The Lord's return

My dad died earlier this year. I wasn't there the day he died, but I was able to see him just a couple days earlier and sit with him in his hospital room overlooking the water while the sun came up. I'm very grateful I was able to say goodbye: not everyone gets to do that.

Dad was characterized by 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18. He talked about the Lord's coming every time he got a chance. My mother tells me that when my grandfather died, Dad took us kids through that passage and explained that our granddad wasn't gone for good: the Lord was going to bring him back with Him. I don't remember that, but I'm glad he did it.

I am certain the Lord's return will come in two distinct phases: He will come for us (1 Corinthians 15:51ff, 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18) before He comes with us (Jude 1:14–15, Revelation 19:11ff).  Not everyone agrees on that, but it seems evident to me that the Lord's coming is taught in Scripture in a way that the only way to reconcile all the pieces is to have a two-part event. 

Notice that's not very different from His coming the first time.  It's clear from Acts 1:6ff that the disciples assumed the Lord would fulfill all prophecy in His first advent. They were looking for a physical, earthly kingdom centered in Jerusalem – and as John MacArthur points out, this was after He had spent six weeks teaching them about the Kingdom (Acts 1:3) – and apparently thought they were on the verge of that.

I have to believe that their question about the Kingdom wasn't rooted in ignorance about the true nature of the Kingdom: I have to believe the Lord's teaching them for 40 days would have addressed that. So they were correct in their expectations, but not about the timing.

My point is that the disciples were clearly not expecting the Lord's departure and promise of a second coming (Acts 1:9ff). They saw only one Advent in the prophets. When we look back on the Old Testament after the Ascension, it's almost obvious that the prophets were predicting things that couldn't happen all in one go. They predicted Christ as both the conquering Savior and the suffering Redeemer. Those things weren't to happen at the same time. 

We admit that the Lord has fulfilled those prophecies in a spiritual sense, but it's pretty weak soup to try and read Psalm 2 as a spiritual conquest. It is a physical conquest.

We're not in Psalm 2:6ff, we're in Psalm 110:1.

In other words, we expect Psalm 110:2ff and Psalm 2:1ff will happen literally, bodily, and visibly. 

Maybe I'm belaboring the point here. Just like the disciples didn't expect the Lord to leave and come back to fulfill all those other prophecies, a lot of Christians think He is coming back for us and with us in a single event. But I think Darby, Kelly, et al. were correct in understanding that there are actually two events. 

It's early April, we had a snow storm last a little over a week ago, but we're now seeing early signs of spring. The grass is starting to look more green than brown, the standing water around our garden is starting to dry up, and the buds on the willow trees are starting to look fat. Spring turkey season opens next week, and the firewood is almost used up: time to get moving on next year's supply! There are fences to mend and trees to tend and all sorts of other tasks and chores to get a start on. 

And I have one more apple tree to plant before spring gets truly underway.

In other words, the seasons are still coming in their appointed order (Genesis 8:21–22). God's wisdom and divinity are still on display (Romans 1:18), and there's still a whole lot of work and blessing for me here. But at the same time, I am called to live in the expectation that it will all end abruptly when He comes back for us. 

That shouldn't surprise us: God doesn't stay where He belongs. He doesn't mind His own business. He keeps inserting Himself where He isn't wanted. How thankful that should make us!

I spent many years thinking that an expectation of the Lord's coming should diminish the world around us in our eyes. When I realized how wrong that was, I spent a few more years enjoying the Lord's blessings in this world, learning to appreciate the God who richly provides all things for our enjoyment (1 Timothy 6:17) .  There is a ditch on both sides of the road: we can't lose sight of the Lord's coming to change everything in a moment, and we can't lose sight of the witness in this creation to the Lord's wisdom and divinity.

So to come back to my initial point: my dad taught us that our granddad wasn't gone forever, the Lord was going to bring him back. And now I can say that same thing about him too: he's not gone forever, the Lord is going to bring him back when He comes for us.

 

Not all who say

Once again I've heard someone appealing to Matthew 7:21–23 to convince an audience that if their works don't line up with their professions, they're not "truly saved."  I've heard this line of reasoning more than once, and I have to admit I find it puzzling. It makes me scratch my head. After all, the ones Christ rejects in those verses are the very ones who appeal to their works in order to prove they're His (Matthew 7:22). 

Accusing God

I was sitting in the Remembrance meeting one morning, and a man stood up and read Luke 15:1–2, "this man receives sinners and eats with them," he looked up and added, "Thank God He does!"

Here are the Pharisees accusing the Son of God of eating with sinners. That's not the only accusation they make against Him, of course, but it's one that sticks because it's true. They know they can't accuse Him of being one of those sinners: there's nothing in what He says or does to support that accusation. They don't like that He's known for eating and drinking – as opposed to fasting – but they haven't seemed to have gotten traction accusing Him of gluttony or drunkenness (Luke 7:33–35). So the accusation that He receives sinners seems like it might get some traction, because it's demonstrably true.

The last chapter of Jonah is in a similar vein: here's the prophet of God, and he points his finger straight at God and rants, "I knew it! I knew it! I knew I couldn't trust you! You're always forgiving people and showing mercy to them! You're always repenting of the evil you said you'd bring!" (Jonah 4:1–3).

Both of these stories are remarkable in that someone is accusing God of something that He actually did. When I think of someone bringing an accusation against God, I don't jump to the accusation being true. Jonah knew God's character better than most of us do. Odd as it sounds, the Pharisees seem to have understood Christ's character better than the disciples did. 

But what the Pharisees didn't understand, what Jonah might not have understood, and what we so frequently miss is, God's mercy to sinners is our only hope. 

The difference between Jonah, a Pharisee, and the man who stood up and read Luke 15 in the Remembrance is that he thanked God for His mercy. The other two resented it.

 

I have been accused of being a "calvinist," which isn't entirely true, but I suppose it's not entirely untrue either. There are many caricatures that come with a label like that. Some of those are built around more than a germ of truth. But there's a truth lurking in there that I'm not sure some of my friends recognize: my only hope for salvation is that God would act unfairly towards me.

It seems to me that a good working definition of grace might be something like: God acting towards me the way He wants to act, with no regard for what I deserve.

Salvation must be an act of sovereign grace, because it's only possible if God acts unilaterally according to His heart, not according to His estimate of me. So when I bask in what Calvinists call, "unconditional election," it's because I recognize that apart from God acting on His own with absolutely no help from me, there's only condemnation for me.

Hymn #181 in the Believers Hymn Book is a favorite of mine. Consider verse 3,

Preserved by Jesus, when
My feet made haste to hell!
And there should I have gone,
But Thou dost all things well:
Thy love was great, Thy mercy free,
Which from the pit delivered me.

Do we really understand that? Do we really appreciate that we were on our way to hell, and doing everything in our power to get there faster? When I think about grace, this hymn comes to mind. I was doing my best to rush to hell, and the Son of God stepped in and ruined all my efforts. He didn't wait for my permission, He didn't wait until I asked for help: He stepped in and stopped it.

 

So we might consider meditating on Jonah's words. We might want to think about his accusations against God. And while we think about the prophet ranting at God – maybe even jabbing his finger in God's face – we might want to add a "Thank God!" at the end of every line.

Has God really said?

Someone was talking about revival in the context of the current events at Asbury. The person made the statement that they're not preaching repentance like Jonah preached repentance. Regardless of what's going on at Asbury – I'm skeptical – , I'm having trouble understanding how someone can read the book of Jonah and conclude that Jonah preached repentance.

Jonah is a remarkable book both because of what it says and because of what it doesn't say. If you read Jonah in a KJV or Darby Translation or even the ASV, you'll be surprised to find that the only Person who is said to repent in the book of Jonah is God (Jonah 3:9–10, Jonah 4:2). Newer translations (NASB, ESV, NKJV, etc.) use the word "relent" instead.

But the point remains that the text doesn't say that either Jonah or the people of Nineveh repented. It's true that the king of Nineveh commanded all the people to "every one turn from his evil way" (Jonah 3:8), so we might see that as repentance, but Scripture doesn't use that word.

It's even harder to make the case that Jonah preached repentance. Scripture tells us explicitly what Jonah preached – "Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!" (Jonah 3:4, ESV). There's no call to repentance in that, it's only a proclamation of judgment. In fact, it's difficult to put a message of repentance in Jonah's words given in Jonah 3:5–10. The king's words in particular are difficult to reconcile with the notion that Jonah was preaching repentance: he explicitly says they should all turn from their evils ways so that perhaps God might see it and change His mind (Jonah 3:9).  That's not someone who believed a message of repentance, it's someone who believed a message of judgment.

So no, Jonah did not preach repentance.

This wouldn't perhaps be worth comment, except that it's a trend I'm seeing in a whole lot of places: the tendency to appeal to Scripture, while not apparently paying attention to what Scripture actually says. And I think the Jonah example is one of the clearest.

On the whole, I think referring to Jonah with respect to so-called revivals is wise. There is a good deal of value in contrasting the repentance of Nineveh with modern "revivals" that don't seem to involve encounters with the holy God, or with one's own need of the Savior. I think this is a good use of Scripture. 

And I can't miss the irony that so many preachers I have heard expound on how Eve got into trouble by misquoting God's words (Genesis 3:3) do the very same thing. I was commenting to my wife recently, that there's a preacher I have found very helpful; but I have never – never – heard him quote Scripture correctly. Every single time, without fail, he slightly misquotes the verse. 

It is good and right that we should judge ourselves by the word of God. It is only proper that we should appeal to its authority and submit ourselves to it. And it should absolutely be the standard that we use to judge what we see and hear. But when we're not careful to say only the words God has said – when we misquote God – that's not evidence that we hold His words in awe. That's not respect, it's merely trying to put the authority of Scripture on our own ideas.

Of course we don't want to make a man a transgressor for a word. Especially when we have so many Bible translations to use, quoting Scripture gets complicated. 

At the same time, if we're going to claim to be speaking the words God spoke, we need to be sure we're quoting them correctly. And when misquoting Scripture is a habit, not something remarkable, then we need to carefully judge whether we really respect what God has said.

Maybe we need to learn to fear God more.

 

Prophetic certainty

I used to wonder why the Lord's coming for us is in Acts (Acts 1:10–11) and the epistles (1 Corinthians 15:51–57; 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18), but not in Revelation. I think there are a few reasons for it, which we might want to discuss.

J. N. Darby differentiates prophecy (which relates to God's purpose and government on earth) from revelation to the church. From that point of view, we could say the Lord's coming for us is a matter of church truth, as opposed to prophecy (and I think Robert has made this point here before, but I can't find it now).  So the Lord's coming for His saints is distinct from the Lord coming with His saints: the former is detailed in the epistles (1 Corinthians 15:51–57; 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18), the latter is in prophecy (Jude 1:14–15; Revelation 19:11ff).  I think there's a good deal of merit in this view.

There's another perspective on this that I think is worth contemplating.  Several years ago I was part of an assembly that went through the book of Revelation over the course of several months' reading meetings. I read through that book many, many times over the course of those meetings, and was struck that it's not truly chronological.  It struck me that Revelation is laid out similarly to Hebrews, where the Lord Jesus is shown to be superior in various comparisons. So the first three chapters show the Lord as Head (and Judge) over the church, then we see Him as superior over Heaven in the next couple chapters; then as superior over the fallen world and its kingdoms; over Satan, and Babylon and the antichrist; then as Judge over the living and the dead; and finally over the new creation. I realize that's very vague.

No doubt there are a lot of consecutive events in Revelation that are specifically mentioned, and there are clues right there in the text. For example, "then I saw" is a common phrase that indicates relation in time. But my point is that there are several sections that might well run concurrently.

It's also worth mentioning that Revelation is certainly a very symbolic book. There are several things in there that are not to be taken literally: the sword coming from the Lord's mouth, for example (Revelation 1:16). I really don't think we'll see a sword in the Lord's mouth when He comes to get us, I'm sure this is a symbolic figure.

So here's one bit of wisdom we can see in the scripture: moving the Lord's coming for us into the epistles, where the language is much less symbolic makes it much easier for us to grasp. We can firmly anchor the apostolic teaching of the Lord's coming literally, physically for us in time and space because of the context of 1 Thessalonians and 1 Corinthians. 

But we might also remember that not all prophecy is actually fulfilled.  And before you jump down to the comments section, consider the prophet Jonah. He predicted the overthrow of Nineveh in forty days, and it didn't happen (Jonah 3:4).  I don't think we fully appreciate this point: the Lord sent Jonah to Nineveh, and His word to Nineveh accomplished exactly what the Lord wanted it to accomplish. But that prophetic warning went unfulfilled, precisely because they believed it.

I have heard that exact argument used for Revelation, and it's difficult to argue against. We know that God will send prophets with the purpose that their warning will be heeded; as a result, what they warn about won't come to pass.

Now, I don't actually think that's going to happen. I do believe Revelation will play out as written. But I don't know what that will look like when it comes to pass. There is symbolic language in that book, and it can be difficult to know which features are symbolic, and which ones are literal. For example: I can believe the demonic locusts (Revelation 9:1–12) will look just like demonic locusts, I can also believe they won't really be visible at all. Remember that Elisha's servant couldn't see the angelic host around him without divine intervention (2 Kings 6:17), maybe the people afflicted by those demonic locusts won't have any sense they're there, except for the pain they inflict. I just don't know. 

But the point is that the Lord's coming for us is not described in terms that invite speculation. Will the Lord come down on an actual horse (Revelation 19:11), or is that a symbolic description? I don't really know. But notice that when the apostle describes His coming to get us (as opposed to His coming with us), he uses much more concrete language.

The Lord Himself will descend with a shout (1 Thessalonians 4:16), the dead in Christ will rise (1 Thessalonians 4:16), those who are His and are still living at that time will meet them in the air (1 Thessalonians 4:17). This isn't symbolic language, and it's not in a context laden with symbolism.

So here's a thought, and I think it gets back to the point that J. N. Darby and Robert were making: we can anchor our hope on the Lord's coming for us much more dogmatically (and certainly) than we can discuss things like what Babylon, or what those demonic locusts are. We can, in a sense, disagree on how to interpret big chunks of Revelation, while agreeing on 1 Corinthians 15:51–57 and 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18. 

Personally, I find Darby's view of the Revelation convincing, and there are significant differences between that and the Scofield notes view. I think I've commented on those differences before.  But there are very good reasons that honest believers sincerely disagree with me on that. And I'm not going to make it a bigger deal than it is.

That being said, I'm certain the Lord's imminent return is not in the same category as the demonic locusts.  The apostolic attitude toward the Lord's return was that it could happen at any moment, and they lived expecting it. Again, I'm not going to accuse people who disagree with me of heresy, but living out the faith once delivered to the saints involves living in expectation that the Lord is coming for us and could be here at any moment. 

 

Comfort one another

J. N. Darby, commenting on 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 said,

It is remarkable that the consolation which he gives to those who surrounded the death-bed of a Christian, is their friend's return with Jesus, and their mutual meeting. It is customary to say, "Be content: he is gone to glory." This was not the way with the apostle. The comfort which he proposes to those who are mourning the death of a believer is, "Be content: God will bring them back." What a change must not the habitual feelings of Christians have undergone, since the consolation given by an apostle is counted in this day as foolishness! The believers in Thessalonica were penetrated to such a degree with the hope of the return of Christ, that they did not think of dying before that event; and when one of them departed, his friends were afflicted with the fear that he would not be present at that happy moment.

"The Second Coming of Christ", Collected Writings, Vol. 2, pp. 290–300

I first read that 20 or 25 years ago, and I was struck by how pointed 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 is. Here's a passage that tells us what point it's trying to make, and then tells us how we are to use it. We are taught the Lord's plan for those who are "asleep through Jesus" so that we won't mourn like the heathen who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13–14); and we are to be comforted by the knowledge that God will bring those departed believers back with the Lord when He comes (1 Thessalonians 4:14).

Odd as it seems, I can't recall ever hearing 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 read at a funeral, or in connection with someone's death. But that's exactly what the passage says we should be doing. It's possible I just haven't been to the "right" funerals – I've often wondered what the reaction would be to someone reading that passage at a funeral.

And I should probably point out that it's not a prohibition on mourning, but a prohibition on mourning like those who have no hope. The Lord Himself mourned for Lazarus, even knowing he'd be raised from the dead within a short time (John 11:33–36). So no, mourning is not wrong.

But in the end, we look forward to the Lord coming for us. As long as we're among "those who remain," then we look for Him to come for us and bring back our loved ones who sleep in Jesus. If we should die first, then we don't lose that hope, but we'll see it from another side. Let's not forget that our hope isn't to be disembodied spirits, but to participate in His resurrection (2 Corinthians 5:1–4).

 

 

 

Here be dragons

Someone tweeted this quote from J. N. Darby:

A distracted heart is the bane of a Christian. When my heart is filled with Christ I have no heart or eye for the trash of the world. If Christ is dwelling in your heart by faith it will not be the question, What harm is there in this, or that? Rather, Am I doing this for Christ?

Now, I have read a LOT of Darby's writings. I'm a huge fan. Still, I found my initial reaction was to reach out to the person and say something like, "Please be careful with this sort of thing!" Since I claim to be a big fan of J. N. Darby, I should probably talk about that.

William R. Newell wrote

We know what debt under God all those who have the truth today owe to Darby, through whom God recovered more truth belonging to the Church of God, than through any other man since Paul, and whose writings are today the greatest treasure of truth and safeguard against error known to instructed believers. Such men had more than an evangelist’s or teacher’s gift. There was spiritual authority they themselves did not seek, attending their ministry. This fact discerning believers,—those free from tradition’s bias, readily see and gladly admit. (Romans Verse-by-Verse, p. 464)

So why would I advise caution?

Galatians 5:16–21 catalogs the works of the flesh, and it contains the sorts of things we expect: licentiousness, idolatry, hatred, and so on. But those aren't all the works of the flesh: disputes and schools of opinion are included in that list. The flesh doesn't always manifest itself in gross immorality, but also in very religious ways too. In fact, I've read through Galatians many, many times, and I can't find any evidence that there was any sort of immorality going on in Galatia.

The problem in Galatia wasn't rampant immorality, but rampant moralism.

There lurks a little Galatian in many – probably all – of us. That little Galatian loves to get a hold on something like this quote by Darby and drive us into a spiral of introspective despair. I have known more than one person crippled by introspection, examining every thought and every action and every motive to determine whether it's "of Christ." Oddly, that introspection tends to lead into legalism more than it leads into Christ-likeness.

And really, when we're introspective, our eyes are full of ourselves, not Christ. So I'm not saying anything other than what the original quote said: a heart full of Christ doesn't have time for worldliness, but a heart fixated on whether it's full of Christ isn't actually a heart full of Christ. It's a heart full of self.

Reading Darby changed my life. I grew up in a Christian home, going to church every week, even attending a Christian school. I had heard and believed the Gospel at an early age. I have no doubt I was born again when I was very young. But my concept of Christianity was something like, "God has forgiven me, now I have to live for Him." And that led me, of course, to attempt to walk in godliness and holiness in the power and energy of the flesh. See, I understood that Christ has died for me, but I had no real concept that I had died with Him.

So that's one possible error: the error of skipping from Romans 5:1 to Romans 12:1, ignoring the essential teaching in Romans 6–8. And frankly, that seems to be typical of evangelicalism. The majority of evangelicals I have met seem to be trying to do something like that. "Christ has died for you, now you have to live for Him."

And yes, that seems to be the majority view among so-called brethren too. That little inner Galatian really thrives on this sort of "Christianity," which isn't really Christianity at all. It's just Judaism on this side of the cross.

 

But there is another error we might fall into. This is the error of diving into Romans 6–8 and staying there. Romans doesn't end in chapter 8, but so many who find deliverance in Romans 6–8 act like it does. Is it any less wrong to neglect Romans 9–16 than it is to neglect Romans 6–8? I don't think it is.

And I admit with chagrin that I spent many years stuck in this latter error. 

This seems to be a trap particularly dangerous for people who read Darby. Darby's ministry calls us to a life that's led and empowered by the Spirit of God. It's not that, "Christ has died for me and now I live for Him," rather it's "the life of Jesus manifested in my mortal body" (2 Corinthians 4:10). This is nothing less than Paul calls us to. This is precisely the teaching of Colossians 3:1–4. Christ has been raised, and we have been raised with Him.

But when we've glimpsed that life – perhaps even experienced it – then there is a tendency for the flesh to manifest itself in a sort of mysticism. This isn't actually any better than legalism, but it's not quite the same thing, at least in the beginning. And so we might find in ourselves a tendency to sit in Colossians 3:1–4, never quite getting around to all those practical verses in the second half of that chapter.

And something really strange starts to happen after a while: we start to find that our little inner mystic bears a strong resemblance to that little inner Galatian. And we find ourselves being very legalistic about not being legalistic. And we find ourselves taking those very verses about being freed by our death with Christ and turning them into yet another law to put ourselves (and everyone else) under.

The truth of the Word of God is that we can't divorce the opening verses of Colossians 3 from the rest. We can't live out Colossians 3:17ff without Colossians 3:1–4. But if we just camp out in Colossians 3:1–4 and ignore the rest of the chapter, we end up in something that's just as foreign to the Word of God as that powerless and fleshly legalism the Galatians invented.

And that's why I advise caution with Darby's ministry. There is very little that has affected my life like Darby's ministry. At the same time, I have seen in myself and in others a tendency to camp out in the bits of that ministry that seem different and refreshing, to the detriment of our own spiritual health.

God has called us to the life of Jesus manifested in our mortal flesh. We can't do that on our own, but knowing about it without experiencing it is not Christianity. It's some sort of twisted mysticism that contains just enough truth to get us into real trouble. There's nothing good down that path.

 

One red flag I have learned to recognize is what we might call "the advanced class" mindset. I have noticed this sort of thing tends to accompany trouble. It's hard to put a finger on exactly where the threshold is for this sort of thing, but in my 45+ years walking with the Lord, I've seen this many times. It could be membership in a specific church, or adherence to some doctrine or practice that differentiates the "enlightened" from other Christians. Basically, any sort of Shibboleth that divides the "spiritually mature" from the others is an indicator some serious problems. 

The best remedy against this sort of thing is to be content with Christ.

I was once told that the story of the daughters of Zelophehad (Numbers 27:1–11) teaches that "not everyone is assembly material," so "we" shouldn't intermarry with other Christians. If that doesn't scream "CULT" I'm not sure what does.

There is a remedy to this sort of thing, and Colossians models it for us. Before we do anything else, we need to worship the Father and adore the Son. Notice Colossians spends a lot of time in adoring the Son before it turns to our place in Him. Skipping Colossians 3:1–4 to get to Colossians 3:17ff is a recipe for disaster. Skipping Colossians 1:12–20 to get to Colossians 3:1–4 is exactly the same thing. Our first and highest calling is to worship God, and nothing good comes of neglecting that.

So we start by being worshipers of God and His Christ. And we recognize that nothing good comes of camping out in Colossians 3:1–4 and not going on to obey the rest of the chapter.

 

I suppose I should say: I am all for slowly and deliberately digesting the Word of God. So no, I don't think it's wrong to memorize those amazing verses in Romans 6–8 or Colossians 3. I certainly am not saying we shouldn't ruminate on them, or meditate on them, or dwell on them. I am saying when our mindset is something like, "I'll obey those other verses some other time," then we're in trouble. Colossians 3:1–4 isn't the end of the chapter: we're to go on from there and see the truth of our identity in Christ work itself out in how we behave in the real world.

And I highly recommend reading Darby. Honestly, nothing I'm saying here isn't in his ministry. It's just easy to miss it sometimes.