When Christ Comes: The Hope of His Return!
Scott Bayles, pastor
adapted from Max Lucado’s, When Christ Comes
First Christian Church, Rosiclare, IL
Imagine you are in your car driving home. Thoughts wander to the game you want to see or meal you want to eat, when suddenly a sound unlike any you’ve ever heard fills the air. The sound is high above you. A trumpet? A choir? A choir of trumpets? You don’t know, but you want to know. So you pull over, get out of your car, and look up. As you do, you see you aren’t the only curious one. The roadside has become a parking lot. Car doors are open, and people are staring at the sky. Shoppers are racing out of the grocery store. The Little League baseball game across the street has come to a halt. Players and parents are searching the clouds.
And what they see, and what you see, has never before been seen.
As if the sky were a curtain, the drapes of the atmosphere part. A brilliant light spills onto the earth. There are no shadows. None. From where the light came begins to tumble a river of color—spiking crystals of every hue ever seen and a million more never seen. Riding on the flow is an endless fleet of angels. They pass through the curtains one myriad at a time, until they occupy every square inch of the sky. North. South. East. West. Thousands of silvery wings rise and fall in unison, and over the sound of the trumpets, you can hear the cherubim and seraphim chanting, “Holy, holy, holy.”
The final flank of angels is followed by twenty-four silver-bearded elders and a multitude of souls who join the angels in worship. Suddenly the movement stops and the trumpets are silent, leaving only the triumphant triplet: “Holy, holy, holy.” Between each word is a pause. With each word a profound reverence. You hear your own voice joining in the chorus. You don’t know why you say the words, but you know you must.
Suddenly, the heavens are quiet. All is quiet. The angels turn, you turn, the entire world turns—and there he is. Jesus. Through waves of light you see the silhouetted figure of Christ the King. He is atop a great stallion, and the stallion is atop a billowing cloud. He opens his mouth, and you are surrounded by his declaration: “I am the Alpha and the Omega.”
The angels bow their heads. The elders remove their crowns. And before you is a figure so consuming that you know, instantly you know: Nothing else matters. Forget stock markets and school reports. Sales meetings and football games. Nothing is newsworthy. All that mattered, matters no more, for Christ has come. . . .
How do those words make you feel? Wouldn’t it be interesting to sit in a circle and listen to people’s reactions? If a cluster of us summarized our emotions regarding the return of Christ in one word—what words would we hear? What word would you use?
Discomfort? Probably a popular choice. You’ve been told your mistakes will be revealed. You’ve been told your secrets will be made known. Books will be opened, and names will be read. You know God is holy. You know you are not. How could the thought of his return bring anything but discomfort?
Besides, there are all those phrases—“the mark of the beast,” “the Antichrist,” and “the battle of Armageddon.” And what about “the wars and rumors of wars”? And what was that the guy said on TV? “Avoid all phone numbers with the digits 666.” And that magazine article disclosing the new senator as the Antichrist? Discomforting, to say the least.
Or perhaps discomfort is not your word of choice. Denial might be more accurate. (Or maybe it’s by denial that you deal with the discomfort?) Ambiguity is not a pleasant roommate. We prefer answers and explanations, and the end of time seems short on both. Consequently, you opt not to think about it. Why consider what you can’t explain? If he comes, fine. If not, fine. But I’m going to bed. I have to work tomorrow.
Or how about this word—disappointment? This one may surprise you, unless you’ve felt it; then you’ll relate. Who would feel disappointment at the thought of Christ’s coming? A mother-to-be might—she wants to hold her baby. An engaged couple might—they want to be married. A soldier stationed overseas might—he wants to go home before he goes home.
These form just a sampling of the many emotions stirred by the thought of Christ’s return. Others might be obsessed. (These are the folks with the charts and codes and you-better-believe-it prophecies.) Panic. (“Sell everything and head to the hills!”)
I wonder what God would want us to feel. It’s not hard to find the answer. Jesus said it plainly in John 14. Just prior to his crucifixion, Jesus told his disciples that he would be leaving them. “Where I am going you cannot follow now, but you will follow later” (John 13:36 NIV).
Such a statement was bound to stir some questions. Peter spoke for the others and asked, “Lord, why can’t I follow you now?” (vs. 37 NIV).
See if Jesus’ reply doesn’t reveal the way God wants us to feel:
Jesus said, “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust in me. There are many rooms in my Father’s house; I would not tell you this if it were not true. I am going there to prepare a place for you. After I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me so that you may be where I am. (John 14:1-3 NCV)
Jesus’ words to his disciples contained one simple imperative and a threefold promise. The imperative? Trust. “Trust in God, and trust in me.”
It’s a simple scenario. Jesus has gone away for a while. But he will come back. And until then, God wants his children to be at peace—to trust him.
I want the same for my children.
I don’t often have to leave my kids overnight, but when I do, I always want to them to be at peace—I don’t want their little hearts to be troubled. Yeshua is the older of the two so he’s usually okay. When we leave them with a babysitter or their cousins, he’s usually off and running, barely noticing when we leave. Right up until bed time, that is. My son is use to having me lay with him at night and sometimes, if I’m not there, he cries and keeps asking for me. Sarai can be even harder to leave. Separation anxiety. As soon we step toward the door the water works come on. Sometimes they don’t stop until she passes out in her bed. “We’ll be home in a couple hours” doesn’t make sense to her—she just doesn’t understand times and epochs of times. How do you explain time and distance to someone who doesn’t understand time and distance?
Of course, that’s not what I want for my kids while I’m gone. I don’t want them to feel discomfort. I certainly don’t want them dreading my return.
God doesn’t want us feeling that way either.
Before ascending into heaven, Jesus promised to come back. Our job in the meantime is simply to trust him. Eventual the final chapter of history will be written and Christ will come again. But until then Jesus says: “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust in me.” Then comes that threefold promise. First…
• The Promise of Room
Jesus said, “There are many rooms in my Father’s house” (vs. 2). Why does he refer to “many rooms”? Why does our Master make a point of mentioning the size of the house? You can answer that question as you think about the many times in life you’ve heard the opposite. Haven’t there been occasions when you’ve been told: “We have no room for you here”?
Have you heard it in the workplace? “Sorry, I don’t have room for you in my business.”
Have you heard it in sports? “We don’t have room for you on this team.”
From someone you love? “I don’t have room for you in my heart.”
Most sadly, have you heard it from a church? “You’ve made too many mistakes. We don’t have room for you here.”
Some of the saddest words on earth are: “We don’t have room for you.”
Jesus knew the sound of those words. He was still in Mary’s womb when the innkeeper said, “We don’t have room for you.”
When the residents of his hometown tried to stone him, were they not saying the same? “We don’t have room for prophets in this town.”
When the religious leaders accused him of blasphemy, weren’t they shunning him? “We don’t have room for a self-proclaimed Messiah in this country.”
And when he was hung on the cross, wasn’t the message one of utter rejection? “We don’t have room for you in this world.”
Even today Jesus is given the same treatment. He goes door-knocking from heart to heart, asking if he might enter. But more often than not, he hears the words of the Bethlehem innkeeper: “Sorry. Too crowded. I don’t have room for you here.”
But every so often, he is welcomed. Someone throws open the door of his or her heart and invites him to stay. And to that person Jesus gives this great promise: “Do not let your heart be troubled. Trust in God. And trust in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms.”
“I have plenty of room for you,” he says. What a wonderful promise he makes! We make room for him in our hearts, and he makes room for us in his house. His house has ample space; it’s a big, big house. That brings us to the second promise…
• The Promise of Residence
After assuring us of the size of his house, Jesus makes it clear that his home will be our home. “I am going there to prepare a place for you” (vs. 2 NIV).
Whenever Ashley and I are on vacation or off visiting family, no matter how much fun we have, there’s still something special about coming home—it’s almost the best part of any trip. You look forward to collapsing in that comfortable chair, sleeping in your own familiar bed. Dr. James M. Gray put it beautifully in a song he wrote years ago: “Who could mind the journey, when the road leads home?” Or in the words of Dorothy, “There’s no place like home.”
Our love for home, our yearning for it, is a glimmer of our longing for our true home. When you get to heaven, you won’t feel out of place or lost or uncomfortable; you’ll feel right at home. Nobody knows you better than Jesus—so who better to prepare a place for you than him? He is preparing the perfect place just for you. I love John MacArthur’s definition of eternal life, “Heaven is the perfect place for people made perfect.” This verse also suggests that Jesus has in mind for each of us an individual dwelling that’s a smaller part of a larger place—a place that will be your home in the most unique sense.
I really doubt that heaven will be filled with cookie-cutter houses. God loves diversity; he custom-tailors his children and his provisions for them. When we see the particular places he’s prepared for us—not just for mankind in general but for us in particular—we’ll celebrate to see our ideal home. (Illustration: Extreme Home Makeover)
Since heaven is the Father’s house, we know it must be a place of love and joy. When the Apostle John tried to describe his vision of heaven in Revelation 20-21, he almost ran out of symbols and metaphors! Finally, he just listed the things that would not be there—death, sorrow, crying, pain, night, etc. What a wonderful home it will be—and we will enjoy it forever! The assurance of a heavenly home at the end of life’s road enables us to bear joyfully with the obstacles and battles along the way.
Trust the promises of Christ. “I have plenty of room for you; I have prepared a residence for you.”
Finally, Jesus adds one last commitment.
• The Promise of His Return
One more time, as if for emphasis, Jesus says, “I will come back and take you to be with me so that you may be where I am going” (vs. 3). Can you detect a slight shift of tone in the last verse? The first sentences are couched in warmth. “Don’t be troubled.” “Trust God.” “There are many rooms.” There is kindness in these words. But then the tone changes. Just slightly. The kindness continues but is now spiked with conviction. “I will come back. . . .”
George Tulloch displayed similar determination. In 1996 he led an expedition to the spot where the Titanic sank in 1912. He and his crew recovered numerous artifacts, everything from eyeglasses to jewelry to dishware. In his search, Tulloch realized that a large piece of the hull had broken from the ship and was resting not far from the vessel. Tulloch immediately saw the opportunity at hand. Here was a chance to rescue part of the ship itself.
The team set out to raise the twenty-ton piece of iron and place it onto the boat. They were successful in lifting it to the surface, but a storm blew in and the ropes broke and the Atlantic reclaimed her treasure. Tulloch was forced to retreat and regroup. But before he left, he did something curious. He descended into the deep and, with the robotic arm of his submarine, attached a strip of metal to a section of the hull. On the metal he’d written these words, “I will come back, George Tulloch.”
At first glance, his action is humorous. I mean, it’s not like he has to worry about a lot of people stealing his piece of iron. For one thing, it’s two and one-half miles below the surface of the Atlantic. For another, well, it’s a piece of junk. We wonder why anyone would be so attracted to it.
Of course one might say the same about you and me. Why would God go to such efforts to reclaim us? What good are we to him? He must have his reasons because two thousand years ago, he entered the murky waters of our world in search of his children. And on all who will allow him to do so, he lays his claim and tags his name. “I will come back,” he says.
George Tulloch did. Two years later he returned and rescued the piece of iron.
Jesus will as well. We don’t know when he will come for us. We don’t know exactly how he will come for us. And, we really don’t even know why he would come for us. Oh, we have our ideas and opinions. But most of what we have is faith—faith that he has ample space and a prepared place and, at the right time, he will come so that we can be where he is.
Don’t be troubled by the return of Christ. Don’t be anxious about things you cannot comprehend. Issues like the millennium and the Antichrist are intended to challenge and stretch us, but not overwhelm and certainly not divide us. For the Christian, the return of Christ is not a riddle to be solved or a code to be broken, but rather a day to be anticipated and celebrated! It’s the beginning of the very best!
To help us gain an even better and clearer perspective and joy in anticipation of that day, we’re going to spend the rest of November delving deeply into what the Bible has to say about that great and wonderful day. What will heaven be like? What will you and I be like? Will we recognize one another? What exactly are we going to be doing for all eternity? The Bible may not provide a detailed itinerary for that day, but I believe it gives us the answers we so desperately want. Would you like to discuss the end of time and actually feel better because of it? Could you use some comforting words regarding the return of Christ? If so, I think I’ve found some, so be here all this month and we’ll talk.
In the meantime, let’s sing our invitation song…
