“You Think Jesus Is Coming Back Tonight?”
Escapism, Incarnation and ‘Longing for Home’
I remember one year, our pastor preached through the book of revelation for a whole year. Verse by verse, chapter by chapter, it was a long ass year lol. But it got me reflecting on the end and the life after a heckuva lot. I would regularly look at my roommate before parting for bed and say, “You think Jesus is coming back tonight?” She’d smile and say “Probably not.” and head to bed.
I’ll be honest I knew the answer to the question before I even asked it. But the hope, the possibility of escape was so reassuring. Even if I knew it didn’t actually work that way. It helped to think that one day, I’d be rescued, taken from all the pain, suffering and agony that came with this life.
On top of being an idealistic feeler, which made me oh so aware of this world’s failures, I have myself lived a lifetime of pain and disappointment. From growing up in an emotionally, financially, and physically abusive home, my parents’ divorce, family tragedy, sickness and suicide, loss and grief were the refrain of my youth.
This is all a lot for anyone to process, let alone a child. My answer to all the difficult and confusing emotions was to flee. In a book, a song, my mind, homework or a journal. I drowned myself in a world other than my own so it would not hurt so bad. When I was introduced to “personal faith” in my teen years— something so foreign to me as someone who’s earliest and only experience of the divine was communal and familial. I had found the ultimate escape from this evil, heartbreaking world.
Jesus.
It rocked my world. I had a Father! He owned the universe! And sent me His Holy Spirit to help me while I held out for the ultimate rescue when Jesus was gonna take me into the next life! A world without tears, heartache, shitty parents, forced labour, and hurtful brothers. A world where intimacy didn’t have to be dangerous and I didn’t need to fight.
Oh how I clung to this hope! Maranatha! Lord, Jesus come. I would find myself waiting for the bus or washing dishes and ‘longing for home.’ “Do you ever feel like you weren’t made for this world?” I would ask close friends. I resonated with songs that would speak of a time with no tears, no pain, bodies made whole (charismatics say what?!) I had even a season where end time prophecy was my jam…
The only problem is that this line of thinking never helped me deal with the here and now. I was no better, despite being older, at dealing with loss and grief. I was no better at being rooted and grounded in the present. My heart had in a way checked out to “that day”. This intangible moment that in all honesty is not a guarantee (that’s the essence of faith, n’est-ce pas?).
This wasn’t all the fault of my spiritual upbringing, I had long cultivated a habit of escapism to cope with difficulty. Yes, I was a child making due with what she had, but having this habit definitely didn’t help. My view of the end had a huge impact on how I lived today and as I grew older and matured in other areas of my life, some of the foolishness in my belief became apparent. And yet, focusing on the perfection to come was easier than facing my brokenness today.
As a Christian leader, I think despite my best intentions, it likely made me ill-equipped to deal with other people’s pain. Although I had more grace for others than I had for myself, in my early years of ministry I was much more likely to be looking for an in to get to the prayer part than actively listening and engaging with the real-life person in front of me. After all, the end goal was the great escape, and they couldn’t experience that without hearing about Jesus.
I can only imagine how many people I hastily ran over with my zeal and good intentions. I never saw how selfish and entitled this belief was. The ironic part is that this approach to life flies in the face of Jesus and the incarnation I claimed to believe in. Whether or not you believe in his deity the story of Jesus challenges us to rethink our approach to being human. It calls us to interact with pain and brokenness here and now, and not just in the sweet by and by.
The Christ child not only came towards our suffering but to participate in it as well.
These days so much of my faith is nebulous. I’m finding myself throwing away old ideas and asking honest questions of myself, my beliefs, and my world.
I’ll be honest, sometimes I sincerely wonder if my attachment to Christianity is more habit than conviction. And that is more than a little scary.
This Christmas season I am choosing to lean into that discomfort. I’m embracing fears and what lies in the dark. I want to come into the new year embracing the challenge that inevitably comes with hope. The heartache that is married to the wait and the knowledge that things, despite my best efforts may never be as they should.
And that? That is okay.
As I reflect on the God made flesh. The Creator who sympathised with creation. I too, embrace my flesh, my humanity. My propensity to fail is not an indictment but simply a result of my humanness.
And that is okay.
As I live in a world that seems to be burning up, where tyrants, racists, murderers and bigots are elected into office. Where people are sold off into slavery. A world where my pigmentation and genitalia impact my perceived worth. A world where justice seems so foreign. Truth so obscene. I want to choose to engage with its messiness. To hope for its best. To see its beauty in the midst of its bruises and scars. I want to learn to love our world as it is today, not simply as my escapist heart longs for it to be.
I don’t know, nor can anyone predict the future in this life or the next. But I can choose to love this messy place and the lives it encompasses. I can challenge myself and those around me to live out lives of truth, hope, and charity. I can take all of these insurmountable causes one day at a time.
I’m going to believe in the now more than the not yet. Not because I lack the faith per se, but because to love the unknown future too much, leads me to want to let it all burn until my great escape.
