We tend to focus more on the first coming with its shouts of salvation rather than on the second with its promised shout of salvation and judgment. In a sense, we often wrongly separate the baby in the manger from the Lion on the throne. We have to learn to look at both the mountain tops and the mountain range. We do so by looking at the whole Christ in the whole of the Scriptures. 

As we head toward another Christmas—and a renewed time of remembrance of the fulfillment of the prophecies that God gave for millennia concerning the Christ—it would do us good to step back and consider the fact that the Old Testament prophecies about Christ were often not time-specific, neatly packaged prophecies but rather mountain-ranges of prophecy about all that the Savior would be and do in both his first and second coming.
At this time of year, our minds often turn to the prophecies concerning the virgin who would conceive and bear a Son whose name would be Emmanuel (Isa. 7:14) and prophecies of the child who would be born whose name would be Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Princes of Peace (Isa. 9:6), and of the One who would be ruler over Israel—who would be from everlasting—would be born in the little town of Bethlehem (Micah 5:2). We love to look back with delight as we see the way in which these prophecies, given so long before God fulfilled them, were so specifically and clearly fulfilled in the birth of Jesus.
The Old Testament prophecies about Jesus foretold both his first and second coming.
However, we often forget that the Old Testament spoke of another dimension of the advent of the Christ. The entire Old Testament pointed forward to the coming Savior—who, in his work on the cross and in his return to judge the world in righteousness—would bring about in the consummation the salvation and judgment of all men.
Louis Berkhof, in his book Principles of Biblical Interpretation, illustratively explained how it is that the prophecies made about Christ in the pages of the Old Testament appear more like mountain ranges than mountain tops. He wrote:

The element of time is a rather negligible character in the prophets. While designations of time are not wanting altogether, their number is exceptionally small. The prophets compressed great events into a brief space of time, brought momentous movements close together in a temporal sense, and took them in at a single glance. This is called “the prophetic perspective,” or as Delitzsch calls it “the foreshortening of the prophet’s horizon.” They looked upon the future as the traveller does upon a mountain range in the distance. He fancies that one mountain-top rises up right behind the other, when in reality they are miles apart. Cf. the prophets respecting the Day of the Lord and the two-fold coming of Christ.[1]

We see how this is played out in the way in which the elderly Simeon spoke of the destiny of the baby Jesus.
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John Calvin brings up self-examination in the opening words of the Institutes of the Christian Religion. True and sound wisdom begins with not only with “the knowledge of God,” but also “of ourselves.” The Puritans wove the practice of self-examination into the core of their teaching and piety. But the question is, How do we pursue it?
There is no shortage of ways to pursue this discipline badly. Not least because, if done in isolation, it degenerates into the kind of morbid introspection that leads to spiritual self-harm, not benefit. How, then, are we to understand what it means to “examine ourselves” in profitable ways?
The Bible provides us with a very helpful paradigm for profitable self-examination in one of David’s best-loved psalms: Psalm 139, which according to some commentators is an example of “wisdom piety intended for theological instruction.” Whatever its background, this psalm provides a balanced approach to cultivating true self-understanding that flows out of a deep understanding of God. In that sense, it shows in the most practical of ways that there is an inseparable bond between doctrine, piety, and praise in the experience of God’s people.
It is very instructive to tease out the way the psalmist engages in this exercise before God in at least three areas—all of which crystallize in the prayer he offers in the closing verses of the psalm.
First, he invites God to inspect his life: “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!” (v. 23). This request is an echo of the words of praise and acknowledgement of God with which the psalm begins: “O Lord, you have searched me and known me!” (v. 1). David’s perspective on his own life arises directly out of his perspective on God.
David’s understanding of God—gained through God’s own self-revelation in the Scriptures—makes him profoundly conscious of God’s glorious attributes. God looms so large on his horizon that he is overwhelmed by Him in every way. As he reflects on what God knows (vv. 1–6), he confesses there is nothing God doesn’t know. He is the omniscient God. He goes on to reflect on where God is located (vv. 7–12) and concludes that He is everywhere—He cannot escape from His presence. The same is true when it comes to the extent of God’s control (vv. 13–18). The psalmist ponders the mystery of conception and human development in the womb and confesses that this is more than “nature”; it is the personal, wise, and loving activity of the sovereign God of heaven.
The more we know God through His Word, the more we truly know ourselves. We begin to realize that we cannot trust our own judgement about the state of our life—nor even the compliments our families or friends may extend to us.
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The way a service is structured will inform the way we are structured. A God-centered and gospel-focused service will produce people who are the same. Corporate worship is one of the primary ways we behold the Lord and are “transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Cor. 3:18).

I recall guest preaching at a church once and the blank stares I received from the congregation. Blank stares are never ideal, especially when you are a visiting preacher. I had said early on in the service, “I invite you to turn with me in your liturgies…” None accepted the invitation. No one turned. Then I realized the problem: we were lost in translation. I started again, “Turn in your bulletins…” There we had it!
Who Is Liturgical?
“Liturgy” does sound like a foreign word to some of us, and, in one sense, it is. It comes from the Greek leitourgia, which is a combination of two other words: people (laos) and work (ergon). Literally, a liturgy is a “work of the people,” or perhaps more helpfully, a “public service.” Therefore, at its most basic, “liturgy” refers to the order of a corporate worship service.
All churches from every denominational stripe have an order of worship. Sometimes we think “liturgical” is only a fitting adjective for churches that meet in cathedrals and still use Gregorian chant. Not so. If your church worships, it has a liturgy. Churches that claim to be “non-liturgical” still follow a pattern of worship. Maybe it begins with announcements, then singing, a sermon, and some more singing, before concluding with a sending prayer. That is a liturgy. “Liturgical,” therefore, is perhaps not the most helpful descriptor—much like “canine” would be a less-than-satisfying answer when someone asks what type of dog you have.
Since we are all liturgical, the question to ask is what kind of liturgy do we have? What should our services look like? While the Bible’s relative silence on this point offers latitude and freedom, the Reformed have sought to structure their services on key principles gleaned from Scripture. I will mention four.
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