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In my youth, I was discipled into many good and critically important values: firm belief in the authority and inerrancy of God’s Word, a real love for the local church, and regular challenges to walk in godly character. I was far from perfect in any of these—thank you, Jesus, for your grace—but I was well led. I thank God for that. I was less well led when it came to eschatology. I was basically taught to live “ready” (which is a good thing), because the literal secret rapture could occur at any moment, and if I wasn’t right with God, I’d be “left behind.” Meaning, of course, left behind on earth while God poured out his global seals, trumpets, winds, and bowls of destruction on the apostates until they repented or died. The true Church would, of course, be spared from destruction (via rapture) because God never lets bad things happen to good Christians. Except for good Christians like Jesus, Job, Paul, Peter, James, John the Baptist, John the Beloved, Stephen, Silas, Epaphroditus, Timothy, Trophimus, Aquila & Priscilla, the church in Smyrna, the Thessalonians, Antipas of Pergamum, Jason of Thessalonica, Sosthenes in Corinth, Aristarchus, Epaphras, Onesiphorus, and the general church in Jerusalem up until the Second Temple was destroyed in the Jewish War in AD 70. My point is: just like Charlie Kirk was killed for preaching Jesus, Christians (Christ foremost) are not promised the absence of trials, tribulations, imprisonment, and even death. The enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy (John 10:10). Back on point—the “good news” of Jesus Christ in this world, as I was taught, was going to culminate with world-ending cataclysm in Revelation. The future was “bright,” not because of good things, but because it was all on fire: blood up to our waists, 100-pound hailstones flying through the air, a third of the earth, trees, and grass burned, the oceans turned to blood, mountains falling into the sea, rivers undrinkable, stars falling from the sky. You know—things to look forward to. Most American evangelicals default to exactly what I’ve just described. They believe this perspective, which is technically called “premillennial dispensationalism.” In short, this view teaches that the events described in John’s Revelation of Jesus Christ are future and literal. They are truly horrible cataclysms of destruction on a global scale. There’s no “good news” about it—except that Jesus will step in around Revelation 19. Right before the end, after over half the world burns, the waters turn to blood, and the hordes of hell are released on the earth, Jesus will return to an utterly ruined planet and win. Yay. Now that’s what I call good news—sarcasm intended. But that perspective—premillennial dispensationalism—is ALL wrong outside of the following two truths: 1) Jesus comes back, and 2) Jesus wins. That much they get right. What Jesus returns to is what they get horribly wrong. No, the world is not going to burn, nor are the stars literally going to fall out of the sky. The futurists are Christians, they are brothers and sisters in Christ, but their hermeneutical canoe has capsized crossing the river of differences between the text and today. I’m going to teach you a new term: decreation language. Decreation language in the Bible refers to the symbolic reversal of creation order, where God’s judgment is described as an undoing of the world He made. Drawing on the imagery of Genesis 1, decreation passages often portray light turning to darkness, the heavens shaking, the seas overwhelming the land, or the stars falling from the sky. This language does not necessarily describe a literal collapse of the cosmos but serves as a powerful metaphor for divine judgment. It signals that when nations or peoples rebel against God, it is as though creation itself unravels back into chaos. We see this in events such as the flood of Genesis 6–9, where the waters above and below once again covered the earth. That literally happened in the flood, but decreation imagery can also be purely symbolic in prophetic oracles, like Isaiah 13 and Ezekiel 32, where the downfall of empires is pictured as cosmic collapse. For example, in Isaiah 13:10 we read: “For the stars of the heavens and their constellations will not give their light; the sun will be dark at its rising, and the moon will not shed its light.” That didn’t happen literally, but it did happen symbolically. The stars, moon, and sky “de-creating,” so to speak, means the powers that be were about to change. God was the agent of that change. In Isaiah’s case, the prophet was warning that Babylon itself would be judged, and God accomplished this historically through Cyrus the Great of the Persian Empire. As far as Babylon was concerned, God “turned the lights out” on their reign. The sun set on the Babylonian Empire. A new star was in the sky far above Nabonidus and Belshazzar, and it was Cyrus. Likewise, in Ezekiel 32:6–7 we read: “I will drench the land even to the mountains with your flowing blood, and the ravines will be full of you. When I blot you out, I will cover the heavens and make their stars dark; I will cover the sun with a cloud, and the moon shall not give its light.” The land didn’t literally turn red, blood didn’t rise to the mountains, and the stars didn’t vanish. Yet this ominous decreation language was telling the hearers that Babylon was going to wreck Egypt—a tempting ally for Judah—so they might as well hold a funeral service for that nation (Ezekiel 32:1–2). Egypt was devastated by Babylon, but the literal stars still gave their light and God was still glorified. Revelation continues this decreation pattern with trumpets and bowls depicting seas turned to blood, stars falling, and the sun darkened. Theologically, decreation language emphasizes that sin leads to un-creation, that rebellion against God’s order brings disorder and chaos, and that God is not only Creator but also Judge. Importantly, decreation is never the final word—after judgment comes renewal, as the hope of new creation (Isaiah 65:17; Revelation 21:1) follows the imagery of decreation. The renewal of creation is a big theme in the Bible. The pattern of creation–decreation–new creation is woven throughout Scripture, showing that God’s purposes do not end with chaos. Instead, He tears down what is corrupted in order to bring about something better—ultimately fulfilled in the promise of a new heaven and a new earth where creation will never again be undone. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17 ESV) I’m in Christ and I’m a new creation. The old has passed away, but I’m still here, made new by God’s grace and Holy Spirit. The old godlessness of my flesh has passed away, but here I stand: a physical being, newly created. Outwardly, I may look the same, but I am changed. “For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth, and the former things shall not be remembered or come into mind.” (Isaiah 65:17 ESV) “New heavens and new earth” doesn’t mean different heavens and different earth. For instance, the current heavens and earth (call them “Heavens A” and “Earth A”) don’t have to be replaced by entirely separate versions (“Heavens B” and “Earth B”). They can be the same heavens and earth renewed, rather than swapped out. In the same way, you are still you—but you are a renewed you. Scripture reminds us:
No, I don’t believe God teaches in His Word that the world is going to burn. It will be renewed. The earth is upheld by God and destined for renewal, not obliteration. When you read every biblical genre literally and as though it’s about you, it leads to a legion of errors. |
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