We waited, eyes fixed on the sky, expecting clouds to part, trumpets to blare, the heavens to split with holy fire. Instead, he came as quietly as ­before — like a thief in the night, a mustard seed in the soil, a stranger on the road to Emmaus. He walked among us, and we did not recognize him.

He entered our sanctuaries but found them locked in debates over doctrine. He sought refuge among his people, but we were busy drawing battle lines — left against right, church against church, nation against nation.

He stood outside our grand cathedrals, our megachurches, our political rallies wrapped in religious language, knocking at the door.

But no one let him in.

What did he see? A fractured church, warring over power, wealth and status. Christians more concerned with being right than being kind. A world consumed by its hunger for more — more money, more weapons, more distractions. A planet groaning under the weight of neglect. The poor still hungry, the rich still hoarding, the prophets still silenced.

He walked through the streets where the homeless shivered, waiting for kindness that rarely came. He visited war zones and refugee camps, watching as people were sacrificed on the altars of nationalism and greed. He listened to the prayers of the suffering and wondered why those who claimed to follow him were deaf to the cries.

And so he left.

Not in anger or in judgment, but in sorrow. He wept, just as he did outside Jerusalem long ago. He saw what we had become, how little we had learned.

He knew the world was not ready.

But he has not given up on us.

A Third Coming will come — not as spectacle, not as conquest, but as invitation. Not to those waiting on clouds to part but to those willing to see him in the faces of the least of these.

He will return, but not where we expect. He will be found where love endures, where justice is pursued, where mercy is given freely. He will come to those who open their doors to the stranger, who welcome the outcast, who mend what is broken.

When he comes again, may we have eyes to see.

Keith Lyndaker Schlabach is co-pastor with his wife, Rachelle, of Millersburg Mennonite Church in Ohio. He recounts his ongoing journey to see Jesus in new ways on his blog SlowMover.org and explores creative peacebuilding at PeaceGrooves.com.