05/26/2022
May you find the same peace that I found in her well said words.
Like so many others, tremors of rage and grief have drawn me to my laptop more often lately. The grocery store shooting in Buffalo, all that was exposed in the SBC, the school shooting in Texas… Even for those of us on the periphery of these events, it’s traumatic. It’s unbearable. It’s horrific. We’re trying to sift through the unimaginable using mere letters. For now the clunky words will mostly stay on my laptop, but I couldn’t help but notice a common thread within them and in the words others have offered: “Come, Lord Jesus!”
These three words capture one of the deepest longings of my heart, but it occurred to me that they may sound like a platitude. I’ve been wondering how they sound inside the ears of those who aren’t familiar with them, how they sound to those overfamiliar with them, particularly if they associate the words with people who have injured them or people who have overlooked their pain. Perhaps the words are in danger of going the way of “let go and let God” and other hollow offerings we are so tempted to tape onto a tragedy.
So I thought I’d take a minute and tell you why the words aren’t hollow at all, why they are often the only words for wordless horrors, why Christians like me so often say, “Come, Lord Jesus!”
We borrow the words from John, who observed Jesus more closely than most anyone else and felt profoundly loved by Him, who was one of the early church’s most fatherly figures. Ask anyone who loves the Bible and I bet they have a special affection for John. His Gospel (his account of Jesus’s life, death, and new life) and his letters (instruction and encouragement he wrote to first-century Christians) are poetic and tender, a far cry from the “son of thunder” he was before he met Jesus. Jesus turned John upside down and inside out, producing a gentle strength that still makes readers marvel.
“Come, Lord Jesus” are some of the last words John penned. We find them at the very end of the book of Revelation, the last book of the Bible, which was written in the last years of John’s life. Their position makes them weighty, but it’s more than that.
Revelation is John’s account of a vision he had from the Lord. (This alone I suspect evokes cynicism from those outside the Christian faith, and I get it. But we believe in a God that communicates with His people, and sometimes He does more than just tell—He shows.) The vision is full of mystery and intrigue, of challenges and comforts, and there’s lots that can be said. For now, we can just look to the end, where John offers our beloved phrase, “Come, Lord Jesus.”
The last two chapters of Revelation tend to wriggle into the soul and plant a daring hope. In them, we are reminded that Jesus—the One who captured our hearts by loving us in ways we can still barely fathom—is coming back for His people. And when He comes back, it’s like all the best videos smooshed together: the ones where soldiers come home, the ones where babies get glasses and finally see their parents’ faces, the ones where separated siblings finally unite. And more than that: When He comes back, every horrible thing melts away. The tears, the grief, the pain: All of it is obliterated in the presence of such wonderfulness. When I saw my daughter’s face after all those excruciating hours of labor, it was mind-boggling that the once unbearable pain was suddenly so distant, while joy felt like a glorious pie to the face. I think it’ll be kind of like that.
So when we say, “Come, Lord Jesus!” it’s like crying out to the Person who loves us the most, the Person whose face we most long to see and saying, “Please come soon! The world is more horrible than we ever realized, and oh, we long to see you! We believe you that when you come, everything will be made new, everything will be made wonderful, all of this pain will be gone!” When we offer these words, we are not trying to be trite—we are pointing to triumph. We are remembering and declaring the daring hope that is planted deep in our hearts. We are longing for the day our faith will be made sight.
Keep your eyes up, beloved brothers and sisters. He is coming. Come, Lord Jesus.
