Jesus comes to us over and over.

One weekend in early June 1967, my family traveled from Virginia to the small town of Roxbury, Pa., for a weekend of church meetings on the end times. A crowd of kindred spirits gathered for several days of back-to-back, hour-long sermons from the books of Revelation or Daniel about how the world would end with Jesus coming through the clouds. We’d recognize the end times when the signs were right. There’d be a restored Jewish state, a rebuilt temple, nations waging war on Israel, earthquakes, famines, pestilences, abounding sin and clouds. There had to be clouds in the sky for Jesus to burst through.

This year their timing was dead on. On the first Monday of June 1967, Israel started a war with Egypt, Jordan and Syria that lasted six days. The people of God against the forces of evil. The end times couldn’t be far off: horses with blood up to their bridles, Armageddon and Jesus riding through the clouds. A kid who dreamed in color had lots to dream about with all those pictures in his head. The end-times meetings began on a Friday, Day Five of the war.

Any preacher who ignores mystery and stands solidly on certainty could let fly with both barrels that week. And let fly with both barrels they did. The nervous crowd gathered in the wooden chairs to sing four-part harmony while girding up for sermon number one. The preacher was on a roll.

“I don’t expect Monday to arrive before Jesus comes back to claim his own,” thundered end-times preacher number one as Day Five of the Six-Day war ended on Friday night. Jesus was coming back within two days.

I was 9 years old. Whoa.

I wanted the world to go on and see what grown-up life was like. I wanted to read a lot of books. I wanted to have my own home and a family. I wanted to go to major league ball games. I wanted to get a driver’s license, get a car and fill it up with gas myself. I wanted to see what it was like to live in a city. I wanted to see if I could paint the pictures that glowed in my head. I wanted time to figure out life’s mysteries.

Saturday passed and Sunday came. This was it. Jesus didn’t come on Saturday, so maybe if we made it through one more day we’d be free from the weekend’s special worry. We could go back to the normal worry that Jesus would come through the clouds, even without a war to spark it off. Maybe the skies would be completely clear all Sunday with no clouds for Jesus to come through. It was either the last day or it wasn’t. More sermons, more four-part harmony, more sky watching.

Night passed and Monday came. Hurray. We made it. But wait, you weren’t supposed to be happy about that. You were supposed to be eager for the clouds to open and Jesus to come riding through. I was not eager for that at all. But if you weren’t eager, then something must be wrong. It probably meant you weren’t ready. And since I preferred to grow up rather than see Jesus come through the clouds, I wasn’t ready. Don’t tell anyone. But on Monday, I was a happy 9-year-old kid.

In my small world, grownups talked about Jesus’ second coming in Sunday school classes, Bible studies and over Sunday lunch. They wrote about it in church papers in long articles filled with Scripture. They had conflicting beliefs about how it would happen. Jesus would come through the clouds, gather us up for a 1,000-year reign or we’d all go straight to heaven, depending on the theory. The people left behind would all go straight to hell or have another chance to be saved, depending on the theory. One of these theories was called premillennialism, and the other was amillennialism. In my community, people took these theories so seriously that sometimes friendships were broken over them. Some people said it was not important and, tongue in cheek, came up with “panmillennialism,” saying it would all pan out in the end.

It’s time for a new word: now-millennialism. Jesus came back. He came back millions and billions of times. He came back yesterday, last night and this morning. We probably missed it.
In the Bible, I read in Isaiah and other prophets about how Jesus would come as king or as a servant, depending on the Scripture. He would be a prince or a bruised reed, depending on the Scripture. He would hold a scepter or shepherd’s staff, depending on the Scripture.

Jesus’ first incarnation was when people thought they needed a king. So when he arrived, people didn’t expect him to be born to a carpenter’s family, live as a homeless guy off other people’s generosity and then get himself killed. That’s just not kinglike. The crowd missed it when Jesus came the first time.

I read in John where Jesus is the light that lights up everyone who comes into the world. I read where Jesus told us to be salt and light in this world. I read where Jesus said he was going away, but “surely I am with you always, even to the very end of the age” (Matthew 18:20). I read where Jesus said when we bring a cup of cold water to a thirsty person, when we clothe a poor person and when we feed a hungry person, we minister to Jesus himself.

He came back in the people who clean our streets, take care of our parents, pick up our garbage and sell us hamburgers. He came back in the poor Guatemalan dad trying to get across the border to find work and feed his family in Chimaltenango. He came back in the high school kid confused by the complexities of sexuality and rejection. He came back in the young mom who was just told she has terminal cervical cancer. He came back in the guy who’s been looking for work so long he’s completely discouraged. Jesus came back. He’s waiting for you to notice.

Today, a lot of people want a king again. Many Christians want special Christians to sit on thrones. Many Christians want special Christians to sit in judges’ seats. Many Christians want special Christians to be governors and mayors and on the school board. Some Christians want a special Christian, maybe Jesus himself to ride through the clouds on Air Force One. If that’s what people want, then that’s what they look for.

Perhaps someday Jesus will have a grand entrance as a king riding a horse through the clouds. It would be a grand surprise. But Jesus never showed enthusiasm to sit on a throne. He washes feet. He hangs out with outcasts. He’s in the people uncomfortable at the thought of attending your church.

He dines with sinners. He disdains wealth and political power. Jesus won’t mind if he finds us being salt and light instead of arguing about a millennialism theory if he comes through the clouds on a horse.

The light of Jesus lights me up. It lights you up. It lights up the guy down the street who may not know it yet. If I miss Jesus in those places, I’ll miss his second coming. Jesus doesn’t need another six-day war or blood up to the horses’ bridles, Armageddon or even clouds to burst through. Maybe he’s already in view and needs shelter. Or a cup of water. Or maybe he’s in an entire village on another continent that needs a clean water source so the kids don’t get sick and die. Or he’s in someone who needs hospitality. Or a kind word. Miss those opportunities and maybe we’re missing Jesus’ second coming because we’re too busy checking the clouds. Too much time dickering about how it will happen dilutes the urgency of Christ with us in the here and now.

There is so much to do. As long as we live in a world that cries for people to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God, we won’t have much down time to argue about the millennialism thing. Besides, it seems odd to debate Jesus’ second coming with someone who already has Jesus in them. Wise believers live as though he’s already come back in the lives of the broken, the poor, the sick and outcast. They joyfully minister with their time, talents and treasure. Let other people watch the clouds. It’s the now-millennialism era. Jesus isn’t waiting to return. He’s here.

Duane Hershberger works with Habitat for Humanity and has helped pastor several Mennonite churches. He worships at Germantown Mennonite Church in Philadelphia.