There are many things about your life which I do not know. But one thing I do know: you are living in an interim. And so am I. We are in time-in-between; we are between what has happened and what will happen. We know a great deal about the former and very little about the latter. What has been is past, and we are moving away from it, going on to what is to be. How we make this journey is very important, the attitudes with which we travel, the guiding stars we follow. So I want to speak with you about The Art of Living Until. This is what we are all doing - we are living until, until ... something.
On one occasion Jesus was telling his disciples about some spectacular events which were yet to come, and they asked him, "When shall these things be?" (Matthew 24:3). In his response Jesus told them that there would be wars and rumors and deceit, "but," said he, "the end is not yet" (Matthew 24:6). The end is not yet! Underline that. Accent it. Emphasize it any way you can; because it is the basic truth of our existence and of our living.
We all live under the canopy of one over-arching fact: we are on our way somewhere. This is an impression we cannot escape. The awareness comes up from deep within us; things will not always be as they are now. Out of all that is past, we have come to right now. And now we are moving from what is to what will be, going on from here to somewhere out yonder. This is a universal truth for our humankind. Whatever our personal circumstances or age, this truth is one we cannot escape.
Here arise all our hopes and all our fears. For all our hopes are for the future, and all our fears are of it. Here are rooted both our dreads and our anticipations.
The very small child forsees the time when he can ride a bike, toss a ball, move into the world of big boys and girls. And how quickly he comes to that time! The older child dreams of the teenage years, of getting a license to drive a car, of privilege and excitement. And how quickly the years pass and the time comes! The teenage youth anticipates the world of adult life, wanting to be his own boss, to be in command. And ah! so soon he arrives in that world. The adult man lives out his years in the daily consciousness of change, and the passing days will not let him forget duties and deadlines and prospects that loom out there ahead of him. And the older we get the more sure we are that the interim between what is and what’s next is getting shorter and shorter.
Things are moving - toward something. And we are swept along with the tide. We know that, wherever we are, we are somewhere this side of something out yonder. This engenders a kind of "interim psychology," a syndrome of the temporary. And this can be dangerous. The result for most of us most of the time is a kind of carpe diem complex. We want to sieze the day, the present day, to grasp it, to grab it. But what for? with what in view? to what purpose? to what end?
I suppose there are, in general, two ways to use the day. One is mentioned in Isaiah 22:13 where a group of people are described as slaying oxen and killing sheep and eating flesh and drinking wine and saying, "Let us eat and drink, for tommorow we die." Well, this is one approach to interim living, a very tragic and prodigal approach. It is living as though the interim is all there is.
This way is to squeeze life for its very last dregs, to wrest from it the last small smidgins of pleasure before, presumably, it’s too late; and this way has some aspects of panic. Not long ago a popular song advised, "Kiss her now." Kiss her right now - while she’s yours; while you’ve got the chance, grab the opportunity. On a young man’s powerful sports car I saw a bumper sticker bearing this message: "If it feels good, do it." This is saying there is only one consideration - how it feels, now. No matter what doing it does, do it. Whatever shackles it puts upon the future, go ahead - today is all that matters. And even it matters only because it offers a chance to grab something from it.
Back in the seventeenth century British poet Robert Herrick wrote a thing he titled "To the Virgins" in which he advised, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may," saying don’t miss your chance, for the time will come when you may not. And, my dear friend, on any day during which we encounter any substantial number of other persons, we are very likely to see several whose philosophy of interim living is simply and tragically this: Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die, or, tomorow something else may happen.
But there is another philosophy. And Jesus speaks of it in chapter 24 of Matthew, in the same conversation in which he says, "The end is not yet." He is saying there is still a future, and things are still going to be happening, and some of those things will be of awesome portent. And he says, "Watch therefore ... and be ready" (Matthew 24:42-44 RSV). In other words, don’t live as though the interim is all there is. Anticipate that something else is going to happen. Don’t consume all there is of today today; invest some of it in tomorrow; for tomorrow matters.
Jesus seems to be saying that, whatever else we may do today, the most important thing is to get ready for tomorrow, that, important as today is, tomorrow will be infinitely more so. He seems to be saying that out yonder ahead of us is something of ultimate importance, something so very important that everything this side of it is prelude. Profoundly aware of this, Tennyson wrote of
One God, one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves.
Between now and then we live in the interim; we are going on to something. We need to master the art of living until.
And speaking of this art, the first thing I would say about it is this: Understand that what is finally going to be the only important thing is surely the most important thing all along the way. This, I believe, is what Jesus is saying when he says, "Be ready." Be now in a state of readiness for what will happen then.
The onward movement of our living is a perpetual encounter with facts which become more and more final. In our lives things are changing, and they are going to change; they will not remain forever as they are now. And the changes are impelling us in one certain direction, funneling us on toward one specific point, bringing us irrespressibly to one final fact.
There is a very pointed parable in Jeremiah 12:5: "If you have run with footmen and they have wearied you, then how can you race against horses? If in a land of peace you have fallen down, then how will you do when the Jordan overflows?" (KJ adapted). Taking Jeremiah’s metaphor of the overflowing river, let us see how things change as the river overflows. Let us devise our own parable of the ingredients he gives us here.
Here is farmer Jones with his family. They live on a prosperous river farm, and it’s a pleasant stream. In its crystal water in summer they fish and swim, and in winter they ice-skate on its surface. Along its banks they picnic and play, and at its edge their livestock is watered. It’s a good life they live with the friendly river.
And then comes the rain, and this is good. The grass will grow and the flowers will bloom, and the bottomlands will be coated with rich new soil as the water rises. But this time the rains keep coming, and the river keeps rising. The lower roads are closed. School has been dismissed, and the children are at home, and it’s a festive time. There is all the excitement of a big show as the water covers the tops of the fence posts, and the children excitedly say, "See how high it is!"
There is an air of excited emergency, with adventure and dramatic activity. Save the haystack! get the pigs out of the lower barn! and the machinery out of the shed. Then - there is a slow dawning of truth, and the festive mood turns into crisis. After the lower barn has washed away and then the upper barn, and the rain is still falling, and the water is still rising and stands five feet deep on the living room floor, and the house shakes and trembles, and the family are all huddled upstairs, and the children are crying, then somehow the haystack and the pigs and the barns - they just don’t seem to matter anymore. The issue is stripped to its bare essential: how to survive alive, how to keep the family from drowning. And then the worst comes; with an ominous grinding of timbers, the house shatters and falls apart, and each person is cast into the flood, alone, and the tide rolls over, and - darkness comes.
What is important then? When nothing is ahead except eternity, when all else is past and gone? The pleasant river, the picnic spot, the barns, the pigs, the house, and all the people - what is important then? When the river overflows? And, my dear friend, it will.
Curious, isn’t it, how our estimate of values rises and falls according to circumstance. What we saw as of no value yesterday may grow in importance until it is all-important tomorrow. What was of great worth yesterday may fade today and be gone tomorrow. At age thirty one may have a consuming sex interest, but after living eighty or ninety years, somehow that part of life doesn’t matter so much any more! At forty one may have a mammoth money interest, but when within three days of dying from cancer, money doesn’t matter nearly as much as it once did.
For the child it’s the bright toy to hold and manipulate and cuddle and use. But time passes, and the toy is put on the shelf, or packed in an old trunk, or thrown out with the rubbish. And then it’s bright clothes, the exciting date, the fast car, the latest pop singer, school. But time passes, and school is over, the date becomes a marriage, and there is a home, and work to be done. It’s the economic struggle, the security battle, the social circle, responsibility, deadlines. But time passes, and work is finished. Old friends, one by one, slip away, and the world looks strange, and it’s the struggle to be occupied, to maintain identity, to keep alive. But time passes, and strength wanes, eyesight fails, footsteps falter, breath shortens, the heart flutters, familiar objects grow dim and seem to float away and away - and the river overflows.
One by one the great importances of other days have dwindled into insignificance. Only one consideration is left, one passionate hope: to hear One who said this long ago say it again, "Today you shall be with me in Paradise." You see, when Jesus said, "Be ready," he fully understood what life is like and how the course of life runs.
Life is a process of diminishing alternatives. We start out with many options; open doors are everywhere; we choose among many roads. And the roads merge and diverge across the landscape of years, and out there somewhere is a narrow passage into which all roads converge at last, a narrow place which all must pass. We talk sometimes about "situation ethics," but the time will come when this will not be a question for debate. It will be answered; there will be no situation to debate about.
As we try to determine how life ought to be lived, so many issues appear to be so relative. "It all depends," we say. How an issue looks may very well depend upon the light in which we see it. And remember this: grotesque distortions can be produced by lighting effects! But one day all our playing with the lights will be finished, and we shall see everything as it is. And this will include our view of God. As it is written, "We shall see him as he is" (1 John 3:2). And, in the light of him, we shall see ourselves as we are. Perhaps this is what judgment is.
But we are now living in the meanwhile. That time has not yet come. The end is not yet. And I am saying to you that the first requirement for mastering the art of living until is to find out what will be at last the only important thing and make this the most important thing in your life all along the way.
Now, my friend, all of this may come through to you as a gloomy and uninspiring prospect, the prospect of diminishing alternatives as the roads of life converge upon the narrow place. But we are not stopping here. This is only the first of the things we need to understand about the art of living until. We go on now to look beyond the narrow place. And, even over there, we can hear the word of Jesus, "The end is not yet."
What is life? Well, whatever else it may be, it is certainly a-going-somewhere. And, for those of us who find our way, it is a going somewhere good, and when you are going to a good place, yes, you may enjoy the journey, but the best thing about it is getting there, reaching the goal. Who wants to be forever traveling and never arriving? The only way to get anywhere is at last to leave the traveled roads behind you.
Suppose you take a map of America and choose a wonderful place you want to go, a place a long way off. There are many roads. In the beginning of your journey you may choose this way or that. But every time you pass another intersection there are fewer remaining intersections to choose between The farther you go, the more and more you are committed, focused in upon that distant destination. And so it is until at last you turn into home stretch road, and round a curve, and the gates open, and you are there. And this is good.
More than anything else, it is the character of the destination which gives quality to the journey. Let us illustrate it this way: Highway 296 is a three-hundred-mile length of typical mid-western road. It is springtime, and driving along its distance, a forty-year-old man is going west. His destination is a hospital morgue where he will identify and claim the body of his beloved wife, her life lost earlier today in a grisley auto crash. The traveler sees nothing but a blurred view of highway pavement and roadside signs.
On the same day on the same road, another man is also driving west. Beside him sits his wife, and together they are on their way to the college campus where their beautiful daughter will graduate tomorrow with the highest honors the school can bestow. They see every lovely thing; for four years they have often traveled this road, but it’s never been more thrilling or more delightful than it is today. You see, it’s the destination that makes the difference.
I said a moment ago that all of us must pass the narrow place. But I did say pass, didn’t I? And this is exactly what we do - pass it, and go on. Understand this, my dear Christian friend, we know where we are going.
A generation or two ago, Robert G. Ingersoll was a brilliant lecturer in America. An outspoken critic of the Bible and of the Christian Faith, one of his favorite platform performances was to lambast religion. On one occasion he said, "Someone will ask me whence I came and whither I am going. I do not know whence I came and I do not know whither I am going. I am on a wide sea sailing on a great ship. I know only a few of the passengers, and I have no acquaintance with either the pilot or the captain. If the ship goes down in mid-ocean, I will go down with it; but if it rounds into a beautiful harbor, I’ll be there."
This bit of cynical oratory by Ingersoll evoked an inspiring response from A. B. Leonard, a Christian minister and man of faith. The response goes as follows: "If you ask me whence I came and whither I am going, I answer: I came from a God-created race that came out of the garden of Eden, and I am going to a City whose builder and maker is God. I, too, am sailing on a great ship, the old ship of Zion. I am acquainted with many of the passengers, and they are splendid people. But best of all, I am acquainted with the Pilot and the Captain, Jesus my Lord. This ship will not go down in mid-ocean, but will round into a beautiful harbor, and all on board will sing."
Well, here we have two ways of traveling, two ways of moving from where we are to the distant harbor. One way is the way of uncertainty, doubtful if a harbor exists. The other way is the way of assurance, certain of safe arrival and that the harbor is a happy place. And this, I think, is the second requirement in mastering the art of living until: Be confident of the outcome.
No, we cannot be sure what storms may set upon us along the way, but we can be sure of a safe haven at last. As the persecutions were tightening about the Apostle Paul, he left Ephesus to go to Jerusalem. In his farewell to the Ephesian Christians, he said, "And now, behold, I am going to Jerusalem, bound in the Spirit, not knowing what shall befall me there" (Acts 20:22 RSV). As Paul saw it, Jerusalem was a part of the interim, not the end of the line. His faith reached far beyond Jerusalem and anything that might happen there. Later, writing from a Roman prison, he expressed that faith this way: "I know whom I have believed, and am certain that he is able to keep until that day that which I have entrusted to him" (2 Timothy 1:12 Ad.). Paul is saying: I do not know about Jerusalem, but I do know for sure about something farther along.
Many of the parables of Jesus are teaching us the crucial importance of having confidence in the outcome. One of these may be read in Luke 19. In this situation Jesus was dealing with a bunch of people who wanted everything to come out right - right then. They really believed, so it is written, that the Kingdom of God was to appear immediately. So Jesus told them a story to illustrate the importance of holding on, and keeping faith, and waiting it out, and seeing it through.
He said that a nobleman went into a far country to receive kingly power and then return. For the duration of his absence the nobleman put his affairs into the hands of ten trusted servants. His mission to the far country was a hazardous one, for some people hated him and said, "We do not want this man to reign over us." In the minds of some, apparently, the outcome of his mission was gravely in doubt.
Nine of his ten trusted servants believed in him, and while he was away they handled his affairs well. But the tenth servant, as he later confessed, was afraid. And he did not serve the nobleman well. In fact he didn’t serve him at all. He took the money which had been entrusted to him and hid it in the ground; he buried it. In due course the nobleman returned, victorious, successful, and now a king. When he asked that servant for an accounting, all he got was a confession, an embarrassed apology for having done nothing.
"Why?" asked the king. "Why did you not do something?" And the man answered, "I was afraid." Well, what was he afraid of? His assignment had been to take care of things for the prince until he should return, to act in the name of his lord, to look out for his interests during the interim of his absence. But the man was a victim of a paralyzing fear. He was afraid of how things might turn out. He was afraid that in the intrigue of king-making the enemies of the prince might undo him. He was afraid that the prince might lose his bid for kingly power. And this terrified tenth servant just didn’t want to be identified with a lost cause.
So he hid his lord’s money in the ground, pretended it wasn’t there, and went about saying, I’m neutral in this matter. He wouldn’t commit himself. He didn’t believe strongly enough in the prince. Afraid of what might happen out yonder somewhere, he mismanaged the meanwhile. And having goofed up his interim assignment, when the prince returned in all his regal splendor, this poor fellow didn’t get appointed to rule over any cities. The others did, but not this one. He failed in the interim; he didn’t even get to the final test - and the way it turned out, there wasn’t a final test anyway; the prince was a winner. But this poor fear-filled fellow didn’t make it that far; when the victory came, he wasn’t there to enjoy it. For him, alas, the interim proved more perilous than the event would ever have been. If only he could have believed - and acted accordingly! But he didn’t believe; and he didn’t act; and he failed. And he failed because he was afraid, afraid of the outcome.
I say to you, my dear friend, that one of the secrets of living in the interim is to believe in the outcome, how things will come out, how the interim will end. This parable of the mistrusting servant is one of the most directly revelant of all the parables of Jesus. In this parable he is speaking to us right where we are, right here in this interim where we live. And he is saying: You occupy until I come.
The fearful servant in the parable was not ready for his lord’s return. He had not used the interim well, and he was gravely embarrassed when the prince reappeared - in the full glory of kingly might and authority. Well, in Matthew 24:44 Jesus lets us know what all of this means for us right here in our situation and condition. He says, "Therefore you also must be ready; for the Son of man is coming at an hour you do not expect."
And he says, "Watch therefore" (Matthew 24:42). In the New English Bible this verb is translated "keep awake." Be alert. Be on your toes. Stand at attention. Fall in. Get with it. Some intervals are times for sleeping, but not this one. This one is a time for watchfulness.
This, it seems to me, is the third requirement for mastering the art of living until: keep awake. The Apostle Paul was quite interim-conscious when he wrote to the Thessalonian church, "You yourselves know very well that the Day of the Lord will come as unexpectedly as a thief comes in the night. When people say, ‘There is peace and security,’ then destruction will come upon them ... But you are not in darkness, brethren, for that Day to surprise you like a thief. For you are all children of light, and of the day; we are not of the night or of darkness. So then let us not sleep, as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober" (1 Thessalonians 5:2-6).
Paul apparently wishes us to understand what kind of interim this is in which we are living. It is a kind which demands alertness, attention, activity. There may be a kind of interim which is simply a waiting period, but this one isn’t. He who would live it well isn’t just a waiter; he is also a worker. He foresees that out yonder somewhere is something he must be ready for, and he is working on it. He believes in a gloriously wonderful eventuation of things, and he is working toward it. He hears Jesus say, "Occupy until I come," and he is therefore occupied.
Someone wrote concerning a certain woman: "Fourscore years this life she led: in the morning she arose, and at night went to bed." What a career! Day-to-day existence; alive, perhaps, at least biologically, but not living. No sense of interim occupancy. A man who had retired from his lifetime employment had obviously also retired from living, for when someone asked him how he spent his time, he replied, "I get up in the morning, put on my robe and slippers, make my way to the front door, pick up the morning newspaper, bring it into the house, and turn to the obituary section to see if my name is there, and if it isn’t, I go back to bed!" Well, that sort of "life style" doesn’t really qualify as living. Surely it doesn’t qualify as living until - anything. There isn’t much affirmative expectancy in it; it’s without point or purpose, a daily survival, with an attitude of indifference even toward that.
Some years ago Archibald Rutledge, traveling on a Southern river boat, observed the exceptional cleanliness of the craft. The deck was immaculate, the brass gleaming in the sun, everything spotless. This state of affairs being quite unusual on such boats, Mr. Rutledge sought out the big black engineer, whose responsibility included overall care of the boat, and asked him why this particular one was so remarkably clean. The smilingly-proud caretaker replied, "You see, sir, I’ve got a glory." And, my dear friend, we should have one, too. Our glory, very much like his, should be to add a radiance to all that is around us. No, not necessarily by polishing brass and scrubbing floors, although that may well be a part of it, but chiefly by encouraging and engendering spiritual vitality and moral beauty in all we touch.
Let me repeat it: The interim we occupy is not just a waiting period; it is a working time. Verse 46 of Matthew chapter 24, loosely translated, reads "Blessed is that servant whom his master, when he comes, will find doing something!" Jesus goes on to suggest that the interim-occupying servant may fail because he grows weary of waiting. And it’s no great wonder that he grows weary if he is doing nothing but wait. Jesus even says the faltering servant may say to himself, "My master delays his coming," and may therefore begin to "beat his fellow servants and to eat and drink with the drunken" (Matthew 24:49). Well, it’s the classic expression of boredom - to behave this way. And haven’t we seen a lot of it in our time? A good healthy interest in doing something worthwhile is the very best preventive medicine for this kind of frustration. Your day is always a shorter one if you’re busy.
And it’s not only shorter; it’s also better. If you are pleasantly employed doing something you really believe in, how time flies! There just isn’t time to get bored and beat up on anybody, and neither the time nor the inclination to contribute yours to the regiment of elbows lined up on the counter of the town bar. Jesus knew what he was talking about. And he goes on to say that the master of that delinquent servant will come on a day when he is not expected and will punish him "and put him with the hypocrites" (Matthew 24:50-51). Well, maybe that’s where he belongs - with the hypocrites. For he was taking up space in an interim that he really didn’t occupy, standing in shoes he really didn’t fill.
In the second Epistle of Peter, there is a discussion of life in this interim, and there is the assertion that, after a long time has gone by, some people will be scoffers, saying, "Where is the promise of his coming? For ever since the fathers fell asleep, all things have continued as they were" (3:4). Apparently these people, bored with waiting, have concluded that the interim is all there’ll ever be. They seem to hold the view that because things have "continued as they were," they will always do that. These people seem to reason that since the Lord has not come, therefore, he won’t. And what an amazing piece of logic is this! Where is the promise of his coming? I can tell you exactly where it is - out there ahead of us, somewhere. It’s there at the end of the interim, wherever that is. And we are living in time until.
Jesus compares our time with the time before the great flood. Says he, "As were the days of Noah, so will be the coming of the Son of man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day when Noah entered the ark, and they did not know until the flood came and swept them all away, so will be the coming of the Son of man." The people of Noah’s time were preoccupied with their interim, and they got lost in it. Not only were they not working, they weren’t even waiting. Put in the modern vernacular, they were "living it up." Actually, that phrase is a good one, very descriptive. There is some question about the "living" part of it, but no question about the "up" part. They were using up their interim. And then suddenly they discovered it was all gone. They had used it as though it was all there would ever be, but it wasn’t; there was also something called a flood, and they weren’t prepared for that. Noah was, but they weren’t. Getting lost in the interval, they drowned in the flood with which it ended.
For centuries prior to the birth of Jesus, the Jewish people looked for the coming of the Messiah. But at length when he appeared, most did not understand that this was he. Somehow during the long wait their eye for seeing the miracle of him became clouded, and it is one of the strange anomalies of history that when he came they never really comprehended who he was.
From that interval prior to his first appearing, the prophet Habakkuk speaks a word of counsel and guidance which has a powerful meaning for us in this interval prior to his next appearing. The word is: "The vision awaits its time; it hastens to the end - it will not lie. If it seem slow, wait for it; it will surely come" (Habakkuk 2:3 RSV). For us in our day, this is a beautiful expression of the faith we live by. Where is the promise of his coming? Out there ahead somewhere - and you can count on that.
For long centuries before Jesus was born there was a looking forward, and anticipation. For the fulfillment of hope and dream, faith was pointing into the future. Then came Christ. He came proclaiming the Kingdom of God. He came with the promise of peace, of the triumph of right, the vindication of truth, the coronation of beauty.
Now, again, for the fulfillment of the promise, faith is pointing forward. Our hopes are for a time that is yet to be. But the time is not yet. We have assurance that the "Day of the Lord" will come. But that day has not yet come. In our time we live in the interim - until. How far we have come into the interim we do not know, nor do we know how far we have yet to go.
Often we pray The Lord’s Prayer, and we say, "Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done." We send our prayer up to God out of a world where brutality and selfishness are common, where the rape of the good and the prostitution of the holy are everywhere apparent. We send our prayer up to God out of a world where some people despise other people because of the color of their skin or the accent with which they pronounce their names, out of a world where the human spirit is so much ravished by hate and cynicism and greed. And we say, "Thy will be done." But it isn’t yet.
The question is: How are we to live in the meanwhile? What is our insight for living until?
Question: Until the final vindication of right and truth, how do we deal with them? Answer: Just as though that vindication were achieved already. Question: Until the final judgment of values, how do we measure them? Answer: As though that judgment were made already. Question: Until the ultimate triumph of Christ, how do we relate to him? Answer: As though he were the victor now, for indeed he is. Question: Until the final resolution of the struggle between good and evil, where should we stand in the conflict? Answer: In the best light we have, in the posture of faith, in the stance of the overcomer, for the triumph of the good is as sure as though it had happened yesterday.
I am trying to say that a faith and conviction and a pattern and a way of life for the interim is one that keeps the eventual end in view, believes in it firmly, is committed to it implicitly, and trusts the outcome completely. And this faith is one that can endure the uncertainty, the insecurity, and the unknown for a while. Let’s put it this way: When what is is uncertain, then live by what is certain to be.
There will be a tomorrow. And against the clouded backdrop of today, I offer you a gift for it. I don’t apologize for being a minister of the best there is in the world, or for trying to minister it to you. In Romans, chapter one, the Apostle Paul describes conditions of murder, deceit, immorality, tribulation, and anguish. But over against all of this he confidently sets the power of the Christian gospel, writing in this same chapter: "I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation" (1:16).
After the atomic age began, one of the scientists on the team which made the first bomb said, "We scientists have looked into the mouth of hell, and we are afraid." A minister of the Christian gospel commented: "For centuries we ministers have been dealing with the deep, dark problems of humankind; we have long been accustomed to looking into the mouth of hell, and we are not afraid."
An apocalypse is a picture of the end. We have two apocalypses which are commonly viewed in our time. First there is the scientific or secular apocalypse. It portrays an irreversible deterioration of things, a mushroom-shaped cloud above the earth, oxygen depleted from the air, the ozone layer destroyed, the earth bombarded with burning rays under which no living thing can survive - and no hope.
Secondly, there is the Christian apocalypse, vividly, symbolically, and dramatically portrayed as elements melting with fervent heat, rocks falling, the sun darkened, the moon turned to the color of blood, all things dissolving, and an angel standing with one foot on land and one on sea proclaiming that "time shall be no more" (Revelation 10:5, 6 KJV).
Well, choose your apocalypse. One is about as dismal as the other, except that there is an additional element in that second picture, one which does not appear in the first. In the midst of melting elements, falling rocks, blood-colored moon, and all things dissolving, there emerges a powerful additional dimension of the picture. In the midst of the ruin and desolation, the mighty Christ stands forth, the world’s incomparable Redeemer. He arises out of the shambles, triumphant and victorious - and his people are with him. They are the "called, and chosen, and faithful" (Revelation 17:14). With him "they shall reign forever and ever" (Revelation 22:5). It is with this gargantuan trumpeting of glorious promise that our Holy Bible sweeps to its majestic conclusion; here on this note of redemption the Book closes.
So I think I will choose the Christian apocalypse, the one which has redemption in it. The late great historian Arnold Toynbee made this same choice. In his monumental work, A Study of History, Professor Toynbee describes the barbarian overthrow of the Byzantine Empire. In A.D. 711 Emperor Justinian II was preparing to flee for his life. But the empress said to her husband: "You may flee if you like; the ship is in the harbor, and the wind is in the sail; but as for me I prefer to remain and die with the empire, because empire makes a fine winding-sheet." Toynbee’s comment is this: "When I read that, I thought: a finer winding-sheet is the Kingdom of God, for that is one from which there is a resurrection."
No, my friend, I do not know what will happen in our world, or to me, tomorrow. But I don’t have to know; for God is safe to trust. As someone has said, "I do not know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future." I know to whom time belongs in the long run; who holds the future - at the last. So the gift I would give you for tomorrow is not a foresight to determine what will happen when, for that would solve nothing; but it is an insight for whatever may happen anytime, and this solves everything.
Often asked is the question: Why do I suffer this or that? The question is unanswerable really. But here I would offer an insight which makes the unanswerable question unnecessary. Over against all the fear there is in the world let me set one firm fact. Right will win, truth will last, beauty shall be eternal. In the eventuation of things, all is well for what is good. All which is this side of that is interim, and only the interim is uncertain. And if we can have faith for the eventuation, we can have power for the interim.
To us who walk with Christ in this world, trials will come; but we can overcome, because we are certain of the outcome. We can go through almost anything if we can be sure of something beyond it. And we can be. There may be a Calvary, but it is endurable if we can be sure of the Easter which follows. God will not be defeated; he will not abandon his people or his world to any devil. We see this in the resurrection of Christ. We hear it in the words of Jesus, "Because I live you shall live also" (John 14:19). We observe it in the witness of Paul: "I know whom I have believed, and am sure that he is able to keep that which I have committed to him" (2 Timothy 1:12).
We need to: hear the word of Jesus, "When you hear of commotions and wars and rumors of wars, remember that the end is not yet." Believe this; know it, hold it firmly; never let it go. Present conditions may speak with all the noise of great thunder, but they do not speak the final word. Here is the ultimate meaning of faith. It puts us in relation to the finalization of things, sets our life in right relation with all that is and is to be.
What does it all mean? I think it means: Line up with life and with God; get on the side of the universe; join the triumphant; get with the winner; for every good and beautiful thing is on the way up and on, and every evil and ugly thing is on the way down and out. How long the way we do not know; but we don’t have to know. It is not an empty phrase when Jesus says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life" (John 14:6).
This Faith called Christian is not merely isolated spurts of believing this or that, but it is a long-term confidence in the dependability of God, and in the eternal character of right and truth and beauty. And this: confidence is our strength for living; it is our faith for both working and resting. In our working we can know that every good effort becomes a part of an ultimate victory. In our resting we can know there is a place to let down with confidence.
Dr. George MacDonald told of a fox hunt in which the hounds pursued their prey until he climbed to a high ledge overlooking the valley below. As the hounds noisily followed his trail up the steep mountainside, there in the beaming sun, on the ledge just outside his den, sat the great red fox quietly licking a paw. Dr. MacDonald made the point: If you have a sure refuge into which you know you can go, the noisy braying of the hounds of life really doesn’t worry you much. And his point was well made. This kind of faith brings power, because we know that finally there is nothing to be afraid of. And it brings joy, because we know that now, and ultimately also, there is everything to live for.
Far out in the wilds, a woodsman came upon half-a-dozen boys in Scout uniform. "Are you lost?" he asked them. And they answered, "We don’t know where we are, but we’re not lost; we are with the scoutmaster, and he knows the way home." Well, friend, you and I may not know exactly where we are either - in this interval, this interim, this interlude, this meanwhile. But if we are with the Master, we can trust him to know the way home. No, the end is not yet; but whatever it is, and whenever it comes, this is the Faith that will hold us until it does.
