Daily Eternal Perspective
Question for myself: How do I act when the apocalypse happens? Well, not great.
A few months ago, I read the book Liturgy of the Ordinary by Tish Harrison Warren, and she points out that the word “apocalypse” actually means “to reveal” to “unveil” reality, what lies beneath. And so when she’s supposed to be headed out the door and can’t find her car keys and finds herself panicking, that’s “apocalypse.”
It’s funny, because it’s true. The point she’s making is that it’s often the every day things, the basics, the boring things, that get us distracted, miserable, frustrated, ticked off, or even pushed into full melt-down mode. Sometimes, we’re better at surviving true crises than we are at mini-crises.
And it has to do with a loss of perspective. More often than not, when I’m dealing with emails, diaper changes, mountains of laundry, dirty dishes, to-do lists, projects, writings, and meetings, I start to get into the mindset that this is all there is. And then when something doesn’t go the right way: when I’m stuck in traffic, when the internet’s down, when Clementine “helps” me work by slamming her chubby palm on my keyboard, when I can’t get a door to close properly, when I stub my toe, when I accidentally drop an entire container of baby food on the floor: apocalypse. Things get unveiled.
Usually, it comes out verbally. I say something less than gracious to my husband. I utter a word or two or three that’re definitely more than PG. Sometimes I slam something, or set something down just a little bit harder than normal.
But these little apocalypses reveal something that has gotten lost in the day to day: eternity.
On Sunday, Jake preached on joy, and how this joy is rooted in our eternal lives found in Jesus’ redemption and love. This portion of our lives is short; a few inches of red on a long rope. The rest of it, long, white, never ending, stretches out farther than we can see. And yet, how often do I allow the temporary, momentary inconveniences and struggles to undermine or steal my joy? More often than I’d care to admit. And it’s because I’m not allowing myself to be filled with joy, to live and breathe joy. The joy found in Jesus is bigger than schedules, traffic-delays, and messy houses.
Sometimes, all we need is a daily reset. Or a several-times-a-day reset. So in those moments when things are starting to crumble, we pray: “Jesus, you are eternal joy.” When that guy cuts you off: “Jesus, you are eternal joy.” When car maintenance costs more than you’d like: “Jesus, you are my eternal joy.” When you get in a disagreement with a coworker: “Jesus, you are my eternal joy.” When your toddler cries because she doesn’t like how you cut the crusts on her sandwich: “Jesus, you are my eternal joy.” It doesn’t change what happened or is happening, and it doesn’t instantly make everything hunky-dory, but it reminds us: The apocalypse is temporary. Joy is eternal.