A local Christian television station hosted Hal Lindsey last spring for two evenings of lectures about his new book, “Planet Earth — 2000 A.D.” With chapter titles like “The Perilous Condition of the Human Race,” “The Rise of Deceiving Spirits,” and “The Coming Great Deception,” it is no wonder that, when the host opened the floor for questions, there was no want of inquirers:
• What leads you to believe that the Antichrist is alive, and in what part of the world is he living?
• Does the Bible specify any area of the world that will not be completely destroyed in the battle of Armageddon?
• What are some specific signs that believers can look for to distinguish Christ from the false prophets?
• What are your thoughts concerning crop circles and UFOs?
• Do you think the Antichrist will be completely human?
As planet Earth is poised on the threshold of a new millennium, and as global systems coalesce, there is rising speculation, and angst, among Christians as to what these changes might mean eschatologically.
Some of the beginning-of-the-end events Lindsey and others point to are difficult to ignore — no matter what end-times convictions you hold. For example, the proliferation of chemical and nuclear weapons sophistication on the part of terrorist groups (the “secret power of lawlessness” unleashed, 2 Thess. 2) really has transpired, as the subway sabotage in Japan has painfully revealed. The European Community really has become unified, to a degree, by means of the European Common Market and the Maastricht Treaty (the “revival” of the Roman Empire, the “ten toes/nations” in Daniel 7). At the same time, the economies of other nations have become inextricably linked through the recent ascendance of the World Trade Organization. Laws and standards for economic interchange now exist at the international level, to which all local laws must, in theory, submit (the consolidation of “buying and selling,” Rev. 13). On the technological front, global networking in cyberspace has thrust businesses and economies into a cryptographic “brave new world” (the “increase of knowledge” in Dan. 12) where, according to Howard Fineman (“Newsweek,” Feb. 27, 1995), “even nationhood itself can seem irrelevant.” Add to this Lindsey’s statement on TV last March that “the day of the terrorist has come” to be validated so horrifically by the Oklahoma City bombing in April, and it is no wonder that the eschatological preoccupations of many have intensified.
But these speculations have antagonized other sectors of contemporary evangelicalism. Wheaton College professor Mark Noll, for example, writes in his recent book “The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind” (Eerdmans) that modern-day end-times prophets tend to be “blown about by every wind of apocalyptic speculation,” even suggesting that they have become “enslaved to the cruder spirits of populist science.” These sentiments echo the thoughts of theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, who concluded, “It is unwise for Christians to claim any knowledge of the furniture of heaven or the temperature of hell,” and George Eckman, who wrote earlier this century, “Revelation is enough. Speculation is more than enough.”
The eschatological titillation of some has caused the disaffection of others and the confusion of many. How then are we to interpret the “signs of the times” -- or should we at all?
A dynamic eschatology is vital to a living faith. The Scriptures address “the end” extensively: The Old Testament prophets employed eschatological images vividly; Jesus entertained questions about it seriously; Paul reinforced those teachings authoritatively; the Book of Revelation “unveiled” the events of “the end” dramatically. Surely God intended to say something to us about it all.
So it matters. My hope is to find some meeting ground when it comes to reflections about “the end” so that, as evangelicals living in calamitous times, we may embrace an informed, vigorous eschatology. For, as historian Paul Boyer has concluded, “The most dynamic energized sector of religion has been the evangelical one and the eschatological vision is central.”
SATAN’S RATTLING CHAINS
In A.D. 1147, Gerard of Poehlde wrote to Evermord, prior of a monastery on the German frontier: “Look upon the conditions of the time and you will find it full of dangers. In Revelation, John prophesied that Satan would be freed after a thousand years (Rev. 20:3). Eight hundred and nine years have passed from the time of Constantine and Silvester when, in heavenly fashion, peace was granted to the Holy Church after the triumphant struggle of the martyrs. Thus, Satan, meditating on the long-desired end of this peace now almost completed, shakes the chains binding him.”
Gerard assumed that the millennium outlined in Revelation 20 began with the ascent of Constantine. He likewise concluded (one of numerous eschatological viewpoints of that period) that the church would soon be overturned by Satan, who was champing at the bit as the thousandth anniversary of Christian dominance approached.
Gerard was not the first, nor the last, to divine eschatological signals in the dangerous “conditions of the time.” From the time of the first Christians, who expected the Lord’s return in their lifetime; to the turn of the first millennium, when the whole country of Iceland, according to Jeff Sheler in “U.S. News & World Report,” “converted to Christianity out of apocalyptic dread”; through the explorations of Columbus, who saw his endeavors as divinely ordained; to the sixteenth-century Reformers, who likened the papacy to the Antichrist; to the rise of the Millerites in the 1830s, who waited in vain – twice – for Christ’s return; to the predictions of South Korean Lee Jang Rim, who convinced followers around the globe that Christ would return in October 1992 – generation upon generation has believed that theirs was the moment in history when the victorious Savior would come with the clouds.
The problem was, he didn’t.
The result has been inventive reinterpretations about what Christ must have meant when he spoke of his coming at “the end of the age.”
TIME’S TRAJECTORIES
The genre of “the apocalyptic” originated in the Jewish Scriptures, especially in the books of Daniel and Ezekiel, and flourished in Palestine through A.D. 100. Judaism’s linear concept of time departed from the more common ancient belief that time flowed in “fertility cycles,” based on agricultural seasons. The idea that history has a “distinct beginning and follows a clearly defined forward trajectory,” writes Paul Boyer in his book “When Time Shall Be No More” (Harvard), “encouraged an eschatological vision of history.” The apocalyptic writings interpret history as a cosmic struggle between good and evil; history progresses in the context of a preordained resolution, prior to which evil increases until the “appointed time” of the (imminent) end.
With this in mind, the first-century believers looked for the imminent return of Jesus, fully expecting that he would appear before “this generation” passed away (Matt. 24:34). As time passed, they adopted a somewhat ill-defined premillennial outlook, called chiliasm (based on the Greek word in Rev. 20:3 denoting the number 1,000), which anticipated that the Lord would return and reign in Jerusalem for a thousand years before the final judgment. This outlook never found creedal expression, however, and only loosely summed up the eschatological beliefs of the early church.
In the fourth century, Augustine rejected the literal and materialistic notions behind chiliasm, concluding, instead, that the kingdom of God was already manifest in the presence of the church, that is, the community of believers. The thought of an imminent, material millennial kingdom to be ushered in by Christ was replaced by a futuristic view of the return of the Lord (and accompanying events). The focus shifted away from the heavens to the church as the believing community now identified as the kingdom of God. The age between Pentecost and the return of Christ was the millennium, according to Augustine, and it would be marked by the ever-increasing influence of the church in overturning evil in the world before the Lord’s return. This outlook predominated for the next 1,500 years.
Early American theologians like Jonathan Edwards in the eighteenth century and Charles Finney in the nineteenth adopted this millennial scheme, called postmillennialism: “the redemption of the world [by means of] a long, slow process extending through the centuries...approaching an appointed goal...a day of advancing victory,” according to historian Loraine Boettner. And it is no wonder these revival preachers embraced postmillennialism, given the supernatural manifestations of spiritual renewal that accompanied their ministries. Finney proclaimed that “if [people] were united all over the world, the millennium might be brought about in three months.”
Yet social hardship in the early nineteenth century, along with the rise of “Enlightenment thinking,” precipitated the decline of postmillennialism. Secular eschatologies like Marxism replaced the concept of the kingdom of God with the hope of proletarian revolution setting up a utopian kingdom of man built on the ruins of the upper classes. Rationalism replaced revelation; reason overturned faith. As Paul Erb wrote in “The Alpha and the Omega” (Herald), “The age of science made biblical eschatology seem like a fairy tale.”
DARBY’S DEBUT
At this time, a new kind of millennial thinking emerged that resembled the eschatological hopes of the early church. Premillennialism found a strong following after being meticulously delineated by Baptist lay preacher William Miller in the early and mid-1800s. He said, “I found, going through with the Bible, the end of all things was clearly and emphatically predicted, both as to time and manner...and immediately the duty to publish this doctrine, that the world might believe and get ready to meet the Judge and Bridegroom at his coming, was impressed upon my mind.”
Miller’s view fell into disrepute, however, after the Millerites made not one, but two failed attempts to set a date for the Lord’s return. Wrote one of his followers: “Our fondest hopes and expectations were blasted, and such a spirit of weeping came over us as I never experienced before.” Timothy Weber noted in “Living in the Shadow of the Second Coming” (Chicago): “To say the least, by 1845 premillennialism had fallen on hard times.”
It did, that is, until it found rebirth under the inspiration of British pastor John Nelson Darby in the late 1850s in the form of dispensational premillennialism. According to Darby, God interacted with humanity in a series of epochs, or dispensations. The Bible addressed events past and future, but remained largely silent about the present age of the church (Darby’s “great parenthesis”). The next epoch to commence would be that ushered in by the “Rapture,” or the snatching away of the church out of the world. This, then, would set in motion a series of subsequent events that would culminate in the ascendancy of the Antichrist, who would rule the world for seven years (the latter half of which would coincide with the Great Tribulation). His rule would then be overturned with the victorious descent of Christ with the church to defeat him at the Battle of Armageddon and inaugurate a literal thousand-year reign. The Lord and his church would enjoy uninterrupted bliss during this time (which would be contiguous with the spiritual rebirth of Israel, acknowledging Christ as Messiah) until Satan would be “loosed” at the end for a season. Then, heaven and earth will give way to a new heaven and a new earth, the final judgment will commence, and Satan will be cast forever into eternal damnation.
“Darby wove these diverse strands into a tight cohesive system that he buttressed at every point by copious biblical proof texts, then tirelessly promoted through his writing and preaching tours,” writes Boyer. Cyrus Scofield then popularized this system of belief with the publication of his “Reference Bible” (1909) and catapulted it into the Protestant mainstream. Boyers suggests that this work, “more than any other single work solidified the premillennial movement.”
ESCHATOLOGICAL PLURALISM
But there has been no consensus on things eschatological among evangelicals. Part of the difficulty lies in the fact that expert opinion varies both in general interpretation of the texts and in the understanding of details. For example, scholars debate whether in Jesus’ Olivet Discourse (Matt. 24 and parallel passages) he was speaking about cataclysmic events of that day — the destruction of Jerusalem in A.D. 70, as verse 34 suggests — or about catastrophic events at the end of history. “Few chapters of the Bible have called forth more disagreement among interpreters than Matthew 24 and its parallels,” writes biblical commentator D. A. Carson. Paul’s meaning in his references to “the coming of our Lord” in 2 Thessalonians evokes a similar cacophony of opinion. Some say, for example, when it comes to the “apostasy” referred to in 2 Thessalonians 2:3 that Paul indicates the entire church will “fall away.” Others suggest that it could refer to the Christians or Jews. Still others maintain the church will merely look on as only the Jews apostatize.
Interpreting the Book of Revelation is yet more complicated. Some argue the book can be understood from the point of view that it was intended for the first-century church only, that it is a “tract for hard times” for the suffering Christians in Asia Minor as they longed for liberation from the heavy hand of Rome (the “beast”).
Others suggest that Revelation is a symbolic portrayal of the history of the church from its inception to its consummation. The symbols in the book designate various historical movements and events. The Roman church, in this view, was seen as the “false prophet” who served the purposes of “the beast” (the office of the papacy).
The “idealists” interpret Revelation in strictly symbolic terms, with the bizarre imagery allegorically representing the cosmic conflict between the forces of evil and the kingdom of God, while the “futurists” see Revelation largely as prophecy yet to be fulfilled.
But none is without an “Achilles heel.” Those who apply Revelation’s significance strictly to the first century are left to explain why the victory outlined in Revelation was not realized. Those who view the book as a strictly symbolic portrayal of church history leave themselves open to subjective conclusions since there are no specific indicators as to which historical events are represented. A strict “idealist” perspective denies the self-proclaimed intent of the book that it was directed to the churches of Asia Minor (Rev. 1:11). The same argument can be asserted for a strict futurist point of view.
So, where does that leave us? The variety of reasonable points of view negates, in part at least, the certainty of any one in particular. But if it is all so muddled and indeterminable, how can we know anything at all about these mysterious passages that compose such a significant portion of the New Testament?
[see #3645]
