Our
culture seems to have a genuine fixation on the apocalypse, or the
“end of days,” as of late. Post-apocalyptic, dystopian stories
fly off the shelves faster than you can say “exclusive movie
rights.” Popular Christian culture isn't getting left
behind either. A steady stream of
best-selling book series and movie adaptations have given us a
fanciful, modern interpretation of Jesus' Revelation. And why not?
The end of a story is arguably the most important part. Everyone
understandably wants to know what's going to happen on the last page.
Will the hero defeat his enemy or overcome his obstacle? Will he
finally get where he's going and achieve what he's after? How we see
the ending of the
story—what we identify as the point of it all, the culmination, the
climax—will greatly inform how we read the whole
story. It will inform how we see our
part in the story, how we live it out in our
everyday lives, and how we tell the story of God to others who have
yet to hear.
I
don’t plan to get into the nuts and bolts, the nitty-gritty, of all
the various eschatological positions. This probably comes as a great
relief to many and perhaps a disappointment to some. If you find
yourself among the latter, we’ll have to set up a time to sit on my
porch with our tea and pipes in hand to gleefully deliberate for
hours about the eschaton (I’ve never actually smoked a pipe, and
I’m not much for tea, but it just seems like the thing to do when
one is having a deep and nerdy theological discussion). My aim in
this post (and in all my posts) is to speak primarily of the Gospel,
and hopefully to let that which is of “first importance” frame
our understanding of biblical eschatology.
I
think we have to approach this topic, as we should all theology, with
a humble and teachable spirit. As human beings, we are extremely
susceptible to marrying ourselves so completely to a way of thinking,
or an ironclad theological model, that we may end up inadvertently
imposing our beloved framework on the biblical text (creating
theological tunnel vision). We should be very alert, even reasonably
terrified, of this all too common and mostly subconscious behavior.
The Jewish theologians of Jesus’ day, for example, held to a
specific and finely tuned eschatological model that didn’t line up
with the young Galilean prophet who stood before them. Ultimately,
when faced with the contradiction, it was their Messiah and not their
misconstrued model that they foolishly abandoned. These were learned
men. They spent their lives studying the Scriptures. Many of them
could quote entire books, replete with messianic prophecy, just as
readily as we could rattle off John 3:16. It’s unnerving to think
that we can arrive at a place of extreme biblical familiarity only to
find ourselves, due to our theological presuppositions and hard
hearts, still incapable of perceiving the heart of God as it’s
dancing off the pages. We are each of us undoubtedly wrong about
something, probably a great many somethings. We must be willing to
learn what those somethings are.
While
one can easily get bogged down in the details (and I’m not saying
they aren’t important), we simply can’t afford to miss the broad
strokes of the story. We must, at the very least, be able to see the
forest for the trees. So by all means, study the various barks and
leaves within, become a master of the theological flora and fauna,
but God forbid that while doing so we fail to connect the dots, to
appreciate the cumulative sum of the individual parts, and to grasp
the overall lay of the land (How's that for a hearty mixing of
metaphors?).
As
best as I can see, the overarching story that the Bible is telling is
of an all-powerful, all-knowing, timeless, just, loving,
hyper-personal, and completely self-sufficient spiritual Being who
(for reasons only fully known to himself) decides to create an
incredibly vast and beautiful physical universe (comprised of space,
time, and matter). Within this universe, he fashions an ideal world
and populates it with all kinds of amazing life. He then establishes
one set of his creatures above the rest as his uniquely crafted
image-bearing representatives to creation. Heaven (what we now think
of as “God's space”) and earth (“our space”) seem to
harmoniously coexist in this early state, characterized by perfect
communion between the Creator and his image-bearers. Curiously, this
all-powerful Being intends to rule his creation through these fragile
human creatures. But the first humans, of course, reject the Tree of Life and abandon their noble vocation. All of his once-good creation
suffers the harmful effects of these unwilling, and now unqualified,
administrators. Earth is, in a sense, torn from heaven (though God is
of course ever-present, our ability to perceive him, to experience
his life-giving fellowship, and to benefit from universal human
submission to his reign, is at this point tragically constrained).
Undaunted by this colossal setback and unwilling to wipe the board
clean, the Creator patiently works through flawed human messengers
and broken leaders—committed as ever to his original intent for
humanity—to reveal his heart for reconciliation and to foretell his
plan of restoration (an extremely truncated summary of thousands of
years of human history). The culmination of these efforts is finally
seen in the dramatic and miraculous appearance of a divine human in
1st Century Palestine. According to the story, this humble God-man is
the Creator’s only Son, the perfect image-bearer, the promised
King, and the sort of human we were all meant to be. He alone is
uniquely qualified to reclaim humanity's birthright and, in so doing,
to return to God what is rightfully his, as well (The Creator
certainly knows how to untangle a knot). God then takes back his
rebel world through this man, Jesus, and gives birth to his
everlasting and long-promised kingdom (as he begins to mend the tear
between heaven and earth one person at a time). Previously
disqualified humans are now scandalously invited to resume their
original vocation as “ambassadors” and “priests” of God and
to participate in his redemptive work in the world. By way of his
death and resurrection, Jesus counterintuitively wins a decisive
victory over his enemy and purchases a costly citizenship and
adoption for once-rebels who now acknowledge him as their rightful
King. His kingdom-people are empowered with God’s own Spirit and
commissioned to share the good news of his reign. Like a tiny mustard
seed, his kingdom steadily grows and will continue to grow into a
mighty tree that fills the whole earth. No human kingdom will be able
to overthrow it or even resist its advance. And yet it will not
spread by the typical human means of violence, hollow propaganda, or
coercion but by a diverse army of sacrificial servants and martyrs
who follow their Founder's example (as a Spirit-filled extension of
him) and faithfully demonstrate and declare his better kingdom. In
many cases, the illegitimate powers of this world will not even
notice his subversive kingdom's liberation movement until it's too
late. Though all authority in heaven and earth is already his,
there are still many who do not know, or simply refuse to accept,
that Jesus is now King. His rule will therefore be complete upon his
physical return to earth, at which point evil will be permanently
eradicated from his restored universe, he will judge the living and the dead, death will be swallowed up by Life, heaven and earth will
be once again seamlessly and fully reunited, and we will see him face
to face. All of human history is leading up to this climactic moment
when death and decay—the results of human rebellion—are forever
undone and God's good and perfect will is at long last carried out
consistently and effortlessly here “on earth as it is in heaven.”
Our
hearts should ache for this (Rom. 8:23). The heart of God—including
his Spirit who resides within his people—longs for this
steadily-approaching future (“The Spirit and the bride say, 'Come!'”
-Rev. 22:17a). All of creation groans, as well (Rom 8:22). Jesus
instructs his followers to regularly pray that God would essentially
bring heaven to earth (Matt. 6:9-10). The Lord's Prayer should cause our
anticipation for the reunification of heaven and earth (both
incrementally in the present and universally at the eschaton) to build into a fever pitch. In his
well known Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us to live as if it were
already so, even when living this way will presently cost us dearly.
There
are numerous popular predictions about the eschaton that I would
disagree with, but I don't feel the need to vehemently debate every
potential error (although, we'll certainly leave no stone unturned if
you happen to hit me up for the eschatology-fest on my porch). There
is undoubtedly a hierarchy of errors, and we should always give
greater attention to the errors that erode (either directly or
indirectly) the core elements of the Gospel. If one is unfamiliar
with the common use of metaphor in apocalyptic genres, for example, then one may be very sincere in their expectation of seeing a literal,
scaly, fire-breathing dragon at some point near the end. They also
may be racking their brain in a good faith effort to creatively
figure out how all the stars will literally fall from the sky or the
moon will turn to blood. They may even take a certain pride in their
remarkable ability to believe such absurdity. Many of these
hyper-literal conclusions (when the biblical author is clearly
attempting to convey something else), in my estimation, are extremely
misguided but arguably benign to a point. However, regularly
divorcing apocalyptic prophecies (such as Jesus' colorful predictions
in Matthew 24 and his subsequent elaboration in the Revelation to the
seven churches) from their clear biblical antecedents (like Isaiah
using similarly cataclysmic language and hyperbole to predict the 539
BC judgment of Babylon—Isaiah chapter 13) can also lead
to egregious error (It's easy to see how some small exegetical errors
naturally produce greater errors down the road. In arithmetic, for
example, if we misstep early in the process, our initial
miscalculation is magnified as we continue on).
One
popular interpretation of God's story (with multiple eschatological
implications) insists that God has “two distinct people” and
subsequently “two distinct plans.” This teaching has led many
evangelicals to conclude that there are two ways to be reconciled to
God: one (for Gentiles) being to trust in the finished work of Jesus
and the other (for sincere, ethnic Jews) to simply be genetically
related to Abraham's grandson, Jacob. This grave error (which
essentially undermines the exclusivity and sufficiency of the cross,
a core tenant of the Gospel) is not often expressly taught, but,
given what is commonly taught, it is easy to see how the laity within
this camp arrive at this erroneous conclusion. On this point, I would
say shepherds and teachers are responsible, to some extent, not only
for what they say but also for what the flock hears.
According to the story of God, there is decidedly only one Seed of
Abraham with the power to save, only one ancestry that affects our
standing at the eschaton, and, by the grace of God, anyone can become
related to him. I've also heard well-intentioned Christians of this
persuasion express how they think it would not only be a “good
idea” but perhaps even a moral imperative for Christians to help
rebuild the Jewish temple (right where a high-profile Muslim mosque
now stands, no less). This sort of thinking reveals catastrophic
ignorance about pivotal developments within the Gospel story (i.e.
Jesus as a better Temple, a better Priest, and a better Sacrifice).
Rebuilding the temple and re-instituting the sacrificial system are
dangerously regressive endeavors for a Christian and completely at
odds with Christ's clearly articulated kingdom agenda (Check out
Galatians and Hebrews for more developed warnings).
“Rapture” theology
plays heavily into this eschatological model as well. A fascination
with being “caught up” has certainly caught on among many
evangelical Christians (as clearly seen in the numerous book sales
and movie adaptations of rapture themed fiction). I really think
Paul’s beautiful picture of believers being lifted into the sky to
greet the returning King (1 Thessalonians 4) has been commonly
misinterpreted as a mass evacuation, but, if so, it’s probably a
misinterpretation of the mostly harmless sort. Something to be
cautious of, however, is the resulting escapist perspectives that can
arguably be traced back to rapture theology. Some of these
rapture-centric Christian traditions have at times produced a very
pessimistic, “duck and cover” outlook on the world within their
respective church cultures. The story they're telling seems to go
something like “everything is getting worse all the time, but if
you'd like to say this prayer to 'accept Jesus as your personal
savior' then we can all hunker down in my basement together and watch
the news for subliminal clues to which world leader may or may not be
the 'antichrist' this week while we're waiting for Jesus to come
back.” “When he gets here, he'll get us out of this
hellhole—right before he torches the whole thing—and we'll
finally be able to live with him forever in heaven.” This may be an
extreme characterization of this camp, but, even in its milder forms,
it starts to sound far more Gnostic than Christian (i.e. “the
physical world is inherently evil and irredeemable, therefore God's
endgame is to eventually extract me so that I can live with him
forever in an ethereal, spiritual realm”). I've written about this elsewhere, so I'll just briefly recap here: Resurrection (which is,
by definition, a physical event) is an essential element of
the Gospel, as is the eventual complete restoration of creation.
These repeated themes of the physical universe being redeemed and
restored are not “unimportant” details that we are free to
overlook or outgrow—they are bedrock to the biblical narrative
(Rom. 8:19-23). Contrary to what many may think, the story the Bible
is telling is not of a great escape from earth to heaven. It's a
story about God bringing heaven back to earth through the person and
work of Jesus (Rev. 21:3).
Some
of this retreating from “secular spaces,” accompanied by extreme
pessimism about the state of God’s kingdom, and trends toward
spiritual escapism (marked by an abandoning of the physical world)
now commonly seen in American evangelicalism is due in part to a long
history of bad examples and failed attempts at “kingdom expansion.”
Centuries of European “theocracies” have contributed to the
reluctance most modern American Christians presently have in
referring to “God’s kingdom,” as Jesus did, as something that
is happening (or at least starting to happen) now. The rise and fall
of Christian Triumphalism and movements like the “Social Gospel”
of the early 20th Century, which is often criticized for merely
focusing on societal reform and scientific advancement (perhaps
over-emphasizing the demonstration while neglecting the clear
declaration of the Gospel), has contributed to a far dimmer outlook
of the future for those who are left in the wake of these flawed
movements. The response tends to be one of overcorrection. Many of
today’s church cultures have, with their theological traditions,
completely neutered the dynamic and world-changing kingdom of which
Jesus passionately spoke; Instead, promoting a merely internal and
harmless, spiritualized version of God’s kingdom message. It’s
both equally wrong to pursue a man-made utopia (in which Jesus is
conspicuously absent) as it is to abdicate or abandoned the
real-world implications and demands of God’s all-encompassing
kingdom agenda.
My purpose here is not to
mock, malign, or conversely promote a specific eschatological model
(though adherents to some versions of Premillennial Dispensationalism
may feel like they’ve taken some lumps in many of my cautionary
examples. I only bring up so many issues resulting from this
theological camp, however, due to its extreme popularity within the
evangelical circles in which I run. If I were fellowshipping more
often with mainline traditions, I would probably have more to say
about the potential pitfalls of Preterism, and so on). Ultimately, I
think it’s helpful to hear multiple perspectives from a variety of
studied and Spirit-filled brothers and sisters. I’ve routinely
disagreed with many of my closest and dearest spiritual family
members on secondary theological issues. In spite of our differences,
we’re able to live, learn, and serve together in a spirit of deep
mutual respect due to our shared love of the God his story reveals.
The conversation within the church regarding what story the Bible is
telling, including sub-conversations about the ending, has been going
on for some time now (with great saints of the past and present
contributing much to the collective effort). As such, there’s
really no need for us to start from scratch, nor should we.
So be a proud
Premillennial, Postmillennial, Amillennial, or even eschatologically
undeclared follower of Christ. But also be alert to elements of these
eschatological models that might undermine core tenants of the Gospel
by becoming extremely familiar with the broad strokes and governing
themes of God’s epic story, as it plays out from Genesis to
Revelation (i.e. Be able to distinguish between primary and secondary
elements of the narrative). Be aware that your understanding (or
misunderstanding) of the story’s ending will inevitably affect how
you live. Be inquisitive and willing to surrender your most beloved
theological presuppositions and cherished church traditions if they
turn out to run contrary to the higher authority of God’s word. Be
reasonably informed about our brothers and sisters who came before us
and who tackled many of these same complex questions. More than this,
be genuinely excited about the return of Christ, and be about your
Father’s business.
I
would respectfully suggest that if you're more enthusiastic about “blood
moons,” implanted micro-chips, and stocking up your personal bomb
shelter than pursuing the mission of God (by meeting the neighbors,
welcoming the stranger, serving the least, and declaring and
demonstrating the good news of God's kingdom in numerous other ways
throughout your everyday life) then you're tragically missing the
heartbeat of the redemptive story that God has been telling—that
he's even now telling. Likewise, if you find yourself at the other
end of the spectrum, with the crowd who smugly allegorize everything
to the point of meaninglessness, or who reject the resurrection, the
physical return of Christ, and the ultimate supernatural restoration
of the cosmos, and instead seek generic social justice and man-made
utopia, then you are also telling a different story of your own
making (in which Jesus and some of the language of his Gospel has
merely been appropriated in order to promote a secular humanist
fantasy). The Gospel of the kingdom of God that Jesus preached has an
amazing third act. Let's learn the story right, live the story well,
and tell the story often.
