Amen. Come, Lord Jesus! (Revelation 22:20)

The last prayer in the Bible is also one of its shortest — and yet it’s layered with heartache and anticipation, with distress and hope, with agony and joy. Can you imagine the apostle John, the disciple whom Jesus loved (John 13:23), savoring those three words — “Come, Lord Jesus!” — while he was abandoned among criminals on the island of Patmos? Does the promise that Christ will come again ever feel sweeter than when life on earth feels harsh and unyielding?

It’s almost as if John tries to draw the risen Jesus out of heaven, praying with all his might. The barren, rocky ground beneath his knees was more than a prison; it was a model of the curse, twenty square miles overrun with the consequences of sin. Suffering does this. It opens our eyes wider to all that sin has ruined, just how much pain and havoc it has wrought in the world. And, in a strange way, suffering often awakens us to the promise of his coming.

Weakness and illness make us long all the more for new bodies. Prolonged relational conflict makes us long all the more for peace. Wars and hurricanes and earthquakes make us long all the more for safety. Our remaining sin makes us long all the more for sinlessness. “Come, Lord Jesus!” is the cry of someone who really expects a better world to come — and soon. Suffering only intensifies that longing and anticipation.

Many Prayers in One

The prayer “Come, Lord Jesus!” is really many prayers in one. What will happen when Christ finally returns? The opening verses of Revelation 21 tell us just how many of our prayers will be answered on that day.

Come, Lord Jesus, and dry our tears. Followers of Jesus are not spared sorrow in this life. In fact, following him often means more tears. Jesus himself warned us it would be so: “In the world you will have tribulation” (John 16:33). But one day, “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (Revelation 21:4). In that world, we will not have tribulation, or sorrow, or distress, or persecution, or danger. When he returns, we’ll never have another reason to cry.

Come, Lord Jesus, and put an end to our pain. Some long for the end of heartache; others feel the consequences of sin in their bodies. Pain has followed them like a shadow. Revelation 21:4 continues, “. . . neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore.” Can you imagine someone who has battled chronic pain for decades waking up one morning and feeling no more pain? It will be like a man who has never seen anything clearly finally putting on his first pair of glasses — except the sufferer will feel that sensation in every muscle and nerve. The absence of pain will free his senses to enjoy the world like never before.

Come, Lord Jesus, and put death to death. Jesus came to dethrone death. Hebrews 2:14–15 says, “Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery.” Every one reading this article was once enslaved to the fear of death. But death lost its sting when the Son of God died. And one day, death itself will die. When the Author of life comes, “death shall be no more” (Revelation 21:4).

Come, Lord Jesus, and rid us of sin. This burden may be more subtle in these verses, but it would not have been subtle in John’s imagination. He writes in verse 3, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man.” And he knew that God cannot dwell with sin. For God to come and dwell with us, he will have to first eradicate the sin that remains in us — and that’s exactly what he promises to do. The sin that hides in every shadow and behind every corner will be suddenly extinct. He will throw every cause of sin into his fiery furnace (Matthew 13:41). “When he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2).

“In the world to come, we will have nothing to fear, nothing to mourn, nothing to endure, nothing to confess.”

Come, Lord Jesus, and make it all new. In other words, anything not included in the prayers above will be made right too. “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth” (Revelation 21:1). Nothing here will go untouched. Whatever aspect of life on earth afflicts you most, it will be different. Whatever fears have plagued you, whatever trials have surprised you, whatever clouds have followed you, they all will be transformed — in the twinkling of an eye — and stripped of their threats. In the world to come, we will have nothing to fear, nothing to mourn, nothing to endure, nothing to confess. Can you imagine?

More than a prayer for relief, or safety, or healing, or even sinlessness, though, “Come, Lord Jesus!” is a prayer for him.

His Presence Is Paradise

The burning heart of John’s three-word plea is not for what Jesus does, but for who he is. This is clear throughout the book of Revelation. The world to come is a world to want because Jesus lives there. John’s prayer, after all — “Come, Lord Jesus!” — is a response to Jesus promising three times in the previous verses, “Behold, I am coming soon. . . . Behold, I am coming soon. . . . Surely I am coming soon” (Revelation 22:7, 12, 20).

“The world to come is a world to want because Jesus lives there.”

While the apostle wasted away in prison, he could see the Bridegroom on the horizon (Revelation 1:12–16). His hair white, like snow. His eyes filled with fire. His feet, like burnished bronze. His face, like the sun shining in full strength. The man he had walked with, talked with, laughed with, and surely cried with, now fully glorified and ready to receive and rescue his bride, the church. The Treasure was no longer hidden in a field, but riding on the clouds.

Even the vision of the new heavens and new earth in Revelation 21 makes God himself the greatest prize of the world to come: “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God” (Revelation 21:3). Yes, we want a world without grief, without pain, without fear, without death. But better to have a world like ours with God, than to have any other world without him. His presence defines paradise.

Randy Alcorn writes,

Nothing is more often misdiagnosed than our homesickness for Heaven. We think that what we want is sex, drugs, alcohol, a new job, a raise, a doctorate, a spouse, a large-screen television, a new car, a cabin in the woods, a condo in Hawaii. What we really want is the person we were made for, Jesus, and the place we were made for, Heaven. Nothing less can satisfy us. . . . We may imagine we want a thousand different things, but God is the one we really long for. His presence brings satisfaction; his absence brings thirst and longing. Our longing for Heaven is a longing for God. (Heaven, 166, 171)

A Second Coming

While the apostle’s brief prayer may be the most memorable invitation in Revelation 22, it is not the only one. The Bible doesn’t end only with a desperate plea for Christ to return, but also with a warm invitation to the weary, the suffering, the spiritually thirsty.

The Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.” And let the one who hears say, “Come.” And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price. (Revelation 22:17)

As John anticipates Christ’s returning, gathering his people and wiping out all his enemies, his last thoughts are not of judgment, but of mercy. He ends not with smoke rising out of torment, but with a free and overflowing fountain held out to all who would come. His words ring with an old and glorious invitation, Isaiah 55:1–2:

Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.

When Jesus comes, we will eat and drink and enjoy without end. Hunger and thirst will become distant memories. If sorrows have robbed you of sleep, if pain has made even normal days hard, if death has taken ones you love, if life has sometimes seemed stacked against you, if you can’t shake a restless ache for more, then come and eat with him. This world may be the only world you’ve known, but a better world is coming — and there’s still room at the table.

Christ does not call us to scrape by spiritually year after year.

He can handle our down seasons and weak times. Jesus is gentle and merciful when our souls seem to be running on empty. He will not snuff us out when smoldering, or break us when bruised. And he is gracious enough to not leave us stuck forever in the state of “just enough”: believing just enough, hoping just enough, loving just enough to scrape by.

Jesus does not abandon his own when our spiritual tanks are low — and he bids us not to settle for threadbare spirituality or devotional minimalism. He invites us to more, and promises more, and empowers more.

Mature, healthy Christianity is maximalist, not minimalist. Those who are born again long for more of Jesus, not less. They’re not occupied with meeting bare minimums but want to see more, know more, enjoy more of Jesus, and then believe more, hope more, and love more, to his honor.

“Mature, healthy Christianity is maximalist, not minimalist. Those who are born again long for more of Jesus, not less.”

In time, the heart indwelt by the Holy Spirit recovers from its ebbs and cries more, more, more — not less, less, less — to see Jesus more clearly, love Jesus more dearly, follow Jesus more nearly.

So as an old year passes, and the new dawns, we don’t try to grope our way to find minimums of Bible intake, prayer, and covenant fellowship in the local church. We want to make the most of a new year.

We want more of Jesus in 2022.

Christ Honored in Death — or Life

Few passages shine with as much maximalist impulse as Philippians 1:22–26. Paul, in prison of all places, writes with confidence of his coming deliverance. Soon a verdict will come down, and either he will be released from prison or, through death, be released from this life. Paul is not anxious though: to die is “far better” because that is “to depart and be with Christ” (Philippians 1:24).

His first desire, and personal preference, is to be as proximate to Jesus as possible — and so, “to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). Yet Paul sees in Christ himself that personal preference doesn’t carry the day — at least not as a rule.

Paul has gladly dedicated his life to the advance of the gospel, not the advance of his own preferences. Nice as it would be, in his reckoning, to “depart and be with Christ” right now, Paul expects God’s work through him on earth isn’t yet complete. The very pattern and example of Christ’s own life did not move immediately toward his own immediate preferences but often laid them aside for the good of others. Paul anticipates that this too will be his call, for now: to “remain in the flesh” and “continue with you all” for their “progress and joy in the faith” (Philippians 1:24–25).

How, then, in his new, post-prison life to come, will Paul seek that Jesus “be honored in my body . . . by life”? What will “to live is Christ” mean for him in this new season? The dawning of a new year may be as good a time as any to rehearse Paul’s own vision of maximalist Christianity in Philippians 1:22–26.

Fruitful Labor

First, Paul highlights fruitful labor: “If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me” (verse 22). This is not a manifestation of pride — as if Paul thinks so highly of himself as to presume effectiveness. Rather, this is a humble recognition of Christ’s call and the Spirit’s power: ongoing life in this age is an invitation to fruitfulness for Christ’s kingdom — perhaps particularly for an apostle, but no less so for the rest of us. As Paul writes to a young pastor and protégé, “Let our people learn to devote themselves to good works, so as to help cases of urgent need, and not be unfruitful” (Titus 3:14). He dreams, and plans, and teaches toward not only fruitful apostles, but a whole church of fruitful laborers.

Fruitful labor isn’t magic, though it is supernatural. Christ calls his people, in the grip of his grace, to give themselves to the good of others, and to learn to do it, including the ups and downs of real-life trial and error. We cannot produce genuine spiritual fruit in our own strength, nor do we presume it will happen through us at the drop of a hat, in our own timing.

But we can learn. This is where genuine labor comes in. It is work. We engage. We invest energy and effort. We take modest and patient steps and over time devote ourselves to various initiatives and acts for the good of others, knowing that Christ means to empower our labor by his Spirit and make them fruitful in his timing.

Others’ Progress and Joy

Paul then spells out further, in verse 25, what this “fruitful labor” will be: “your progress and joy in the faith.”

In our day of self-focus, and shameless self-promotion, how refreshing to see the marked other-ness in Paul’s ambition. Modern ambition — and perhaps American ambition in particular — can subtly seep into our souls and color our seemingly Christian ambitions. But Paul’s perspective is that he remains in this life, as long as he remains, for the sake of others.

He resolves to honor Christ through his ongoing life by giving himself to the progress and joy of others’ faith. Paul’s life, as long as he lives, is dedicated to the glory of Christ through advancing others’ joy in Christ. Paul is not scraping by. He is not groping for spiritual minimums. He is not focusing his planning on a single act or word or two. He means to abound in doing good (2 Corinthian 9:8). He hopes for his life to overflow in countless acts and words for the good of others. His impulse is not only maximalist but others-oriented.

Ample Cause to Glory

Finally, we find one further degree of specificity in verse 26. The apostle will remain, for now, in this life, for the advance and joy of others’ faith, “so that in me you may have ample cause to glory in Christ Jesus, because of my coming to you again.”

When released, Paul means to make another visit to Philippi, and his intentions are plainly maximalist. He means not only to give them a cause, or some cause, to glory in Christ. Rather, his plan, God helping him, is to live in such a way among the Philippians that they will have “ample cause to glory in Christ” when Paul comes to town. Ample cause. Literally, “so that your boast may abound in Christ Jesus because of me.” Not threadbare boasting in Christ, but boasting that abounds. And not minimal effort and energy on his part to provoke it, but maximal.

“If we content ourselves with just scraping by spiritually, we deprive not only ourselves of joy but also others.”

Which might inspire us to have such hopes and dreams, and pray such prayers, for a new year. If we content ourselves with just scraping by spiritually, with angling to just get by, do just enough, we deprive not only ourselves of joy but also others. Not only is our own boasting in Christ diminished, but also others boasting in him. Observe, then, the contagious power of joy in Christ. When our gaze attends to Jesus, and we devote our remaining lives to his honor, we give others not only cause to rejoice in Christ, but ample cause — boasting in Christ that abounds — to the honor and praise of our Lord.

Catalyzing Joy

Living to the glory of Christ is not just for Jesus and me, but also includes others — not just that they would see our lives and give God glory, but also that our lives would become part of catalyzing joy in Christ in them, such that they too would live to Christ’s glory and so multiply our life being poured out for Christ.

So 2022 provides a fresh opportunity to make such Pauline resolutions. Rather than the often self-focused mood of new-year resolves, what if we kept in mind how the joy of others is critical, for the fullness of our own joy, and for the maximizing of Jesus’s honor through us?

Our Lord has more grace to give — to empower us to thrive and not merely survive. And he is worthy of our earnest, humble resolves. Such maximalist Christianity could only be unattractive if we have a minimalist view of the value of Christ.

Complementarian is a strange word. I never heard my parents or my pastor use it as I was growing up. I can’t recall the first time I heard it — though it was likely sometime in the early 2000s, as a young married woman, sitting under the teaching of John Piper.

However, long before I heard the strange word, I had seen the concept. I saw it when my dad’s heart to be generous and hospitable was taken up by my mom and transposed into a welcoming home that operated like a bed-and-breakfast for family, friends, and strangers. I saw it when my dad would take the initiative to warm the car and pull it up to the curb, always hopping out to open the door for my mom — my fearless mom, who wielded chainsaws and rode young green horses, yet gladly welcomed this kindness from her husband. I saw it when my mom helped shoulder my dad’s call to be a physician, making the best of a constantly changing schedule. I saw it in my dad’s hard work and provision for us and in my mom’s labor in the home to turn that provision into something truly wonderful. And I saw it when my dad led us in prayer and gratitude to God for everything, especially God’s Son.

Woven Through All of God’s Word

Yet there was another place I’d seen complementarity: the Scriptures. From the opening pages — the genesis of Adam and Eve — to the final chapters revealing the marriage supper of the Lamb, this concept of part and counterpart; of the distinctiveness of man and woman (in Hebrew, ish and ishah); of the design and order of husband and wife, lord and lady, bridegroom and bride, was everywhere. From Sarah’s willingness to obey Abraham to Boaz’s noble protection of Ruth, the stories of Scripture show us both the beauty of complementarity and the consequences of rejecting God’s design for men and women — as when Adam submitted to Eve rather than to God in the garden.

“The husband is head, and the wife is glory — just as Christ is head, and the church is body.”

Even the gospel itself is intertwined with this foundational reality of creation: the husband is head, and the wife is glory — just as Christ is head, and the church is body (1 Corinthians 11:3; Ephesians 5:22–33). The husband loves his wife, and the wife respects her husband — just as Christ lovingly sacrifices, and the church gladly submits and receives (Ephesians 5:22–33; Colossians 3:18–19). I had observed, too, how the Epistles reiterate the distinctions between men and women as they give separate and particular instructions for older women, younger women, older men, younger men, wives, husbands, and widows (Titus 2:1–6; 1 Timothy 2:8–15; 1 Peter 3:1–7).

By the time the strange word complementarian became part of my vocabulary, with its accompanying pushback against the idea that men and women are interchangeable, I didn’t need to be convinced it was true or scriptural. I’d seen it — both in print and in life.

Speed Bumps Along the Way

Of course, seeing a reality and living a reality are two different experiences. I could see the reality of complementarity. I could see the beauty of God’s intent for men and women. But stepping into that reality as a young woman and trying it on was more difficult. From the time I was little, the word equality was a good word. Especially as an American, I was proud to consider everyone equal. I’d heard that egalitarianism was simply that: equality between men and women. Who could be opposed to equality?

Thankfully, a complementarian position was able to account for both the equalities and the inequalities of men and women. To embrace the Bible’s teaching on men and women is to acknowledge an equality of value alongside physical and positional differences.

“What a gift to be a woman! What a gift to be endowed with a woman’s body and to have a woman’s mind and instincts!”

I found over time that, rather than bristling at this reality, there was great relief in stating the obvious. I came to acknowledge that treating men and women as the same was actually an affront to God — and at the same time, I became free to acknowledge that how he designed men and women was truly good and beautiful. Many women are indoctrinated by the world to believe that we will lose something essential in ourselves if we admit that we are physically weaker or inherently different than men. When we acknowledge that we don’t choose what we are but are created to be what we are — man or woman — the world teaches us to shudder and rebel, but God teaches us to say thank you for his good gift. What a gift to be a woman! What a gift to be endowed with a woman’s body and to have a woman’s mind and instincts!

Two Precious Tutors

Two books were especially helpful to me as I began to really practice the complementarity I saw in Scripture, both in my marriage and in how I conceived of myself as a Christian woman in the world. The first was Matthew Henry’s The Quest for Meekness and Quietness of Spirit, and the second was Jim Wilson’s How to Be Free from Bitterness. Neither book mentions complementarianism, neither is about the differences between men and women, and neither is written particularly for women. But both books helped me gain a frame of mind and heart and soul that served my submission to God and his ways — and helped me flourish as a result.

The books gave me a window into the inner workings of a heart that truly trusts and obeys God. And it just so happens that the kind of heart that trusts and obeys God is the same kind of heart that does not rebel against God-ordained relationships of authority and submission. Whether submitting to the elders of my church or the authorities who make our traffic laws or my own husband as he leads us on a new adventure, my frame of heart and mind must be wholly trusting God. I need a stability of soul born of meekness and a faith-filled heart that is free from bitterness.

Henry and Wilson fanned the flames of my happiness in day-to-day life as they helped me turn from sins of grasping, bitterness, and inward strife and replace them with simple gratitude, peace, and joy in Christ. I commend them to you. My happiness in complementarity was directly tied to my own sanctification and my willingness to bow my knee in submission to King Jesus, no matter what the world or anyone else thought.

To agree with God’s word that a wife ought to submit to her husband (Ephesians 5:22), or that woman is the glory of man and man is the glory of Christ (1 Corinthians 11:3), or that God himself ordains who is a man and who is a woman — these positions won’t earn you accolades or applause in many circles. But agreeing with God — even more, loving what God has said and done — will bring you peace and hope and joy, both now and in the age to come. Complementarian is a strange word, but that’s alright. Christians have often been strange to the world.