Dear Theophilus,
What words! What an overflowing of information, most of
it terrifying! I was not ready for that
letter, and the first time I read it I nearly disposed of it out of anxiety for
what is apparently to come. I could not
bear the thought of such things occurring before my eyes. The thought of fleeing for my life out of
fear of the sword is too much for this feeble heart, and to know that an infant
might bring more trouble than joy is sorrowful to me.
And yet the hope that Jesus
announces, in which you claim to join, is astounding. To know all that is coming and still have the
audacity to hope is tremendous! If I
stand and look forward into a future filled with war, famine, drought and
chaos, my heart is filled with terror.
You, and many other Christians, look into that same future and find
hope—not that your hearts do not share my pain for the suffering that is to be
endured, but that you can find a light shining in the midst of that darkness is
beyond my comprehension. As an
unbeliever, this is perhaps the strongest argument yet for faith in God—that in
the total darkness of worldwide chaos there is still reason for hope. I would like to be able to have hope for
myself, hope for the world, hope for the future when it appears that everything
is falling apart. I can’t make sense of
all that Jesus describes, but I know what hope looks like on a dark night, and
I know what it feels like to be without it.
Still, it all seems so
abstract. I know that Jesus is trying to
help us understand something that is far bigger than our minds can grasp, but I
can’t help but feeling like I’m standing on my toes, reaching as far as my arm
can, and yet it eludes my grasp. It’s
like Jesus is bending the branch down for us, trying to help us see, and it is
still too far, too lofty. He goes on to
compare it to a fig tree—when its leaves sprout, this is a hint that summer has
drawn near. In the same way, the things
he is describing are hints that God’s kingdom is approaching. But I don’t even understand these things, and
I certainly don’t understand God’s kingdom—so I am at a bit of a loss to say
any more.
Jesus tells the listeners that
their generation will be present when these things occur, which I struggle to
understand, because that generation has passed away, and I don’t understand how
they have occurred. While there is
certainly more going on than I can see with these feeble eyes, I don’t think
I’ve missed all of this. And yet maybe I
have.
He goes on to say that his words
will never perish, even though the heavens and earth will. I will confess that my first thought is that
his words are so confusing that someone (or something!) will always be trying
to figure them out! In this declaration,
I hear the words of someone trying to communicate that he is God. No mere mortal would ever declare that their
words will last longer than the earth!
Even the great authors are not so bold as that. So is this truth? Or just arrogance?
Jesus concludes with a warning
about watching out. He warns the crowd
not to get so caught up in our everyday worries that come naturally with life
that we miss the signs and find ourselves surprised by this day. He warns against drunkenness and
time-wasting, too, in the hopes of helping us see the things in life that turn
our attention from God. I know how easy
it is to be consumed by the minor details of this life, and day after day,
eventually that can add up to a distracted life, fully unaware of what is going
on outside, and while it doesn’t seem like it would be possible to miss the
events Jesus describes, I understand his warning. Jesus says that the day will visit everyone
on earth, so we need to pay attention and be ready. I don’t know if I could ever prepare myself
for such a day, friend. Jesus tells the
crowd to pray for the strength to escape what will occur and to stand before
the Son of Man, but I don’t know if such strength is possible. I do not have it within me. I hope you do, but don’t count on me making
it through, and I don’t know what kind of shape I’d be in if I did. Certainly, I wouldn’t be ready to stand
before God or anyone else.
Jesus went on teaching every day in
the temple, going out and spending the nights on the Mount of Olives. People would get up early to be near him when
he was teaching, hanging on his every word.
I’m sure they asked a lot of big questions of his teachings, too, and I
would have loved to hear his answers. It
seems like such a mystery, and I can’t help but wondering if I’ve gone too
deep, if I’m over my head and need to back out to a place where my feet can
touch the bottom and I can stop grasping for truths I shall never attain.
Sincerely,
Luke
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