We Need the Blessed Hope

My maternal great-grandparents came to Canada in 1888 from the northeast coast of Scotland where for generations they had been fishermen on the North Sea. They settled in Montreal at first, at that time a city of 175,000. Montreal’s death rate was highest in the country—33 per thousand in 1884. In 1885, over 3,000 died of smallpox. In 1891, a severe epidemic of scarlet fever and diphtheria swept across the city and hundreds, especially little children, died. My great-grandfather was involved in the grim task of making coffins. They could not make them fast enough. And the Last Enemy did not bypass their home.

Mary (7 years), Rachel (between 2 and 3), and Maggie (1 year) all died in one week in March of 1891. Richard, an infant, had predeceased them by a few days. Another sister, Helen, was given up for dead but survived. It was a grief never healed in my great-grandmother. Every March opened the wound again.

Mary, before the Lord took her, had shown herself to be a child of mature spiritual awareness. As she lay on her deathbed, her mother heard her singing the deeply meaningful words of Mary Shekleton’s hymn,

It passeth knowledge, that dear love of Thine, Lord Jesus, Saviour, yet this soul of mine Would of Thy love, in all its breadth and length, Its height and depth, its everlasting strength, Know more and more.

Before the disease sapped her life, Mary was a vibrant, happy girl. Early every morning she would skip down the stairs into the kitchen to help her mother prepare breakfast for the growing family. Often, as she pulled back the curtains to let in the sun, she would look into the morning sky and ask, “Do you think He’ll come today, Mommy?”

When I was a little boy, it seemed every meeting I attended, every message I heard preached, contained reminders that the Lord was on His way. “Any day,” they would say. “Maranatha; the Lord is coming.” It was indeed a blessed hope. It was a motivating, comforting, separating, purifying, fortifying, stimulating hope. It was real. They didn’t argue eschatology. They looked up and said, “Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.”

By the time I was in my teens, things had changed. Preaching on prophecy was the popular thing in evangelicalism. These were the days of The Late, Great Planet Earth and endless chatter in the media of a nuclear war between the superpowers. Christians were captivated about talk of The Beast, a super computer in Brussels, and the rise of the European Union. They were looking for “signs” everywhere. But fewer Christians seemed to be looking for the Son—more looking into the future, less looking for the Saviour. As one preacher told me, “You can fill an auditorium far easier talking about the Antichrist than you can about the Christ.”

What can we say about the situation today? Some assemblies never hear a message about the Lord’s return because there are divergent views among the believers as to the timing of His coming. The subject is considered “controversial” and better left alone. Perhaps a more subtle reason is the growing affluence among Christians and the resultant “heaven can wait” attitude. Life is comfy here; why think about leaving?

This issue is dedicated to the belief that, while it is good to be busy in the Lord’s service here, leaving is a VERY good idea. The brightest days for the Church are still future. “It doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him; for we shall see Him as He is” (1 Jn. 3:2). Do YOU think He’ll come today? He could, you know.