When we read Matthew 24:6-8, we must not allow ourselves to be afraid. The wars and rumors of wars that Jesus mentioned were all a part of the downfall of Jerusalem (not a modern event) because of Judah’s covenant crimes against her God.

Like a Woman in Labor
As Jesus and His disciples left the temple mount Tuesday afternoon, memories of what just occurred were still ricocheting in their minds. Early that morning, Jesus had cursed a fig tree as a dramatic parabolic display of what would soon happen to Jerusalem. Then, after a brief encounter with the Pharisees where they challenged His authority in the temple, Jesus delivered three scathing parables describing, with increasing clarity, the covenantal catastrophe that will soon befall Old Testament Judah.
The Jews, while listening to their national epitaph, received His parables with about as much grace as a decapitated rattlesnake, still opening and closing its mouth, able and willing at a moment to strike. It was at this point Jesus challenged their authority, humiliating them in front of all of Jerusalem. First, by answering their trap-like questions. Second, by posing questions they could not answer. And third, by declaring 7 Deuteronomic woes upon the city, that would soon feel the full weight of God’s awesome wrath for their crimes against the covenant.
As the disciples were walking away from the city and the temple they adored, they must have been hoping they misunderstood Jesus’ words about the temple. But after pointing to the temple complex looming over them, they were struck with the piercing finality of His linguistic precision and clarity. The temple before them would be destroyed. Brick by brick would be torn apart. The city would be burned. And God’s redemption of sinful humanity would transition away from priests, temples, sacrifices, and feasts of Israel to a new and final era centered on Jesus Christ, our only hope for salvation.
With such seismic shifts about to break upon the landscape of redemption, is it any wonder the disciples wanted to know three specific things from their master and Lord? They wanted to know, 1) When the temple would be destroyed? 2) What signs would occur showing them its destruction was drawing near? And 3) Would its destruction signal the end of the Jewish age?
Last week, we saw Jesus tackling their second question first, giving them a few signs that the end of Jerusalem was coming. Jesus told them it would be like a woman whose labor pains increase with intensity as the delivery draws near (Matthew 24:8). So, in the same way, the signs Jesus gave them would increase in intensity until the city was destroyed. Last week, we saw the first sign Jesus gave, which was the rise of increasingly volatile false messiahs who would lead the nation into greater and greater ruin and disaster climaxing in their delivery over to Rome. Today, we will see the second sign, which is the dawn of iterative wars and rumors of future wars. But first, let us briefly remind ourselves about signs.
Reminder About Signs
The disciples are asking Jesus a question and expecting a meaningful response. They are looking for things that they will be able to see with their own two eyes and understand with the minds God has given them. They want to know things that they can be on the lookout for and not information about the end of the world.
I mention this as a cautionary reminder. Because as we read the text, our orientation must not be that Jesus is speaking directly to us, although, I do grant that the text speaks to us and teaches us by the Holy Spirit. But in this case, we must remember that this is a conversation among first-century disciples and their Lord. Jesus is speaking directly to the disciples, answering their specific questions about the temple and Jerusalem, and giving them real answers that would be meaningful to them in their lifetime. He simply is not looking past them and using this opportunity, to opine about twenty-first-century wars, tribulations, and late great planet earth style raptures. If you can make the text say that, you can twist it and manipulate it to say anything.
Here is the text we are going to be looking at today:

You will be hearing of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not frightened, for those things must take place, but that is not yet the end. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and in various places, there will be famines and earthquakes. But all these things are merely the beginning of birth pangs.—Matthew 24:6-8

The Pax Romana
When Jesus says: “you will be hearing” He does not mean twenty-first century Christians who are eavesdropping on His conversation will hear about rumors of upcoming wars. He means “you”, as in the disciples who are looking Him in the eyes as He is speaking will hear these things. The disciples were going to be hearing of wars and rumors of war, which is more important than you may realize. Why?
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Bring your bruises to Jesus. He will not break you off and caste you aside. That little bit of flame that remains, the small glow that just burns in desperate defiance of the approaching night, he will not snuff it out. The breath he breaths on you is to fan that smouldering wick into flame again. The hands that hold you now are not to caste you aside, but to draw you near.

I am a reed, but not like others.
I suppose I should be. I grow by the quiet waters of a sheltered pond. In the late Summer evenings I watch the same dance of the Dragonfly as she gently kisses the smooth surface and momentarily shatters the mirrored sky. I grow beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient tree that drinks the same water I do. I grow among my brethren, other reeds who bow their heads each evening, only to lift them again to greet the rising sun, nodding with the warm breeze that carries the smell of earth and harvest. I don’t grow alone.
I am a reed, but not like the others.
Oh, it may appear I am the clone of those who gather round me; tall and straight I stretch toward the sky. The creatures of the wetland make their home around my feet, the birds of the air come to harvest from my crown, and like my brethren, one day the workers from the village will come and harvest us to weave into their art. We reeds have a noble calling. But I am not like the others.
I am wounded. The fibres of my being have faltered. Where others stand strong and secure, I feel the soft place within, the weakness that threatens to topple me. While others sway with the gentle evening breeze, I fear that their breeze will be my storm. Rather than sway, I bend, and I know that one day the bend will become a break.
I am bruised.
When the other reeds of the river are woven into tapestries of beauty, I will not be wound around my brothers, I will still be standing here, alone. Or worse, I will be hewn in half and thrown down; a bruised reed broken and left behind. I’m sure it is only a matter of time. Like the fire that burns the chaff away, when it has done its intended work the labourers of the field stamp out the smouldering remains. Or like the nightwatchman who blows out the candle before the smouldering wick stings his eyes with unwanted smoke, so my tall crown will be cast down to the mud in which I stand.
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We should try our best to understand what Ezekiel wrote, and to piece it together with other passages of Scripture that speak of what will happen in the future. Of course, we should always model humility as we try to understand Scripture, but we shouldn’t just shrug our shoulders and say we’ll figure things out one day in the distant future. Pan-millenials (“It will all pan out in the end”) are taking the easy way out. We can do better.

There was a time when people cared — really cared — about eschatology. They held conferences. They formed denominations. They created study Bibles. Thinking about eschatology — the doctrine of what happens in the end times — was a big deal.
No more. I hardly hear anyone talk about end times anymore. In some ways, that’s good. Sometimes we were a little too ready to fight over eschatology before. In other ways, it’s sad. I wonder if we really care as much as we should.
I’m struck by what Paul wrote in 2 Timothy 4:8: “Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing.”
That verse challenges me. Do I love his appearing? Our future with Jesus is meant to be one of the controlling influences in our lives. Do we even think about it, never mind long for it and love it?
If we had a bigger view of what’s to come, I suspect our lives today would be radically different.
I got thinking about this recently as I studied Ezekiel 43. Ezekiel has a vision of our future: God will recreate heaven and earth, and God will dwell with his people once again. Ezekiel’s vision is detailed, and it goes on for many chapters.
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