October 19, 1989, 5:04 PM in San Francisco. When the Loma Prieta earthquake rumbled, my uncle was on the 32nd floor of a swaying high rise. Of course the phones went dead, so he couldn't call to make sure his daughter was safe. The elevators didn't work, so when the swaying building stood straight once again, he hiked down the stairwell to his car. Out on the street, the stoplights were not functioning whereupon he witnessed a rather amazing thing. People were not jamming the intersections with panic. Even though many were probably going home to make sure everybody was safe and to see what the damage was, the drivers were politely and courteously taking their turn, waiting, stopping, going; waiting, stopping, going. Nobody was cutting through. Nobody was leaning on their horn. At every intersection, it was as if everybody knew there was a crisis at hand, and they behaved very differently from an ordinary weekday after work.

And so the early church community walked through the world differently, as if on watch for the master's return, as if anticipating the next quake that would shake the foundations of their lives.  The early church community and the Israelites in Babylon were bold enough to expect the greatness of God.