Friday, November 27, 2020   (today’s lectionary)
A thousand years are like a day
I saw an angel come down from heaven holding in his hand the key to the abyss and a heavy chain. He seized the dragon, the ancient serpent, the Devil, and tied it up for a thousand years.
Imagine yourself in this story! It’s one thing to be a man or woman walking with Jesus in the dust of Galilee or Samaria. It’s altogether another to stand on the edge of the River Styx and see the devil cowering before the angel Michael. My heart skips every other beat and spins into flight. I can’t even blink my eyes, and every distinct cry of the demon screams in my ears. This is the day of redemption and victory that Jesus talked about. In fact his words that seemed so crazy were simply … true. I am not trying to understand, I just try to keep my feet.
And I saw souls of those beheaded for their witness to Jesus and the word of God. They came to life and reigned with Christ for a thousand years.
But as Peter said, a thousand years are like a day. Time flies when you’re having fun. Tell everyone we aren’t going to bed tonight. Let’s just watch and see, taste and see, hear the words of God. Look at those corpses of once-upon-a-time. There’s my grandpa, there’s my dad. There’s Aunt Mary, there’s grandma, larger than life. Reigning with Christ. And I’m figuring out that “reigning” means loving.
Then I saw one who sat on a large white throne. In his presence even the earth and sky did not stand, they fled. But the dead still stood there while scrolls were opened, those including the book of life, and we were judged by our deeds, by what was written in those scrolls. All were judged. Those not written into the book of life, along with Death itself, Â were thrown into the pool of fire. For them this was the second death.
I don’t need to understand, I can’t understand, but I’m made to ask questions. I thought I knew death as a sort-of friend almost, the natural end to a natural life well lived, or at least a life well covered with mercy and forgiveness. But this death is a hated thing, unnatural, and thrown away at last, buried in the molten lava and sinking, sinking, always altogether gone from us. And some of us go with it? How can that be?
And then, and then! I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the former heaven and the former earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, a new Jerusalem coming down from God. She was prepared as a bride, adorned for her husband.
My senses and imagination are crushed like grapes in a winepress. There is no telling what will happen next. Celebrations flow past me like confused rivers.
But this wedding and the feast right after, they draw me in with everyone else, those of us who are left. I can’t get those others out of my head, watching them swallowed by the fiery sand. Isn’t anyone else asking? How can that be?
Even a sparrow finds a home and the swallow a nest where she can put her young. Blessed are all who dwell in your house. You will go from strength to strength. Stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.
God the Father presides on this wedding day. Jesus reaches for our hand. He draws us close. My fear and confusion fade. Jesus is love. God is just. There are no mistakes. Do I still need to ask my questions? What is mine to understand?
Jesus said, “Consider the fig tree. Its buds burst and you know that summer is near. This generation will not pass away until all these things have happened.”
An invitation. Think about this, David. Remember your experience, imagine yourself into this story. Stand on the earth, not yet swallowed up. Feel the air, cool and fresh. Taste a fig, and really hear the word of the Lord. Rather than parsing it, relax and receive its rich life.
Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will NOT pass away.
(Revelation 20, Psalm 84, Luke 21)
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