In Rob Reiner’s 1986 film, Stand By Me, four twelve-year-old boys go camping overnight.  Their adventure takes them on a hike of several miles out into the country and, at one point, they have to cross a railroad trestle.  The trestle is several hundred feet long, high above a deep ravine and just wide enough for the tracks.  At first, they hesitate about crossing.  What if a train was to come?   There would be no way of escape.  But, there’s no way to the other side.  And, one of boys says that he had heard that trains rarely ever used that particular stretch of tracks anymore anyway.  So, they start across slowly but when they get about half way, one of the boys stops and puts his ear to the rail just to be sure they’re safe.  Sure enough, it confirms his worst fears.  The train that never comes is coming now.  In the rail he can hear and feel the signs of what is, though not yet visible, very real nonetheless, coming quickly and about to drastically change their lives.  They make it across to the other side but only because what had been a leisurely walk was instantly transformed into a very serious run; what was coming gave new urgency to their steps. 

The same Bible that tells us of Jesus’ birth, of his first coming, also tells us that Jesus is coming again.  The same Jesus who died for our sins and was resurrected for our hope promised us that he would be coming back someday.  Beyond that, we have very little information that Christians have been able to agree on since then.  Has there ever been a more controversial teaching of Jesus than that of his second coming?  That may be partly because the very nature of his second coming, as Jesus said, would be so unpredictable. 

We can’t know when it will be.  It will be, he said, “‘at an hour when (we) do not expect him.’”  His timing won’t make sense to us.  It won’t be at one of those times when all the cosmic chemistry looks just right.  Jesus once said to his disciples, “‘It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority (Acts 1:7-8).”  He also said, of that time, that “‘two men will be in the field . . . women will be grinding’” wheat.  We will just be going about our normal routine.  Commuting, working, watching the stock market, fixing dinner, helping kids with their homework, making plans for the future, we’ll be doing things like that, when Jesus comes and interrupts. 

At first that sounds so threatening.  But, thinking about it another way, there is a great deal of relief, even hope, in knowing that Jesus intends to interrupt our routine.  As comforting as our routine can be, is there anything more deadening?  Is there anything more difficult to handle, sometimes, than the everydayness of every day?  Isn’t there more than just doing what it takes to get through this day so that we can get to the next day so that we can get to the next?  How many times have we all lived just hanging on, just trying to make it to the next day so we can make the next check and pay the next bill hoping not to die of cancer at 58 like George Harrison?  What if we had to live knowing that there would be no end to our routine?  That nothing would ever disrupt it or conclude it?

We’ve all heard this story many times.  An older adult, having lived life, as we like to say, “to its fullest,” comes to the end and begins to welcome, even invite, death.  Their spouse has died and left them alone.  Their health is gone.  For a long time, they haven’t been able to do anything but let others take care of them.  It’s so difficult for those of us who still think we have a lot of life ahead of us to believe that someone would want to die.  On the other hand, isn’t there a grace in God allowing life to eventually end?  Can you imagine life without one?

I’ve told you before about my deep-sea fishing experience.  It was my first, and by all I can say grace over, my last time.  Caught at sea in a terrible storm, we thought for certain we were going to die.  All we did for eight long hours was ride the waves.  Up and down.  Up and down.  The routine was maddening.  We were tossed to and fro and, eventually, we were all tossing to and fro.  At one point, somewhere out there in what was for me a previously unexplored realm of dry heaves, I finally decided that death would be better than living like that much longer.  That day all of us adults began asking a question we thought we’d left behind in childhood, “Are we there yet?”  It was only in knowing that, one way or another, that day would come to an end, that we kept our sanity.  Even a pleasure cruise, with non-stop partying, would become a living nightmare if you didn’t know that, eventually, your ship was going to dock.

In one sense, Jesus’ second coming, to break up the old order of things, gives our lives their meaning until then.  It is in knowing that things, good or bad, will come to an end that they become bearable.  Jesus coming the first time gave us hope because it brought forgiveness of sin, redeemed our past.  Jesus’ coming again gives us hope, too, because it redeems our future.  He is coming to give purpose and meaning to all that has been up until then. 

We celebrate that promise at every funeral, just as we did this past week when we buried Harry Westbrook’s physical remains in a cold, windswept cemetery at Pilot Point.  The only thing that gave Lorene the courage to leave her husband’s side for the first time in sixty-two years, the only thing that gave any of us courage, is the hope of Jesus’ promise made to his disciples just before his death, burial and resurrection.  “‘Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Trust me.  In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am (John 14:1-3).’”  To be a disciple of Jesus means more than just to trust him for his forgiveness for our past.  It is also to trust him for our future.  He came to redeem our past.  He is coming again to redeem our future.  To bring to his own good purposeful conclusion what God started, even before Jesus was even born in a manger.  Jesus came once before.  Jesus is coming again.

Right off the bat, though, we begin to wonder.  What will that be like?  I have to confess to you that I sometimes get lost trying to imagine it.  This is mysterious language.  Jesus said, about his coming again,  “‘the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.  At that time the sign of the Son of Man will appear in the sky, and all the nations of the earth will mourn. They will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky, with power and great glory.  And he will send his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other’ (Matthew 24:29-31).”  That all sounds too fantastic to believe.  Almost like something out of a Star Wars kind of script.  But, it is only because our senses have been dulled by our routine.  We are so accustomed to ordering our lives in ways we can control that it is difficult to grasp something that cosmic and other worldly.

But, a few weeks ago, I got some help.  Perhaps, like me, you were fascinated by the Leonid asteroid show.  Did you see it?  I stood in my back yard utterly amazed as those rocky visitors from some distant place no man has ever been came crashing into the atmosphere.  I stood there and realized how powerless we really are to control anything.  At any moment, a visitor from outside our known world can come crashing in and transform our routine, our past and our future.  That’s how it will be when Jesus comes again. 

We are powerless to do anything about that except for one thing.  The only thing Jesus said we can do about his second coming is live in right relationship to it. 

Harry Westbrook was a fabulous gardener.  Whatever other skills it takes, to be a good gardener you’ve got to be good at hoping.  Harry planted seeds and then hopefully waited for what they would become.  His own life, and gardening, became a beautiful metaphor of his faith in Jesus.  Reading the scripture from 1 Corinthians, it seemed as if it had been written just for Harry.  “The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body (1 Corinthians 15:42-44).”  As we stood by his casket, I recalled those words and realized that, every time a believer is buried, a seed is planted.  Now, we wait hopefully for what those seeds will blossom to be.  It is only our hope in Christ’s coming again that gives us that courage.  But, that same hope does more. 

The apostle Paul put it this way, about both the first and second coming of Jesus.  “The grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men. It teaches us to say "No" to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age, while we wait for the blessed hope, the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ (Titus 2:11-13).”  “Our blessed hope,” he said.  Hope.

Some people want the preacher to give them a certainty that even Jesus didn’t offer.  They want details.  When, how, where will this all happen?  I sometimes feel like fretting over those details makes no more sense than if those four boys had stood in the middle of those tracks arguing about exactly where the coming train was instead of responding to the fact that it was coming.  Jesus words make it clear that those matters aren’t what matter anyway.  We can listen to Jesus and know, for certain, he is coming.  The only issue with which Jesus finally left us to struggle was how we would live in relationship to that truth.  “‘So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.’”  You must be ready, Jesus said. 

Are we?  Are we there yet?  No.  Are we ready to be there?  Jesus didn’t tell us when we’d get to that moment.  Knowing that we will gives us hope to live in ways we wouldn’t otherwise. 

If you’ve ever solicited a compliment by giving one, then you’ll understand this story.  On the last night of our Thanksgiving vacation in Tennessee with Nancy’s family, all of it, I finally unwound after three days of trying.  Nancy and I were standing on the deck of the Montgomery Bell State Park visitor center overlooking the lake and watching the most awesomely beautiful sunset.  If Cameron hadn’t been playing in the hot tub just a few feet away, it might have even been one of those romantic moments you’d drive 625.8 miles one way to have.  But, at least we’re having this relaxed conversation.  I’ve been feeling guilty about some of my inadequate in-law relational skills and here’s how I handle my guilt.  I say to Nancy, “You are such an incredibly patient person.  You are so much more patient with me than I am with you.”  I’m anticipating a comeback something like, “You’re too hard on yourself.”  Or, at least, “What do you mean?!  You are the most patient person I live with.”  But, that’s not what I get.  After buttering up my wife like the turkey we’ve already eaten, she responds with her customary not for sale candor.  I’ve said, “You are so much more patient . . ..”  She says, “You’re not very patient at all.”

My Thanksgiving dessert was a generous helping of two reminders.  One is that one of the greatest gifts God ever gives us is someone who loves us enough not to lie to us about our weaknesses, someone whose candor is not for sale.  The other is a reminder that I’ve still got a lot of work to do.  More lessons to learn from the grace of Jesus that teaches me to say “no” to ungodly self-centeredness and yes to what is good and right.  To love more than demand.  To trust more than worry.  To live this moment for what it is.  A lot of work to do before I stand eye to eye with Jesus and thank him for his unexplainably gracious patience with me.

Here I am at mid-life.  I’m halfway across to wherever I’m headed.  Yet, the gospel reminds me that it is not so much about where I’m going, where I’m headed.  It’s about the Jesus who came once for me, for us, and is coming again.  It’s not about the God toward which we are headed.  It is about the God who is coming to and for us.  Jesus is coming again.  Where do we need to be in relationship to him?