I don't know about you, but I used to be totally weird when it came to contemplating the second coming of Christ. If I'm honest about it--and I am--I have to admit, the whole idea of it left me with a smug sense of satisfaction. I belonged to Jesus, and would be whisked away to glory when he returns. I was shamefully proud. I almost felt entitled. That or the thought of it scared me to death, and my scruples insisted that I'd surely be left behind. Okay, insert martyr fantasies here, for surely I wouldn't mess up twice and take the mark of the beast. If it helps, I was a kid ruminating on most of these matters and those ideas were fed by a glut of endtimes books and even movies. This was before the Left Behind books were a sparkle in Lahaye and Jenkins eyes, and truth be told, I read those too, even though I was good and grown and my theology had... Let's just say evolved.
This Advent season, however, I'm neither puffed up with spiritual pride, nor fearful when I think of the Second Coming of Christ. I guess what I feel is humbled. The thought of such a mighty God, who could split the sky at his coming, would find humanity interesting enough to come here for the first time, let alone a second, well, it's just amazing. What's even more mind-blowing is his personal interest in me. He loves me. He knows me. He is sympathetic to the aches I feel, body, soul, and spirit. If he could give himself to me in the form of an infant, and be that vulnerable and humble, his second coming won't be terror at all, but consummation. It's the end of the romance novel or romantic comedy, when the hero takes his bride--after all they'd gone through--into his chamber to love her well. Close the door. Fade to black, and no eye can see, nor ear hear what God has prepared for those who love him.
Rejoice! Jesus is coming soon! The last trump will be playing a love song, and we shall be swept into his strong arms and loving embrace, at long last, for always and forever.