Faithful friends of Jesus—people of all abilities!—have discussed Christ’s second coming at length. We long for his return to Earth both to impart some of his blessings in the here-and-now, and to witness to the fullness of his justice, mercy, and activity in the age that is coming. Having said all of that, we don’t have a clear picture of exactly what that coming, or Parousia in Greek, will look like. Some believers anticipate Christ’s arrival on Earth in his second coming as an escape from the Earth and its material constraints (indeed, maybe all of us long for that to some degree!) Meanwhile, other faithful folks conceive of Christ’s coming as justice made real and concrete in empathetic engagement with the world. Both of these (roughly sketched) views have valuable insights. In what follows, I’ll use insights from the wider Christian tradition, including theologies of disability, to engage with several aspects of Christ’s return in both prose and poetry.

First, allow me to unequivocally state my own position, so that you know where we’ll end up. As a millennial believer in Jesus raised in mainline churches, and as a Canadian theologian of disability, I believe that Jesus of Nazareth is the saviour and lover of the whole world. Since all human beings are made in God’s image, Jesus loves all of us—especially those of us who encounter or embody difference. When Jesus returns to Earth, he will display the same compassion he did in his life and ministry. Thus, no matter how Christ’s second coming will appear, empathy is an irreducible aspect of it.

Scriptural references to Christ’s empathetic second coming abound, especially in the New Testament. In Matthew 24, Jesus discusses his return to Earth with his friends, mostly (in true Jewish fashion) by clarifying what the Parousia isn’t. The Lord observes that, even though there will be “wars and rumours of wars,” as well as “famines,” “earthquakes” and other crises, those events do not signify the end of days. Rather, the Last Days will come only after great suffering and distress (24:9-19, NRSV), and will resemble the changing leaves on a fig tree (24:32-33). Jesus takes pains to clarify that human beings do not know “the day or the hour” of the Parousia (24:36). Similarly, the Apostle Paul outlines Jesus’ arrival in regal fashion, complete with trumpet flourishes: the dead will rise first, and then living believers will join them to meet Christ “in the air” (1  Thess. 4:16-17, NRSV).

Many influential Christian theologians and ministers have commented on Christ’s compassionate second coming. In particular, Augustine of Hippo, Doctor of the Church and revered theologian, makes clear in the City of God that “‘Christ will come to judge both the living and the dead’” (20.1). Similarly, in his Instruction in the Faith, the magisterial Reformer John Calvin asserts that Christ’s return is “a precious comfort” to all believers, because through Christ’s coming to Creation, human beings have been saved from sin and death. Similarly, in an exuberant exhortation in his sermon Conservatism and Orthodoxy (1870), Dutch theologian and political figure Abraham Kuyper observes that the Church knows that “in the Word [of God] lies a new heaven and a new earth… [and] therefore all its love is focused on that Word of God…as it became flesh in Christ.” While these accounts are somewhat light on details, we understand that older Christian theologians saw Christ’s compassionate coming as an engaged form of judgment and a comfort to believers.

The Christian tradition focuses on Christ’s nurturing and patient love as a signal aspect of his foretold return. That said, in contrast, some scholars and believers assert that Christ’s Parousia will offer believers an escape from the sorts of terrible events envisioned in Matthew 24. John Nelson Darby, widely hailed as the greatest proponent of dispensational theology, taught that, on his return, Jesus will whisk the Church away to Heaven to avoid the tribulations that will follow. Similarly, Dwight L. Moody, the famous American revivalist preacher, taught that Christ would rescue the Church from terrible events like those prophesied in Matthew prior to a seven-year period of Tribulation. These theological views emphasize the exclusivity of God’s election, as well as divine protection.

So, Christ’s return will be a judgment, a comfort, and (possibly) a mode of protection from distressing events. How can theologies of disability, and other texts, help us to discern the ways Jesus’ coming point us towards compassion? In the final chapters of his landmark text Theology and Down Syndrome, Pentecostal theologian of disability Amos Yong suggests—in line with Saint Paul and the wider tradition—that believers with disabilities will retain the bodies God has given us in the resurrection from the dead. He also uses Gregory of Nyssa’s work to assert that the resurrection experiences of believers of diverse abilities will be more like a journey towards God’s love than a destination. Yong’s thought can point us toward an inclusive church, clothed in Christ-like compassion, because it empowers us to engage with each other in our bodies now. If our current bodies will resemble the ones Christ will offer us, then Christians, and other faithful people too, need to offer people with physical and intellectual disabilities comfort, coherence, and compassion. We need to care for others as David cares for Mephibosheth in 2 Samuel 9, or as Jesus does Bartimaeus or the woman with the flow of blood (Mark 5:25-34, 10:46-52).

Likewise, systematic theologian and scholar of trauma Shelley Rambo indicates in Resurrecting Wounds that, theologically, life and death do not comprise a one-way street or an immutable sequence. Rather, resurrection occurs “amidst the on-goingness of death.” Resurrection can occur in the midst of the worsening effects of climate change, during terrifying wars and rumours of wars in Sudan, Israel-Palestine, and Ukraine, and even in amongst the heartache of immigration detention and family separation. Even amidst these things, Rambo, Yong, and other theologians suggest, Christ gives us hope.

 In light of the compassion, conviction, and comfort brought to believers by Christ’s coming, I tried recently to write a poem that captured a vision of Christ’s coming Reign. The sonnet that follows—with which I’ll end, in lieu of a regular conclusion—tries to encompass both my fervent desire for God’s justice with the compassion with which Christ’s ministry is inflected. I hope you find all of these reflections helpful!

True Rapture

True rapture is the splendid major key

That seraphs sing in Yahweh’s lofty spire.

True rapture is the fulsome empathy

That shields a child from rubble, fear, and fire.

The solemn form of human ecstasy

Becomes a dance that strengthens those in pain;

When once we taste our sweet integrity,

We’ll never drink a different wine again.

True rapture helps us bear the crushing weight

Of drudgery and sin that presses down.

It sanctifies our common fragile state

And bends our heads to wear a starry crown.

Compassion channels all our sympathy,

And turns our griefs to solidarity.

Photo by Pexels.