In our primitiveness, we do not doubt your coming, soon, powerfully, decisively.
In our settledness, your coming is not too urgent or real, because we are venously entitled, privileged, protected, gated.
In our rationality, the “until” of your coming makes little sense to us, so we mumble and hope no one notices.
In these last days,
In these latter days,
In these final days,
In these very late days,
We draw closer to your promised “until.”
We draw closer in fear, in hope, in gladness, in dread.
So we do proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes,
until he comes in peace against all our violence;
until he comes in generosity midst all our parsimony;
until he comes in food midst all our hunger;
until he comes in community midst all our alienation.
We are your faithful hopers,
distracted by despair, but hoping,
distracted by affluence, but hoping,
distracted by sophistication, but hoping.
Come soon, come Lord Jesus, come soon while we face afresh your death, until you come soon and again …again and soon.
Walter Brueggemann. Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: The Prayers of Walter Brueggemann (p. 169). Kindle Edition.