Listen up.
Jesus is returning soon.
I mean it.
He's coming back—right now—anywhere in the world the Lord's Supper or Communion or the Eucharist or the Divine Liturgy is celebrated...and that is happening almost constantly in all sorts of churches in all kinds of settings across the globe every hour of the day.
Jesus is coming again—right now—in the poor whose path crosses with yours—in all prisoners, in the naked, in the hungry, in the thirsty, in the diseased—if you have eyes to see.
Jesus is coming again in Christians on seven continents who continue his incarnation in the world as his body, wherever two or more are gathered before the sacred Name.
Wherever the gospel is spoken, wherever its God-blessed words are uttered, Jesus is returning on wings of mercy to those who have ears to hear.
The Shekinah made visible inhabits also the praises of his people, whenever and wherever spiritual songs and hymns ring out the glory he shares from eternity with the Father and Spirit.
Oh, right...and, yes, of course, the yet-incarnate Jesus—the eternal son of God, who bears the flesh he took from Mary, and by whose DNA he is human brother and sister of every person who has ever breathed or who ever will—is returning at the "end of the age," to usher in a New Creation free from pestilence, hunger, war, pain, sorrow, and death.
But if I were a betting man, observing the patience of God during my 52 years, and as I read the records of his deliberative words and works down the centuries, seeing his great humility toward his creation, even pausing for us to mature as a species attempting to live out his order of love, I would not be looking for *that* promised second advent anytime soon.
I could easily see it taking a thousand years and a thousand more.
In the meantime the richness and variety of Christ's Presence overwhelms and blesses me, at times, even as I experience his absence, and I am confident he is making all things new.
In a great mystery, it seems only the Father knows the times and seasons when he will bring all things to a fitting consummation and—experiencing as I do his prodigious love for all humanity—I would not deny him the brilliant Indian scientist of the twenty-second century, her worship of Christ evident in all she does to serve the creation by the loving vulnerability Jesus models for her, or the twenty-fifth century Moroccan who makes a garden of the Sahara, or the couple in 3016 who writes an ageless poem of lament over the loss of their child set to whatever instrument they play by then as an anthem of their anguished praise for a beautiful world they perceive is made by God but still broken, awaiting the resurrection kingdom without tears or death where they see their child again.
Who am I to tell God when the beautiful work of populating an eternal, divinely-inhabited, and humanly-governed earth is done?
What about this planet or our cosmos gives you the impression that God is in a hurry?
And God is anyway with us, as Christ said, until the end of the world (which we know is only the world's beginning).