I sat in the lecture at Bible Study Fellowship, notebook open on my lap, pen at the ready. We’re studying Revelation this year, a book I don’t often open due to the confusion it awakens, and I’m looking forward to learning more, to hopefully coming away with a better understanding of John’s purpose and meaning. We haven’t delved into the meat of the book yet; this week was only the second meeting of the year, and they’re laying a foundation of the redemption narrative, of biblical prophecy, before tackling the tricky subject of the end times.
As the teacher spoke about the sweep of history, about the fulfillment of words written thousands of years ago, about a God who transcends and reveals, I wrote the date on the top of my page. September 23, 2015. A few letters, a few numbers. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I note the date often: when paying bills, when adding journal entries, when making plans to meet with a friend. The date is mundane, normal, not something I tend to give much thought. It struck me, however, as I listened to the lecture, as I contemplated the way that all of history will one day be culminated in the coming of Christ, that this date – September 23, 2015 – is unique. It has never happened before. It will never happen again.
I don’t want to make too much of this, to give it weight it does not deserve, for I recognize, of course, that the date is strictly a creation of man, a way of marking time. I know that, while today may be unique, it is (potentially) much like yesterday, much like tomorrow, much like many of the days which have preceded it or may follow it. I know all this.
And yet, still, the date is unique. The psalmist tells us that this day, this one right now, is the one the Lord has made. Jeremiah says that His mercies are new every morning. This day will only happen once, and then it’s over, done, a part of history.
This day, the one I’m living in right now, is a new day, one that is unique in all of history. It will never happen again. What am I going to do with it?