We think about it most during a national crisis. It's then we hear people speculating about the end of the world and which events point to the close of time as we know it.
Bill and I have experienced several such crisis moments. We remember, for instance, the bombing of Hanoi and the escalation of the Vietnam War.
When I was in college, the whole country held its breath during the Cuban Missile Crisis, waiting to see whether nuclear weapons would be deployed (intentionally or by accident) in a moment of intense international pressure.
The Gulf War, because its modern, more destructive means of warfare, we feared, could ignite the oil fields of the Middle East and blow us all to kingdom come, making us speculate about end-times prophecies. We could see how the battle of Armageddon with soldiers on horseback and hand-to-hand combat might actually occur in this war.
More than once in the last several decades, the bombing raids on Lebanon or the terrorist attacks in Syria, the Golan Heights, or Tel Aviv had us scurrying to Daniel and the book of Revelation for details that might match those on the evening news.
Then the next thing we knew, the explosions from terrorist attacks were not somewhere else but in Oklahoma City, New York, or aboard an airliner on which someone we knew could have been scheduled to fly.
Since the end of the twentieth century, the earth itself seems to have become weary. Pollution and the irresponsible use of her resources have stretched this generous planet to its limits. Like a body aging, the earth now inches its way toward the time when, like a spirit escaping the worn-out encasement that held it, those inhabitants who have established homes elsewhere could fly away, leaving this earth to turn to dust and blow away. We can sense it. Soon, like a pod that holds a seed, the planet could explode, break open, and disintegrate having outlived its usefulness.
No wonder denial and despair are epidemic in our culture. For those who have invested everything in the disintegrating things of earth, these are desolate and desperate times. But there is excitement in the air for the people of God. The promise we feel in our bones is like the thrill of the countdown for a launch to the moon! Every world event encourages a letting go of stuff and a laying hold of the hope that is within us. The darker the world gets, the brighter burns the morning light.
We have always been "pilgrims ever wandering, just looking for a place to rest our souls." Our home, our hiding place, has never been the edifices of earth, though while we are here, we have taken up temporary residence in them. No, the Lord Himself has been and will always be our safe hiding place, our rock on which we build a life. If the planets disintegrate, He alone will be our trustworthy home.
As the psalmist said, "Thou art my hiding place and my shield: I hope in thy word... Uphold me according unto thy word, that I may live: and let me not be ashamed of my hope." (Ps. 119:114, 116)
So instead of depression, our lives are filled with an exciting sense of urgency. In the place of despair, our hope burns brighter and will until the need for hope is replaced by the incredible reality of a new day dawning.
We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand--out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise.
There's more to come: We continue to shout our praise even when we're hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. (Romans 5:2-4 The Message)
Yes! And amen.
