After the Gold Rush | Neil Young
release date: 1970 record label: Reprise Records
track listing: 1) Tell Me Why
2) After the Gold Rush
3) Only Love Can Break Your Heart
4) Southern Man
5) Till the Morning Comes
6) Oh, Lonesome Me
7) Don’t Let It Bring You Down
8) Birds
9) When You Dance, I Can Really Love
10) I Believe In You
11) Cripple Creek Ferry
“I was thinking about what a friend had said,
I was hoping it was a lie…”
When it comes to the second-coming of Christ – the time when the Church is taken to heaven (sweet!) and the rest of the unbelieving earth is torturously destroyed (not near as sweet) – Christians seems to fall into one of two camps. On one side are believers who seem to base their entire relationship with God on this future event. They read and reread the book of Revelation, look for signs of the end times in the news, own the entire Left Behind series, and, with hushed voices, even dare to predict the date. Their obsession with the end of the world is, honestly, quite unsettling.
But on the other side of that coin are the majority of Christians who rarely give the return of Christ a second thought. They blissfully go about their lives, daring to fall in love with a life and world that, according to scripture, has already been doomed to pass away. Their faith ignores the end of the story. And we all know, with out a good ending, a story isn’t worthwhile.
For most of my life, I have fallen squarely into the second camp, standing with the vast majority of believers who do their best to avoid thoughts of Armageddon. In our defense, the book of Revelation is pretty scary. Four-headed beasts. Whores riding dragons. Pits of fire. War. Famine. Pestilence. Death. Those images just don’t fill me with the warm fuzzies like “God is love” does. But no matter how badly I want to avoid it, the end of our story has already been written. We’re on a bullet train barreling toward the end, with no idea when that last stop will occur. The question is: what will we do with our trip? And how will we face the end?
My father graduated from Fayette County High School, Fayetteville, Georgia, in the summer of 1973. As a sophomore, in the fall of 1970, he purchased Neil Young’s third solo LP, After the Gold Rush. It quickly became one of his favorites. Fast forward thirty-one years: now a father of three, my Dad, on a quick run to Wal-Mart, happens across that long-forgotten album in the electronics section. Fondly remembering it as one of his favorites while in high school, he buys the album, now in CD format, and rushes home to give it to me. Isn’t it odd how seemingly mundane events in our lives find their way permanently into our memory banks? This would be an example of that. For whatever reason, I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting in a chair in my room, working on homework, when my dad knocked on the door and entered, handing me the CD. At this point in my life, I only knew Neil Young as part of CSNY – that hippie group Dad made us listen to while on long car rides. But, I could tell my father was excited about his gift and so, an ever dutiful son, I played along. As quickly as he entered, he was gone again, leaving me with my unexpected gift. I set it aside and finished my homework.
To say that the attacks of September 11th changed our nation would be an understatement. Growing up, my mom would tell us about the day that John F. Kennedy was assassinated. She was in elementary school, blissfully going about her day when the principal interrupted class with an announcement. At that point in time, he had not learned of the death of the president – only that he had been shot while in Dallas, Texas. He announced this to the student body, asking each of them to pray. School was let out early and, upon returning home, the radio told my young mother that the president had succumbed to his injuries and died. She remembered hearing reports of the manhunt for the killer, and the eventual assassination of the accused, Lee Harvey Oswald, by Dallas businessman Jack Ruby. My mother was young enough to worry that the authorities would mistakenly arrest her mother, whose first name was Ruby, for the murder of Oswald. It was a time in history that left a permanent imprint on her – she will always remember where she was on that fateful day. I had no way of knowing, as I walked to school on the morning of September 11, 2001, that only hours separated me from the day I would never forget – the one I would tell my own children about.
I was at my locker, during class change between first and second periods, when a friend ran up to me. “Did you hear about the World Trade Center?” I looked at him confused. “There’s been a terrorist attack … it’s really bad.” This particular friend was very interested in political science – we had actually had conversations about terrorism and Osama Bin Laden before the attacks on the World Trade Center – so I trusted his report. I rushed through the crowded halls to my second period class. My biology teacher, Ms. Calvert, was turning on the TV when I came into the room. As the images flashed across the screen, my heart dropped. It was much worse we could have ever imagined. It quickly became apparent that instruction wasn’t going to happen today. The students in my class were transfixed on the television. Some were crying. Others were praying. All of us were in a state of shock. We watched, live, as the second plane hit the towers. To our horror, we realized that what we thought were falling pieces of debris were, in actuality, people jumping to their deaths. Minutes later, the towers were falling to the ground, and alongside it, our youthful sense of innocence came tumbling down. A close friend, a Muslim girl from Pakistan, turned to me and asked why this was happening. I didn’t have an answer.
In the madness, I remember someone saying that this was a sign of the end of the world. Christ would be coming back for his Church soon. Hell, fire, and brimstone would follow for unbelievers. Armageddon was upon us. I didn’t tell my Muslim friend this. It wouldn’t have comforted her. In fact, it did nothing to comfort me.
The bell never rang for third period. Much like the day my mother will never forget, the principal came onto the loud speaker and, addressing the entire student body, asked us to pray for our nation. School was dismissed early. I walked home and found my parents watching the coverage on TV. It was the only topic of discussion in our house that night – it was as if a heavy blanket had fallen upon us, and we couldn’t find our way out. After supper, I went to my room and closed the door. I needed some peace. Some quiet. Some escape. Without checking to see what it contained, I turned my CD player on, and lay down on the carpet, staring up at a ceiling covered in band posters. After the Gold Rush started to play, with Neil Young begging “tell me why.” What was the answer to that question? I still had no idea. Were the students at school correct? Could this really be the end of the world? My thoughts consumed me as the album progressed into the title track, After the Gold Rush, when a line stopped me dead in my tracks. Over somber piano chords, Neil Young admitted, “I was thinking about what a friend had said, I was hoping it was a lie.” My friends had told me this was the beginning of the end. Like Neil Young, with all my might, I was hoping they were wrong.
After the Gold Rush was released near the end of a prolific time of recording in Neil Young’s career. In the span of fifteen months, Young released three records: his sophomore album, Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere in May, 1969, the CSNY classic Déjà Vu in March of 1970, followed by After the Gold Rush five months later. Originally conceived as the soundtrack for a movie by the same name, After the Gold Rush was released as a stand alone album after the movie project was abandoned. All that remains of this unfinished film is its soundtrack, recognized now as a quintessential Young recording. In 2003, Rollingstone magazine recognized it as the 71st greatest album of all time – the highest ranking for a Neil Young record on that list.
In 2011, hindsight allows us to look back at After the Gold Rush and recognize it as a virtual microcosm of Young’s carrier. It’s an uneven mixture of the folky, Americana-influenced music of Crosby, Still, Nash and Young and the rough and tumble, often highly political, rock and roll Young created in albums with his backing band, Crazy Horse. The album jumps right into the folk end of Young’s carrier, with Tell Me Why, featuring Young’s characteristic vocals over a few acoustic guitars. The title track, After the Gold Rush, comes next, with Young on both vocals and piano. Three tracks into the album, percussion instruments, in the form of drums and bass, finally make their first appearance on Only Love Can Break Your Heart. But don’t be fooled, the scope of the album, up to this point, has remained squarely on folk. No blaring guitar solos just yet. Young finally lets the rock out with one his most popular, and controversial songs, the album’s fourth track: Southern Man. The song decries the history of slavery and the then current state of race relations in the south: “I saw cotton and I saw black / tall white mansions and little shacks / southern man, when will you pay them back?” Young also calls into question the hypocrisy of racism arising in a historically religious portion of our nation: “southern man, better keep your head / don’t forget what your good book says.” The fire in Young’s lyrics is equally matched by his ferocious and impassioned guitar playing. This is Neil Young’s brand of rock and roll at its finest. Not everyone, however, shared Young’s feelings. Many southerners objected to their portrayal in the song, chief among them Ronnie Van Zant of Lynyrd Skynyrd, who penned their biggest hit, Sweet Home Alabama, in response to Southern Man. Van Zant specifically addresses Young in the lyrics: “I hope Neil Young will remember / a southern man don’t need him around, anyhow.”
Young’s electric guitar disappears with the last notes of Southern Man, and the album again slips back into the Americana mindset, with Till the Morning Comes, Oh, Lonesome Me (featuring Young on harmonica), Don’t Let It Bring You Down and another piano ballad, Birds. The rock and roll band reemerges on When You Dance I Can Really Love, just to disappear again for the last two tracks on the album: I Believe In You and Cripple Creek Ferry. With five of the eleven songs clocking in at under three minutes, the album moves along rather quickly, finishing in just over thirty-five minutes.
“I don’t want Jesus to come back.” All heads in the room jerked instinctively toward the sound of the voice, looks of surprise in our eyes and nervous laughs in our mouths. As middle school students, we weren’t aware of much – but we at least knew you weren’t supposed to say that – especially at church. Embarrassed, the girl who had interrupted our Sunday school lesson began to backpedal: “I mean, I want Him to come back, just not yet… at least not until I get married.” The tension in the room vanished, and a smile crossed our teacher’s face. The girls in the youth group, who had been dreaming of their weddings for as long as they could remember, politely nodded in agreement. The boys snickered amongst themselves – marriage, in their minds, meant only one thing. And, truth be told, we really wanted to be on earth long enough to experience “it.” Don’t get the wrong idea – its not that we didn’t love Jesus – it just didn’t seem fair that we could be called into eternal bliss without ever having a chance to experience our wedding night. The girls continued the conversation, “I’d really like to have children,” “I want to raise my family before Christ returns;” the boys, on the other hand, didn’t have much to say. Their thoughts were focused on what they would miss if Christ were to return that afternoon, their eyes gazing despairingly into space.
The night after the attacks of September 11th, I didn’t want Christ to return. Unlike my friend from youth group, I wasn’t brave enough to verbalize those thoughts – but that’s exactly what was going on inside my head. I wanted to live my life. I wanted to get married (and yes, have my honeymoon), raise children, and pursue my dreams. On Sunday morning I would proclaim my love for Christ, during the week I would allow that love to influence my thoughts and actions, but when it came down to it, I just was not excited for the source of that love to come back to earth. To be honest, part of that fear was based on my teenage understanding of end-times theology, influenced heavily by popular Christian culture, which made the event sound more like a horror movie than a source of hope. But, to be fair, I’d have to admit that an equal portion of my trepidation was rooted in selfishness. In my mind, it was only fair for Christ to avoid returning until I was in my 70s - that way I could live my life, but still avoid that pesky death thing. As I sat and listened to that Neil Young record, I realized that I wanted my future more than I wanted Christ. Unfortunately, ten years later, many days I still feel the same way.
In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells a story about flowers. Although they do not work or labor over their appearance, they are the most splendid of God’s creations. In fact, plants essentially do one thing – grow upward toward the sun. This growth, however, does not just occur vertically. Plants, especially seedlings, actually follow the course of the sun as it passes by overhead, centering their whole selves on the source of their life. When the sun shifts positions in the sky, the plants shift ever so slightly as well. This phenomenon, known as phototropism in the science world, teaches a most important lesson. Like flowers, our lives should be focused squarely on our Giver of Life. Our singular vision should be the Son, His purposes becoming our own.
After talking about flowers, Christ commands his followers to stop worrying about what they will eat, drink, or wear. Instead, He asks them to “seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Seek me, Christ says, and everything you need will be provided. In his book of essays, God in the Dock, C.S. Lewis calls this promise the “law of first and second things.” To Lewis, the first thing in our lives must be Christ. Everything else – our relationships, friendships, family and jobs – must be second things. If, in the course of our life, we make secondary things (our lives, our happiness, our futures) into first things, then we will lose both first and second things. But, if our lives reflect Christ’s command, and first things remain first, we shall gain both first and second things.
In my favorite Star Wars film, The Empire Strikes Back¸ the hero, Luke Skywalker, in the course of looking for the great Jedi master Yoda, crashes his spaceship on a swampy planet named Dagoba. While getting his bearings, Skywalker runs into a little green creature with huge ears. Prideful, thickheaded and selfish, Skywalker does not realize that this creature is actually the famed Jedi knight he has been looking for. He eventually realizes his mistake and begins to train under Yoda, but his pride, doubts and fears continue emerge and derail his progress. Yoda, reaching a point of frustration, tells Skywalker that he must “unlearn what [he] has learned.” That advice contains much truth for the follower of Christ. Growing up, we learn to be self-centered, to hate those unlike us, and to live with judgment. Christ, on the other hand, commands us to seek His kingdom first, to love our enemies, and to bless those who persecute us. Following Christ in this life requires unlearning what the world teaches, and replacing it with the truth of God.
In the past year, I have begun unlearning what I was taught about the end of the world. Instead of a source of fear, the return of Christ should be hope for all Christians. Watching the nightly news is enough to convince even the most optimistic viewer that our world is broken. Children murdered by parents. Bloodthirsty dictators killing their own citizens. Theft and deception robbing seniors of their life savings. Thousands dieing each day from drought. Thousands more suffering from preventable diseases. Christ commands his followers to be the answer to these problems, but I am convinced, now more than ever, that our world will never be completely cured until “the dwelling of God is with men.” The writer of Revelation describes this time, saying that “[God] will live with them forever. They will be His people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making all things new.’”
If this world needs anything, it is a Savior who can make us new. God forbid that I should choose my desires for happiness, or a future of my own planning, over the only event that can truly bring peace and healing to our world. Although I do not fully understand what will occur when Christ returns, I pray that I can approach that day, and each day of my life, with the attitude of John the Revelator, who after seeing the entire vision recorded in the book of Revelation, responded by writing “Come, Lord Jesus, come.”
release date: 1970 record label: Reprise Records
track listing: 1) Tell Me Why
2) After the Gold Rush
3) Only Love Can Break Your Heart
4) Southern Man
5) Till the Morning Comes
6) Oh, Lonesome Me
7) Don’t Let It Bring You Down
8) Birds
9) When You Dance, I Can Really Love
10) I Believe In You
11) Cripple Creek Ferry
“I was thinking about what a friend had said,
I was hoping it was a lie…”
When it comes to the second-coming of Christ – the time when the Church is taken to heaven (sweet!) and the rest of the unbelieving earth is torturously destroyed (not near as sweet) – Christians seems to fall into one of two camps. On one side are believers who seem to base their entire relationship with God on this future event. They read and reread the book of Revelation, look for signs of the end times in the news, own the entire Left Behind series, and, with hushed voices, even dare to predict the date. Their obsession with the end of the world is, honestly, quite unsettling.
But on the other side of that coin are the majority of Christians who rarely give the return of Christ a second thought. They blissfully go about their lives, daring to fall in love with a life and world that, according to scripture, has already been doomed to pass away. Their faith ignores the end of the story. And we all know, with out a good ending, a story isn’t worthwhile.
For most of my life, I have fallen squarely into the second camp, standing with the vast majority of believers who do their best to avoid thoughts of Armageddon. In our defense, the book of Revelation is pretty scary. Four-headed beasts. Whores riding dragons. Pits of fire. War. Famine. Pestilence. Death. Those images just don’t fill me with the warm fuzzies like “God is love” does. But no matter how badly I want to avoid it, the end of our story has already been written. We’re on a bullet train barreling toward the end, with no idea when that last stop will occur. The question is: what will we do with our trip? And how will we face the end?
My father graduated from Fayette County High School, Fayetteville, Georgia, in the summer of 1973. As a sophomore, in the fall of 1970, he purchased Neil Young’s third solo LP, After the Gold Rush. It quickly became one of his favorites. Fast forward thirty-one years: now a father of three, my Dad, on a quick run to Wal-Mart, happens across that long-forgotten album in the electronics section. Fondly remembering it as one of his favorites while in high school, he buys the album, now in CD format, and rushes home to give it to me. Isn’t it odd how seemingly mundane events in our lives find their way permanently into our memory banks? This would be an example of that. For whatever reason, I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting in a chair in my room, working on homework, when my dad knocked on the door and entered, handing me the CD. At this point in my life, I only knew Neil Young as part of CSNY – that hippie group Dad made us listen to while on long car rides. But, I could tell my father was excited about his gift and so, an ever dutiful son, I played along. As quickly as he entered, he was gone again, leaving me with my unexpected gift. I set it aside and finished my homework.
To say that the attacks of September 11th changed our nation would be an understatement. Growing up, my mom would tell us about the day that John F. Kennedy was assassinated. She was in elementary school, blissfully going about her day when the principal interrupted class with an announcement. At that point in time, he had not learned of the death of the president – only that he had been shot while in Dallas, Texas. He announced this to the student body, asking each of them to pray. School was let out early and, upon returning home, the radio told my young mother that the president had succumbed to his injuries and died. She remembered hearing reports of the manhunt for the killer, and the eventual assassination of the accused, Lee Harvey Oswald, by Dallas businessman Jack Ruby. My mother was young enough to worry that the authorities would mistakenly arrest her mother, whose first name was Ruby, for the murder of Oswald. It was a time in history that left a permanent imprint on her – she will always remember where she was on that fateful day. I had no way of knowing, as I walked to school on the morning of September 11, 2001, that only hours separated me from the day I would never forget – the one I would tell my own children about.
I was at my locker, during class change between first and second periods, when a friend ran up to me. “Did you hear about the World Trade Center?” I looked at him confused. “There’s been a terrorist attack … it’s really bad.” This particular friend was very interested in political science – we had actually had conversations about terrorism and Osama Bin Laden before the attacks on the World Trade Center – so I trusted his report. I rushed through the crowded halls to my second period class. My biology teacher, Ms. Calvert, was turning on the TV when I came into the room. As the images flashed across the screen, my heart dropped. It was much worse we could have ever imagined. It quickly became apparent that instruction wasn’t going to happen today. The students in my class were transfixed on the television. Some were crying. Others were praying. All of us were in a state of shock. We watched, live, as the second plane hit the towers. To our horror, we realized that what we thought were falling pieces of debris were, in actuality, people jumping to their deaths. Minutes later, the towers were falling to the ground, and alongside it, our youthful sense of innocence came tumbling down. A close friend, a Muslim girl from Pakistan, turned to me and asked why this was happening. I didn’t have an answer.
In the madness, I remember someone saying that this was a sign of the end of the world. Christ would be coming back for his Church soon. Hell, fire, and brimstone would follow for unbelievers. Armageddon was upon us. I didn’t tell my Muslim friend this. It wouldn’t have comforted her. In fact, it did nothing to comfort me.
The bell never rang for third period. Much like the day my mother will never forget, the principal came onto the loud speaker and, addressing the entire student body, asked us to pray for our nation. School was dismissed early. I walked home and found my parents watching the coverage on TV. It was the only topic of discussion in our house that night – it was as if a heavy blanket had fallen upon us, and we couldn’t find our way out. After supper, I went to my room and closed the door. I needed some peace. Some quiet. Some escape. Without checking to see what it contained, I turned my CD player on, and lay down on the carpet, staring up at a ceiling covered in band posters. After the Gold Rush started to play, with Neil Young begging “tell me why.” What was the answer to that question? I still had no idea. Were the students at school correct? Could this really be the end of the world? My thoughts consumed me as the album progressed into the title track, After the Gold Rush, when a line stopped me dead in my tracks. Over somber piano chords, Neil Young admitted, “I was thinking about what a friend had said, I was hoping it was a lie.” My friends had told me this was the beginning of the end. Like Neil Young, with all my might, I was hoping they were wrong.
After the Gold Rush was released near the end of a prolific time of recording in Neil Young’s career. In the span of fifteen months, Young released three records: his sophomore album, Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere in May, 1969, the CSNY classic Déjà Vu in March of 1970, followed by After the Gold Rush five months later. Originally conceived as the soundtrack for a movie by the same name, After the Gold Rush was released as a stand alone album after the movie project was abandoned. All that remains of this unfinished film is its soundtrack, recognized now as a quintessential Young recording. In 2003, Rollingstone magazine recognized it as the 71st greatest album of all time – the highest ranking for a Neil Young record on that list.
In 2011, hindsight allows us to look back at After the Gold Rush and recognize it as a virtual microcosm of Young’s carrier. It’s an uneven mixture of the folky, Americana-influenced music of Crosby, Still, Nash and Young and the rough and tumble, often highly political, rock and roll Young created in albums with his backing band, Crazy Horse. The album jumps right into the folk end of Young’s carrier, with Tell Me Why, featuring Young’s characteristic vocals over a few acoustic guitars. The title track, After the Gold Rush, comes next, with Young on both vocals and piano. Three tracks into the album, percussion instruments, in the form of drums and bass, finally make their first appearance on Only Love Can Break Your Heart. But don’t be fooled, the scope of the album, up to this point, has remained squarely on folk. No blaring guitar solos just yet. Young finally lets the rock out with one his most popular, and controversial songs, the album’s fourth track: Southern Man. The song decries the history of slavery and the then current state of race relations in the south: “I saw cotton and I saw black / tall white mansions and little shacks / southern man, when will you pay them back?” Young also calls into question the hypocrisy of racism arising in a historically religious portion of our nation: “southern man, better keep your head / don’t forget what your good book says.” The fire in Young’s lyrics is equally matched by his ferocious and impassioned guitar playing. This is Neil Young’s brand of rock and roll at its finest. Not everyone, however, shared Young’s feelings. Many southerners objected to their portrayal in the song, chief among them Ronnie Van Zant of Lynyrd Skynyrd, who penned their biggest hit, Sweet Home Alabama, in response to Southern Man. Van Zant specifically addresses Young in the lyrics: “I hope Neil Young will remember / a southern man don’t need him around, anyhow.”
Young’s electric guitar disappears with the last notes of Southern Man, and the album again slips back into the Americana mindset, with Till the Morning Comes, Oh, Lonesome Me (featuring Young on harmonica), Don’t Let It Bring You Down and another piano ballad, Birds. The rock and roll band reemerges on When You Dance I Can Really Love, just to disappear again for the last two tracks on the album: I Believe In You and Cripple Creek Ferry. With five of the eleven songs clocking in at under three minutes, the album moves along rather quickly, finishing in just over thirty-five minutes.
“I don’t want Jesus to come back.” All heads in the room jerked instinctively toward the sound of the voice, looks of surprise in our eyes and nervous laughs in our mouths. As middle school students, we weren’t aware of much – but we at least knew you weren’t supposed to say that – especially at church. Embarrassed, the girl who had interrupted our Sunday school lesson began to backpedal: “I mean, I want Him to come back, just not yet… at least not until I get married.” The tension in the room vanished, and a smile crossed our teacher’s face. The girls in the youth group, who had been dreaming of their weddings for as long as they could remember, politely nodded in agreement. The boys snickered amongst themselves – marriage, in their minds, meant only one thing. And, truth be told, we really wanted to be on earth long enough to experience “it.” Don’t get the wrong idea – its not that we didn’t love Jesus – it just didn’t seem fair that we could be called into eternal bliss without ever having a chance to experience our wedding night. The girls continued the conversation, “I’d really like to have children,” “I want to raise my family before Christ returns;” the boys, on the other hand, didn’t have much to say. Their thoughts were focused on what they would miss if Christ were to return that afternoon, their eyes gazing despairingly into space.
The night after the attacks of September 11th, I didn’t want Christ to return. Unlike my friend from youth group, I wasn’t brave enough to verbalize those thoughts – but that’s exactly what was going on inside my head. I wanted to live my life. I wanted to get married (and yes, have my honeymoon), raise children, and pursue my dreams. On Sunday morning I would proclaim my love for Christ, during the week I would allow that love to influence my thoughts and actions, but when it came down to it, I just was not excited for the source of that love to come back to earth. To be honest, part of that fear was based on my teenage understanding of end-times theology, influenced heavily by popular Christian culture, which made the event sound more like a horror movie than a source of hope. But, to be fair, I’d have to admit that an equal portion of my trepidation was rooted in selfishness. In my mind, it was only fair for Christ to avoid returning until I was in my 70s - that way I could live my life, but still avoid that pesky death thing. As I sat and listened to that Neil Young record, I realized that I wanted my future more than I wanted Christ. Unfortunately, ten years later, many days I still feel the same way.
In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells a story about flowers. Although they do not work or labor over their appearance, they are the most splendid of God’s creations. In fact, plants essentially do one thing – grow upward toward the sun. This growth, however, does not just occur vertically. Plants, especially seedlings, actually follow the course of the sun as it passes by overhead, centering their whole selves on the source of their life. When the sun shifts positions in the sky, the plants shift ever so slightly as well. This phenomenon, known as phototropism in the science world, teaches a most important lesson. Like flowers, our lives should be focused squarely on our Giver of Life. Our singular vision should be the Son, His purposes becoming our own.
After talking about flowers, Christ commands his followers to stop worrying about what they will eat, drink, or wear. Instead, He asks them to “seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Seek me, Christ says, and everything you need will be provided. In his book of essays, God in the Dock, C.S. Lewis calls this promise the “law of first and second things.” To Lewis, the first thing in our lives must be Christ. Everything else – our relationships, friendships, family and jobs – must be second things. If, in the course of our life, we make secondary things (our lives, our happiness, our futures) into first things, then we will lose both first and second things. But, if our lives reflect Christ’s command, and first things remain first, we shall gain both first and second things.
In my favorite Star Wars film, The Empire Strikes Back¸ the hero, Luke Skywalker, in the course of looking for the great Jedi master Yoda, crashes his spaceship on a swampy planet named Dagoba. While getting his bearings, Skywalker runs into a little green creature with huge ears. Prideful, thickheaded and selfish, Skywalker does not realize that this creature is actually the famed Jedi knight he has been looking for. He eventually realizes his mistake and begins to train under Yoda, but his pride, doubts and fears continue emerge and derail his progress. Yoda, reaching a point of frustration, tells Skywalker that he must “unlearn what [he] has learned.” That advice contains much truth for the follower of Christ. Growing up, we learn to be self-centered, to hate those unlike us, and to live with judgment. Christ, on the other hand, commands us to seek His kingdom first, to love our enemies, and to bless those who persecute us. Following Christ in this life requires unlearning what the world teaches, and replacing it with the truth of God.
In the past year, I have begun unlearning what I was taught about the end of the world. Instead of a source of fear, the return of Christ should be hope for all Christians. Watching the nightly news is enough to convince even the most optimistic viewer that our world is broken. Children murdered by parents. Bloodthirsty dictators killing their own citizens. Theft and deception robbing seniors of their life savings. Thousands dieing each day from drought. Thousands more suffering from preventable diseases. Christ commands his followers to be the answer to these problems, but I am convinced, now more than ever, that our world will never be completely cured until “the dwelling of God is with men.” The writer of Revelation describes this time, saying that “[God] will live with them forever. They will be His people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making all things new.’”
If this world needs anything, it is a Savior who can make us new. God forbid that I should choose my desires for happiness, or a future of my own planning, over the only event that can truly bring peace and healing to our world. Although I do not fully understand what will occur when Christ returns, I pray that I can approach that day, and each day of my life, with the attitude of John the Revelator, who after seeing the entire vision recorded in the book of Revelation, responded by writing “Come, Lord Jesus, come.”
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