We Know Not the Hour

Matthew 25:13

The Voice (VOICE)

¹³ So stay awake; you neither know the day nor hour [when the Son of Man will come].

When I was eight or ten, a college student taught my Sabbath School class. He did an excellent job of holding our attention. I vividly remember how he looked at us in all seriousness and said, “We don’t know exactly when Christ will come, but I guarantee you that it will be less than five years before He comes.” He showed us in detail how all of the conditions Christ mentioned in Matthew 24 had been fulfilled. He certainly had me convinced, and I’m sure he believed it just as much as I did.

My view of Jesus’ coming was one of absolute grandeur and magnificence: The entire sky filled with untold millions of heavenly beings, each one shining brighter than the sun, and the redeemed all rising upwards drawn by an irresistible force like a magnet attracting iron. Of course, every one of these people rising heavenward was a great saint and had lived a perfect life before the Lord.

My view of the whole thing was always from a spot solidly on the earth. My teachers and preachers proclaimed this marvelous, perfect character that I must obtain. As I looked at my own life, I knew I was selfish. What kid isn’t? I was deceptive, not harmfully deceptive, but none-the-less not transparently honest. Some of my friends were even more deceitful, but still I hated myself for both of these faults.

A Superman program came on the radio every afternoon around five o’clock. I sat transfixed, listening to the episode. I would imagine it was me flying around and saving innocent people and defeating unthinkably powerful villains. Then Mom would sit me down and ask me if I thought Jesus would listen to Superman if he were a boy in my house. By her very demeanor I knew that, of course, Jesus wouldn’t listen to it. I would admit that Jesus certainly wouldn’t, and I would swear off the program. For weeks I kept the radio off. Then some friends would come over and want to hear that program, and before I knew it I was hooked again. This listening—hearing Mom’s logic—restraining myself cycle would begin again.

No. There was no way that I would be with that ransomed throng rising inexorably to Jesus. He knew too much about me and certainly couldn’t save me. So this persuasive promise the devout college student made to us about the imminence of Christ’s appearance filled my young life with dread. My nights were haunted by the terror of being lost.

As I think back of those long ago days, I don’t remember this teacher being excited about Christ’s return any more than I was. He very ably brought out a sense of urgency. He could talk about the marvels of heaven and the new earth. He stressed that being ready for Christ was absolutely necessary, but I fear that he didn’t have the thrilling hope of redemption. He, too, was burdened with guilt. He had never experienced the marvelous certainty and peace that God’s grace makes possible for each heart who accepts Him. I wish he could have assured me that Jesus died to make me ready for translation and a place with the ransomed.

Lord Jesus, thank You for saving me. Thank You for Your grace that provides me with the marvelous hope You have given me. Thank You that Jesus is coming when I least expect it. Come! Lord Jesus.