MV Fall 2023 Page 2

21 Dec

WHAT MATTERS MOST IN LIFE? REFLECTIONS THROUGH THE LENSES OF RELATIONAL TRUST

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The events in June engraved in my memory a lasting and thought-provoking question of what matters most in life when I visited my now-retired administrative assistant at Sydney Adventist Hospital. During our 12-year work-related association in the Ellen G. White/Seventh-day Adventist Research Centre at Avondale University, I watched Marian’s unreserved commitment to mundane office tasks, commendable support of students, and creative engagement in research projects. She was a joy to work with, a fun-loving person, and a committed Christian.

Soon after her retirement in 2017—amid a later life worthy of peaceful, restful, and enjoyable years of well-deserved rest—she was diagnosed with cancer. I recalled when Marian asked me to anoint her, seeking God’s intervention and healing. For the next five years, I watched her struggle with the wretched disease, praying and hoping for a miracle. Then one day, I was standing in front of her hospital room, trembling with anticipation, not knowing what to expect.

After moments of waiting, a nurse asked me to enter the room. Marian greeted me with her usual gentle, yet mischievous smile; the same smile routinely welcomed my arrival in the office. But now, there was something different about her demeanor, perhaps stemming from pain, frustration, fear—and hope to hang on a little longer to the breath of life. After a few moments of silence, I said, “Marian, how lovely to see you.” In return, she looked at me and said, “John, I am here to die. Would you conduct my burial service?”  The unexpected and upfront request stopped the flow of my thoughts. Spontaneously, I replied, “Of course, Marian, it will be my honor.” However, the momentary silence that followed our cordial, but emotionally loaded, greeting raised a question in my mind. After all is said and done, what truly matters in life when the music stops playing?

This sad encounter challenged the entire construct of my theological worldview. Momentarily, my thoughts drifted to the most essential elements of my faith expressed in the language that explains the mystery of God, defines the purpose and meaning of life, and articulates convictions about the future. No doubt, a clear understanding of set beliefs is indispensable. Erikson argues that it is “needful because of the large number of alternatives and challengers abroad at the present time.” 1

Immediately, our conversation shifted to the hope of the resurrection at Christ’s Second Coming (1 Thessalonians 4:16). Marian believed in the event, as did Martha during her dialogue with Jesus (John 11: 17-27). In response to His reassuring promise, Your brother will rise again, referring to Lazarus, Martha replied, I know he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day (John 11:23-24). But faith as a conviction immersed in definable expressions of hope may be very distant from the unexpected reality that interrupts the joy of life. However, it is essential, for like a bridge, it spans the abyss of the unknown, unforeseen, unhoped-for, and unwelcomed circumstances—the world of doubts, fear, and emotional turmoil amid the ongoing pace of life. The tension is fittingly wrapped in Martha and Mary’s experience during the death of their brother.

The sisters yearned for more than a definable construct of a logically outlined hope concerning a distant future event. The pain of loss invoked an urge for a different quality of faith embedded securely in relational trust, evidenced in the presence of a trustworthy friend, one who cared and was capable of healing. Thus, they both cried, If you had been here, my brother would not have died (John 11:21, 32).

I sensed the same pain in Marian’s voice. Her faith in Jesus resting on the foundation of His promised return, but her trembling voice seeming to say, “Jesus, why was I not healed? Where were you when I needed you most? Why do I have to depart from my husband, children, and grandchildren?” In this experience, Marian stood on the edge of the precipice, moments of perplexing tensions in life’s journey between faith so often conceptualized in logically defined doctrines and simultaneously experiencing the assumed silence of God’s abandonment. Luxton refers to such moments as “Living with Silence,” a space in which one longs for the comfort of God’s presence.2  The described tension in Marian’s crucial moments prompted me to examine the anchor of my faith and what truly matters in life.

So, What Truly Matters?

The Seventh-day Adventist Church meanders between varied perspectives on what constitutes the essential anchor of one’s faith in God. William Johnsson describes it as the fragmenting of Adventism. He reasoned, “We face pressures and factors today that would rip us apart as never before in our history. We face the possibility of schism more than any time since the Kellogg crisis ninety years ago. And these pressures of fragmentation will continue to increase.” 3

It seems that the complexity of life, embraced by existing fear and uncertainty, positions the church on the edge of the spiritual precipice. On one hand, the ambiance of the unknown and the need to adjust to the conditions caused by the rapidly changing world generate a reversed reaction, a need to express beliefs in clear doctrinal statements as a set of protective boundaries of security. On the other hand, the described milieu encourages a search for a meaningful adjustment to life and an understanding of faith as an implicit trust and confidence in God’s presence.

Discussions with my colleagues highlight the existing polarized tensions’ veracity. One responded, “What truly matters is that while I feel my life experience within Adventism has been toxic, and in many ways, destructive, there have been positives.” He connects the positiveness primarily with the essence of the Gospel, but “feels deeply distressed about how my lifelong faith community approaches that reality.”

Furthermore, what truly matters is “how to maintain a vital conscious connection with God and what I believe He is trying to say to me through a fog of my own making. What truly matters to me is the assurance that He doesn’t give up on me … . He is unmovable and persistent.” 4 A response from another colleague fascinated me: “My connection to God is independent of religion, doctrine, and theology.” He continues. “In the end, God is in control, and I trust the outcome. I don’t know how this will hold up under tragedy or trial, where my trust has not been tested, but I want to be faithful.” 5

Both examples demonstrate the existing tension between faith grounded in the purity of defined beliefs and the need for intimate relational connectivity with God, a relationship that generates a bridge of implicit trust in His presence. Erickson defines it as theology in which “truth and experience are related.” 6

The Anchor of My Faith

The story of Martha and Mary’s experience speaks to my heart as to what, in the context of my faith tradition, matters most in life. Both sisters stood on the edge of a confronting precipice, the struggle of faith in a time of need––the loss of a loved brother and the longing for the presence of a trustworthy friend. In such circumstances, movement toward the future is slow, painful, and emotionally draining. During that climb, one needs much more than a linguistically defined expression of hope; one needs an anchor that helps sustain the climb through the moments of living with silence.

So, how does Martha and Mary’s narrative impact my view of what matters most in my life of faith? First, Martha’s experience reminds me that my faith in Jesus must be anchored in a person, not just a descriptive event. I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies. And whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this? (John 11:25-26). In this context, my faith requires ongoing interactive relational implicit trust in Jesus. He is the bridge that carries my life over the troubled waters of life.

Second, Jesus knows when my faith undergoes moments of doubt, discouragement, and a seeming loss of His presence. Through Martha, Jesus sent a message to Mary:

Martha went back to her sister and said, “The Teacher is here and is asking for you” (John 11:28).

Third, Jesus empathized with the pain of human life and wept with the weeping (John 11: 33-37). He then demonstrated that our hope lies not in the descriptive details of the resurrection but in Him, the one who is the Creator of Life, the Conqueror over death, the Bridge of Hope and Restoration. He needs to be the center of all the doctrines. So, what matters most in my life of faith is my implicit trust in JESUS.

Addendum:

Soon afterward, I conducted Marian’s funeral. She loved Jesus. During our conversations, we focused on our hope in Jesus. In the last difficult moments of her journey, Marian anchored her faith in Jesus to hope for the resurrection.

John Skrzypaszek, DMin, a retired director of the Ellen White/Seventh-day Adventist Research Centre, is an adjunct senior lecturer at Avondale University College, Coranboong, NSW, Australia. Polish by birth, John takes a keen interest in heritage, spirituality, and identity studies. He is married to Brenda and has two sons Raphael and Luke. Email him at: [email protected]

 

1  Erickson, Millard J. (1985). Christian Theology. Baker Book House. p. 29.

2  Luxton, Andrea (2002). “Jesus and Ourselves.” The Essential Jesus, Eds. Bryan W. Ball and William G Johnsson. Pacific Press. p. 226.

3  Johnson, William G. (1995). The Fragmenting of Adventism. Pacific Press. p. 17.

4  Email Correspondence, 9/27/2023.

5  Email Correspondence, 9/28/2023.

6  Erickson, Millard J. (2013). Christian Theology, Baker Academic. p. 29.

21 Dec

TWO HILLS, TWO STONES

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In the distance, we can see two hills. Each is inviting us to climb it. Each will present its challenges, each its dangers. Each will leave us wondering whether we would have been better advised to put our energies into climbing the other. It will only become clear later that they are both hills of punishment and suffering.

The first is the hill of Sisyphus. In Greek mythology, Sisyphus had offended the gods and was condemned to the most severe punishment they could contrive. And so, Sisyphus’s fate was to push a huge stone endlessly up a hill. It served no purpose. When he reached the top, the rock would immediately begin to fall back to the bottom of the hill. Sisyphus then had to return to the bottom and begin pushing again—ceaselessly, throughout all eternity. Sisyphus is not the master of his stone. This is a picture of the futility of all human effort. It is the classic expression of the meaninglessness of life.

The second is the hill of Golgotha. The place of the skull. It was littered with instruments of torture. Criminals would be taken there and pinned to a cross, there to suffer an excruciating death. The dying could take days leaving the victim twisted in agony. But at least Golgotha eventually provided the relief of death. It was such a death that Jesus died. Whether Golgotha is a picture of just another futile attempt to challenge the power of empire, or of meaninglessness eventually transformed into vibrant meaning, is ours to decide.

Which picture tells the truth about human life?

For some of us the lure of the hill of Sisyphus may have been strong. So many of our human plans end in dust and disappointment. So many humans experience intolerable pain and pointless suffering. The universe seems to consist of unimaginably vast swathes of space, of void. We are like rats on a wheel which takes us precisely nowhere. Stand in any city and watch the rush hour unfold and you will see Sisyphus’s story retold. There’s no meaning to it all. It is better to face up to this brute fact and live as courageously as we can before oblivion swallows us.

It was Christian belief as embodied in Adventism which helped me to resist the magnetic force of such meaninglessness. And the attraction was strong. It was in the Adventist church that I learned that the next step was not struggling back up the hill of Sisyphus but, against my instincts, down. Down to a garden tomb where Jesus had been trapped by another stone. But He was master of His stone. He pushed it back by the power of His glory, greater than any exhibited by the Greek gods.

And so, from here it all begins.

It was from the vantage point of Seventh-day Adventism that I rejected the pull of meaninglessness. But there needs to be substance to the meaning which takes its place. And the pull of meaninglessness needs to be met with continuing resistance.

It is the Sabbath which provides space to consider what that meaning might be. That time ringfenced by God to give us the regular opportunity to get off the rat wheel, and reflect on who we are, what life is, who God is. To cultivate our knowledge of the God of all meaning. That time is so easily eroded in our lives. It is not possible to create it for yourself. The Sabbath is our moment of opportunity to discern and review the meaning of our lives. During the Sabbath we will feel our way towards life’s parameters. If we inhabit it wisely, we will in time find our direction of travel. We will find what we are called to. We will find
what we were put on this earth to become.

That will only happen if we come to sense, “in the inward parts” as the Psalmist says, that we are indeed loved by God. It is a commonplace in the church to hear that God loves us, but that idea can so easily float on the surface of our consciousness. It may become just a pious cliche. We may—God help us—take it for granted.

But stop. Listen. Know. We are loved. Loved by God. And loved by God through others. When we come to this recognition—and it may be slow in dawning—then everything changes. The need to explain and justify yourself and your actions before the watching world is gone. And with it, the demand that other people justify themselves to you. It changes the very nature of a community. It creates trust, breeds authenticity, and generates value. The Adventist church has offered us an enormous gift in the shape of a trusting community if we will only form it and sustain it.

And towards the center of that community is the communion service, the table of welcome. Its significance can so easily get lost in the formalities, but the communion table is the very expression of generosity of spirit. Everything is given. All can gather round it without qualification other than that we trust that we are loved by God. It is not ours to exclude. And this has little to do with doctrines, mission statements and all the paraphernalia of a religious organization. This is about the desire for truth to take root in our inward being; it’s about wisdom in my secret heart (Psalm 51.6).

As we sit around the welcome table of God, we see faces we do not recognize. They are not our type. In truth, they may make us feel uncomfortable or they may irritate us. These are people we would not have befriended in other circumstances. Even people we think should not be there. But they sit around God’s welcome table. It is not ours to ignore them. The Adventist church has done us the enormous favor of placing us among people we would not especially wish to associate with. They help us to know ourselves by contrast. We come to the table as family.

As the hill of Sisyphus still looms, the promise of the advent makes it clear that it will not be “business as usual” forever. No endless, pointless striving. There is some sort of end point, a focus. Our traditional ways of describing it may sometimes be rather naive, but the basic teaching remains. We do not live in an unending cycle.

This scenario of the hill of Sisyphus and the hill of Calvary is, I suppose, another way of describing what Adventists call “the Great Controversy between Christ and Satan.” Order against chaos, fertility against wilderness, relationship against aloneness, love against indifference, hope against despair.

My attempt here is to be creative, to try to make familiar theological formula come alive again in some hearts which may have become dulled by over-familiarity. Adventist teaching absolutely demands that we be creative. God was the Creator. We are made in the image of God. What else but to be creative? But the church has always been nervous about this logic because creatives threaten to become subversives.

Yet who was more subversive, more creative than Jesus? Old things made new. Ancient customs turned on their head. The marginal and despised loved. The powerful challenged. Stories which burst with meaning. For me, it is those words which ring out in the gospels which give life. It is the self-giving of Jesus which fills me.

The church responds to our desire for security and order in this chill universe. And there is every reason to be grateful for structure and direction … until it begins to constrain and oppress, as all large organizations threaten to do.

The church has many flaws, organizational, doctrinal, missional. But what it has done above all has been to give us—me at least—the assurance that my life has meaning, come what may. If only I will seek it. Above all, the church has taught me that I am loved. Loved with a passion. From that everything flows.

The second Secretary General of the United Nations, Dag Hammarskjold, knew that and it gave direction to his difficult life. Strength to do his task, a task which was monumental, impossible. And he too died climbing upwards—in an air crash. Probably assassinated. Under the weight of his stone.

Amid yet another political crisis, he wrote:

“But at some moment I did answer Yes to Someone—or Something—and from that hour I was certain that existence is meaningful and that, therefore my life, in self-surrender, had a goal.” (see Hammarskjold, Dag (1964). Markings. Alfred A. Knopf. p. XII)

The church long ago taught me that I need not be crushed by the oppressive rock of Sisyphus. I am raised by the dislodged stone in Gethsemane. I remain profoundly grateful to the church for developing in me the capacity to find meaning in a bewildering world. I remain determined not to allow the church itself to become another stone.

Michael Pearson is principal lecturer emeritus at Newbold College in the U.K. For many years he taught topics in ethics, philosophy, and spirituality. He and his wife, Helen, write a weekly blog pearsonsperspectives.com Email him at: [email protected]

21 Dec

A LIFE-CHANGING WITNESS

In

If you could only sense how important
you are to the lives of those you meet;
how important you can be to the people
you may never even dream of.
– Fred Rogers

Who are the people we meet? And how important are we to them?

Typically, Seventh-day Adventists have not had a good opinion of the ecumenical movement and have not cultivated any relationship with other churches. We have been taught an end-time scenario that has created in us fear and suspicion of other Christians. We are told that Sabbath keepers will be persecuted by their Christian neighbors after a Sunday law is passed. They will come at night and arrest us, take over our possessions, and even kill many of us. Catholics and mainline Protestants are the ones we should fear the most.

I remember listening to a group of Roman Catholics discussing this scenario (they had heard about it) and they were totally incredulous, dumbfounded that they would ever attempt such a thing. “We are no longer in the Middle Ages,” they said to one another. They did not know I belong to a church that teaches this.

I think that our witness to people around us is often impaired by our improbable eschatology.

I have attended a fair number of ecumenical meetings. For many years, I represented the Seventh-day Adventist Church on the Commission on Faith and Order of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Although we are not a member of the National Council or the Commission, the organizers of the Commission have routinely extended an invitation to non-member denominations to send a (non-voting) representative to their meetings to offer points of views and helpful insights into the theological and cultural topics and issues the Commission is asked to address.

I remember attending the October 2009 meeting of the Faith and Order Plenary Commission of the World Council of Churches, which took place in Kolympari, on the Island of Crete in Greece. A special request had come for a Seventh-day Adventist theologian or church leader to attend the meeting.

Just before lunch one day during this meeting, the general secretary of the World Council of Churches asked if I could eat lunch with him. I gladly agreed—not knowing what was in store for me!

During the great conversation we had, he asked if the Seventh-day Adventist Church would be willing to join the World Council of Churches. Before I replied, he said that they had been observing our church and had seen great things happening. We have a vast network of hospitals and schools. We care about the lives of people where we establish churches. We are growing while many churches in the Council are declining.

And then the general secretary said something about the Sabbath; that, although our observance of the Sabbath is odd when looking at the rest of traditional Christianity, it seemed nonetheless to be an aspect of the Christian message that others need to hear about. And if we were on the Council our Sabbath observance would not be an issue. Our presence on the Council would bring an unheard voice from an important sector of Christianity. He said our witness and our experience were needed; others needed to see and hear what we believe and do.

I was sad to have to say that I did not foresee my church joining the World Council of Churches in the near future. My response surprised them, and it seemed they thought that their invitation would be a welcomed gesture.1

It has been many years since that conversation happened, but I still wonder about what was said about us. These Christian leaders wished that Seventh-day Adventists would be more involved in relationships with them so we could share our experience, and witness what we believe.

This conversation has helped me shape a more positive understanding of my faith in relationship to other Christians and what really matters.

I’d like to say that we ought to be this kind of Seventh-day Adventist Christians who will witness positively of their faith to the rest of the Christian world, to the extent that others will say to us that our message is a blessing to them.

In my perspective, there are three essential values of the Seventh-day Adventist faith that make a difference in our lives and in the world in which we live. Beyond the special doctrines and beliefs we hold, these three essential values really make a difference. The world awaits our witness of these important values.

The Sabbath as Day of Rest

Which day of the week is the biblical day of rest?

Honestly, most scholars I know no longer challenge the fact that the biblical day of rest is the Saturday Sabbath and that the early generations of Jesus’ followers kept this day. History shows that the change of day of rest for most of Christianity happened in the third and fourth centuries for various reasons.

A hundred years ago, our Seventh-day Adventist pioneers debated over and over with other Christians which day of the week is the biblical Sabbath. For most of the scholarly world today, this is no longer a point of contention.

Although there are a lot of people in the world who don’t know which day of the week is the real Sabbath, and, frankly, most don’t care, it seems to me that much of western society is ready to hear about the benefits of the Sabbath as a day of rest. Many books and articles have been published recently on the need for a Sabbath day in our lives.

Our society is stressed. Almost every week I see articles on my news feed about tips for a less stressful life or about how to live a more meaningful life. The daily cycle of work, eat, and sleep seems to take away meaning and satisfaction from so many people.

For decades, Seventh-day Adventists have known a divine solution to this unpleasant reality. The value of the Sabbath is a blessing we need to share with this restless world.

God’s Ultimate Solution to Mankind’s Problems

Despite all good government interventions and programs, it is obvious that our world is not only restless, but it is also, for many people, hopeless.

Jesus predicted that at the end of time, just before his return, our world would be overwhelmed with conflicts, natural disasters, and disease. Nations and agencies are doing their best to overcome the social damages created by these events but, in the end, our world does not seem to be getting any better. Perhaps, one day, all will be well. But that is very unlikely.

Seventh-day Adventists have been conscious of this reality since our very beginning. And we have done our best to respond to human needs in times of crises. Our generosity of time and money through local community services or through our international Adventist Development and Relief Agency (ADRA) have touched the lives of millions of people. We have shared the gospel with our hands and feet as Jesus invited his followers to do (Matthew 25:31-40).

As stewards of the world entrusted to humanity at creation (Genesis 1:26, 28), Seventh-day Adventists have also been conscientious to help save our planet for the next generation—if time were to last longer than we expect. Our participation in recycling programs, saving energy, and reducing our carbon footprint are helping. But in the end, we have a sense (from our reading of Scripture) that the ultimate response must come from God.

God has promised that he will recreate our world after the return of Christ. And that is good news. Seventh-day Adventists expect this ultimate intervention of God.

So, while we collaborate in making our world a better place for all people, we also look to the future when God will fulfill another promise.

Part of our name witnesses to this dimension of the Christian faith. The glorious hope of the return of Christ.

In fact, our name Seventh-day Adventist witnesses to both of these human needs: we believe that the Sabbath provides now rest for a restless humanity while we hope for the advent of Christ for a hopeless world.

Wholistic Lifestyle

A third essential aspect of a most positive witness Seventh-day Adventists offer is our biblical understanding of wholistic living.

Life is a gift of God, and we believe it is our obligation to live in ways that will glorify his name and uplift humanity. To that end, Seventh-day Adventists have encouraged a healthy lifestyle, eating wholesome food, exercising, living in a good environment, and abstaining from substances and lifestyles that can cause harm. The recent interest in blue zones, in which centenarian residents of Loma Linda, California, is showcased, is evidence that this aspect of our message gives a most positive witness to the rest of the world.

Along with this we have also established schools and universities, hospitals, and clinics to benefit people and attend to their needs. And leaders of other churches have noticed this positive influence we have had on our communities.

Adventists have a beautiful vision with its biblical focus on rest, hope, and life that we can share with the rest of Christianity. We should value the positive witness these essential qualities generate. To me they are the ones that matter the most. And we should heartily witness about them in whatever context we can. In fact, some Christians are anxious that we bring out such a witness.

Denis Fortin is a professor of Historical Theology at the Seventh-day Adventist Theological Seminary at Andrews University, Berrien Springs, Michigan. Email him at: [email protected]

1  In the 1960s and early 1970s, leaders of the Seventh-day Adventist Church and of the World Council of Churches discussed whether our church would join the Council, and, for various reasons, we came to the conclusion that we could not.

 

21 Dec

THE ALREADY AND THE NOT YET

In

I remember sitting in a classroom at Southwestern Adventist University that was taught by none other than Dr. Bill Kilgore. Bill was always practical in his approach to instruction and ministry. One of the many wisdom sayings of Bill went like this. “Jesus may be the answer, But Jesus is not the answer to every test question.” Turns out Bill was right.

Many Christians fall into the trap of thinking that Jesus is the answer to every issue we face in life, and, while in some ways that is true, in many other ways the answer is not that simple. While we are focused on explaining Jesus theologically to someone, we may often fail to assist them with present practical needs that they lack. Simply stating that “Jesus loves you” may offer some comfort, but it falls woefully short of offering that person a blanket on a cold night. If we are not deliberate in our approach, we can easily get caught between the already and the not yet.

This tension between what “is” and what “will be” is a biblical construct. For instance, if one were to ask, “When does a believer receive eternal life?” One Adventist may respond confidently, “As soon as we place our belief in Jesus as Lord.” Which this is true. Another Adventist might also accurately state, “We receive eternal life at the second coming of Jesus, whether we are a living believer, or a believer who has already been laid to rest.” This too is also true. There is a natural tension betwixt the two, between the already and the not yet.

Every Adventist today lives in this tension, between the completed work of Jesus, which we claim by faith (and because of this, we claim the promise of eternal life today) and the present reality that we are living in a world where suffering is universal. And if that is not enough tension for you, there is another tension which exists in our fellowship, primarily along generational lines.

In my admittedly limited observations, the Baby Boomer generation and many from Generation X are more inclined (though certainly not unanimously) to focus on the “soon” return of Jesus (the not yet), while Millennials and Gen Z tend to focus more on alleviating suffering (social activism) in the here and now (the already). This generational tension often creates a schism in many churches as they wrestle with what mission they should be about. Should we alleviate whatever suffering we can now, or prepare people for the return of Jesus in the time we have left?

Younger folks will often give up and leave if their local church refuses to address the issues of the here and now. Older folks will leave or disengage if the only focus of the local church is addressing community ills, without engaging in some type of intentional proclamation about “the last days.” By being deliberate about doing both, churches remain relevant participants in their community and members remain engaged socially and spiritually.

Adventists should possess an extra dose of compassion for those suffering around us, both in the already and the not yet. We should alleviate as much of that suffering as we are able, like Jesus did. Jesus used a 3-prong approach in His ministry that included teaching, preaching, and healing. If we are only focused on one or two of these areas, we are falling short of what Jesus has called us to do. We teach to educate folks and win their intellect to the message of the gospel. We preach to showcase the love of God for every living creature to win their hearts. We heal by meeting people where they are to restore their body, mind, and purpose.

For Adventists, our beliefs shape our mission. We have the privilege of representing Jesus everywhere we go. One might ask, “How could life get any more meaningful in the here and now as we minister to the marginalized and meet the needs of those in our sphere of influence?” Another may say, “How could life get any better as we open the scriptures to the people around us who are hungering for something to give them meaning in life and hope for the future of what is yet to occur?” The reality is that we need both! People around us need to be cared for now, and they need to know that God has an eternal plan for them, and that Jesus is returning soon.

Brandon Westgate is RMC youth director. Email him at: [email protected]

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