The Reading Room

My faith journey has had many ups and downs, ins and outs, over the past twenty-five years. I'm still a Roman Catholic, though probably not a good one, but I never have been. Increasingly over the past few years, I've found my faith focusing on the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, and what is thought of as "the afterlife."

Now, I don't mean that I'm focusing on, or hoping to see soon, the end of the world. I'm never going to be a believer in "The Rapture," predictions of when and how that end will come, attempts to "prove" that current events are the fulfillment of Biblical prophecy, or, especially, the promotion of elaborate geopolitical scenarios hoping to bring it about (I find that to be particularly repugnant). I don't go in for any of that stuff. Jesus Himself said that we cannot know when it's going to happen (Matthew 24: 42-44), and that's good enough for me.

What I mean is, since around 2020, I've found that my hope and faith are buoyed up more and more by the promise of a world to come. My prayer life has increasingly become drawn to prayers for the living and the dead, in this context. The ends of both the Apostles' Creed and the the Nicene Creed, respectively, speak thus:

I believe...in the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting, amen.

...I look forward to the resurrection of the dead
and the life of the world to come, amen.

I lost both of my parents by the time I was 21. I lost my best friend, David, when I was 25. I've lost many more family and friends in recent years. Grief is a struggle that never stops. I find that in order to keep my faith alive, I have to have that hope in a world to come, in life everlasting. Not because I want to escape this world. Not because I'm tired of life, or of living. But because that hope is sometimes all that keeps me sane, all that keeps me believing in God. Because otherwise, grief has no end.

The promise that I'll see my parents again. That I'll see my best friend again. That I'll see my other friends and family again. And not only this, but that we'll exist together in perfect peace and harmony, not as angels flying around the clouds in Heaven, but as perfected flesh and blood, raised from the dead, and on a perfected Earth. A world without pain and suffering. A world without war and violence. A world without disease and infirmity.

And that hope gives me the strength to believe that we can make this fallen, mortal, temporary world a better place. That we can use all of the wisdom and knowledge and talents and resources that God has given us to end violence now, to alleviate suffering as much as we can, to take care of this beautiful Creation we've been gifted, and to follow Christ's commandments to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick, and welcome the stranger. This in spite of all of our sins and failings and every obstacle we encounter. This in spite of how overwhelmingly bad things might seem. This in spite of all those who mock peace and justice, who blaspheme the Holy Spirit by saying that empathy is a sin.

Because of that promise, I believe. I hope. And I pray.