The end of time has always fascinated me.
I grew up in a household that held firmly to a dispensational reading of revelation, choosing to take the metaphors and symbolism as mysteries to unravel so we could understand our future fate. We were pre-millennial, believing that the second coming of Christ was the precursor to a one thousand years of peace, after which the forces of evil and rebellion would be dealt with in a decisive fashion. We were unsure about—but hoped for—a pre-tribulation rapture, praying to be whisked away from this earth before the seven years of persecution of Christians and torment of the world began.
While whether it was pre-trib, mid-trib, or post-trib was up for debate, what we knew was that the rapture was coming for us at some point. We would be caught up in the air with Christ, take away from this world that was not our home, and be united with the hosts of heaven. Afterword, we would return with Christ as part of his heavenly army to wage war against the evil of the antichrist and the armies of the beast.
The whole thing was very dramatic and Arthurian.
Over the years, my eschatology has changed. I no longer look at Revelation as a cryptic book holding the key to my future. I no longer view the rapture as a defensible theological position. I no longer believe that we will be take out of this world and finally find our home in heaven.
I believe firmly that this world is our home, and heaven is on a collision course so that in the end all will be well. We were made to live here, on this physical Earth, in this physical cosmos. While things are broken and sick, they are not irredeemable and will not be destroyed in the end to make room for some sort of Earth 2.0. The new heavens and the new earth is the renewal of all of creation, the liberation from sin, and resurrection in total.
While my views have changed, I still think back to the way I used to understand the end of time, the way I devoured books and commentaries, radio and television programs about “end times.” I was obsessed. I wanted to understand, to know for sure what the fate of the world would be. I wanted to decipher Revelation and peer behind the curtain of time to see God’s methods and plans. I wanted to know when it would happen, what would happen, and what it meant for me.
I probably sounded like the Disciples in Matthew 24, “Tell us when this will be, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?” Tell me, Jesus, what’s going to happen? What will unfold? Prophesy so I can understand!
I dissected Daniel, Matthew 24, and Revelation for clues and context to know what the end of all things would be like… but I never really thought about what it all meant.
In the midst of my asking why and when, I never asked how. How would this impact my neighbors, the weak, the poor, the oppressed and marginalized? How was this all based on the actual kenotic person and love of God? How does this affect the choices I make every day here, now, in this time and place?
I’ve come to believe with my whole heart that the way you understand the end will shape how you live the now.
What we hope for and who we hope in shapes how we live as the church.
The theology I was raised with led people to a specific way of expressing their Christianity. By entwining their faith with a narrow political position, a Christianity was created that leans heavily on American ideology and fundamentalist interpretations of scripture, culture, and news headlines. It’s right and proper to label this Christian Nationalism.
While eschatology hasn’t been solely responsible for the complex origins of Christian Nationalism, the reality is that a dispensationalist reading of the end times has shaped—at very least in part—the way Christian Nationalists express their hope. The vying for theocratic governments isn’t just a power grab. It is tied to a way of interpreting the Bible. The persecution complex that Christian Nationalists display any time they are challenged is directly related to a specific end times theology.
This dispensational eschatology is centered around a second coming of Christ that is filled with power and violence. We can encapsulate the belief in one statement: Christ came once in humility and will come again with power. Christian nationalists (indeed all fundamentalists) hold to the idea that when Jesus comes again, he is coming as a militant savior, wielding power and wrath against all who oppose or haven’t believed in him prior.
This belief impacts the way Christian Nationalists choose to engage with the surrounding culture. By understanding people that don’t believe in their version of Christianity are actually enemies of Jesus, they view themselves in a world that is both hostile to them and one that needs to be conquered. Any opposition to their agenda is seen as persecution, proof of both a hostile society and the righteousness of their position.
The way to fight against the hostile culture is for Christian Nationalists to seize control, impose their “correct” morality on everyone, and run the nation as a theocracy. By doing so, they are creating a foretaste of the end times when—and how they believe—Jesus will rule. Each agenda they push forward, every piece of their ideology that influences laws and policy, every one of these victories is seen as a sign from God that they are on the right track. At the same time, every opposition is proof that the devil and a godless society are persecuting and oppressing their religion.
It’s a win-win situation for the Christian Nationalist.
Either way the pendulum swings, it’s seen as a confirmation of their theology, their practice, and their convictions. Everything is confirmation bias. All this stems from a theology that the wrath of God is actually loving and that Jesus is coming in vengeance as an act of love. It is a twisting of what love is, and (frankly) a nonbiblical view of the end times.
There is no rapture in Scripture. The doctrine—and dispensationalism as a whole—seems to have emerged in the 1800s, not with early theological counsels or the apostles teachings. It became popular among evangelicals in the 1970s with teachers such as Hal Lindsey focusing on end times theology and attempting to predict the date of Jesus’ return.
An eschatology of violence is producing violence. It’s that simple.
But, what if our eschatology wasn’t violent? What if we had an eschatology of peace, of restoration, of resurrection? What if we believed Jesus was coming in glory, not in military might?
That might just change things.
Friends, The Book of Common Words is 100% reader supported. Here we explore the Christian spirituality of being human through podcast, poetry, and prose about my life, art, and the Christian faith. If you would like to support this exploration, and gain early access to all the podcasts, poems, and prose, consider joining my Patreon community.
One of the best way to support my work is to share what you’ve read here with your friends and acquaintances. Every share is an invitation to our little community. Thanks!
Thank you for stopping by my little corner of the internet. If you would like to be notified and receive my posts, poems, and podcast episodes in your email, just fill out the form below.
Leave a Reply