the night, although in a sense he will be both of those things. I look forward to his return as a bride waits for her wedding day. I look forward to the fulfilment of the promises that have been made, not just for me and my life but for the whole planet.
Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain.
And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see it together.”
Isaiah 40:3-5
And this isn’t a passive waiting. In a sense he’s already here, working among us in the near-invisible way I tried to describe in advent part two. So while we know there will be a time that all injustice and poverty and damage to the environment will vanish forever, even now, in quiet ways that don’t always make headlines, valleys are being raised up and mountains made low. That battle for a local authority to make its roads safer, or a campaign for free school meals, or an employer deciding to raise wages in a cost of living crisis… these insignificant-looking successes are part of how we ‘make way’ for him, how we roll out the red carpet for his return, and with his help.
So when we pray, ‘Come Lord Jesus’ it means both things. It’s a prayer for his return to finally put everything right, but it’s also a prayer to come into this day, this situation, this struggle, and make it as good here and now as it is in heaven.
Come, Lord!
And a happy Christmas to you all…
now for the real thing 