Don’t you love those occasions when you’re reading multiple things at the same time and they all coalesce? That’s what happened to me this week, as I was reading the Gospel of Mark and meditating on the Lord’s prayer.

Let’s start with Mark 13:30. Jesus is telling His disciples about the End of the Ages, concluding with “Amen, I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place.” Now, given that we view this section in light of the Revelation of John and THE end of the world, we tend to read it and scratch our heads and say, “He must have meant something different with ‘generation’ than we do.”

But read on. Verses 32-37 say this:

³² “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. ³³ Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. ³⁴ It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. ³⁵ Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, ³⁶ or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. ³⁷ And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

Then read on a little more, into chapter 14. After the Passover meal, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John to the garden to pray. You know the story. What happens?

Jesus is praying, “Father, if it’s possible, let this cup pass from me. Yet not my will but yours be done.”

And what are the disciples doing? Sleeping.

I just blogged a couple weeks ago about the miracles that sometimes happen while we’re sleeping, and of course this passage was one I was thinking of. But let’s look at it from a different angle this time, in light of that warning from a mere chapter earlier.

“Keep awake,” Jesus had said in chapter 13, talking about the “end” and the coming of God’s kingdom.

“Keep awake,” Jesus tells them a couple days later in the garden, as He’s praying about his own death.

“Your kingdom come, your will be done,” He taught us to pray.

“Your will be done,” He prays that night in the garden.

Because He knew that this was the coming of God’s kingdom. This was the end of the old world, the old covenant, the old way. And surely that generation did not pass away before they saw it come—the New Kingdom. The New Testament. The New Covenant.

The new creation.

My friends, we’ve probably all heard it said that we’re living in the last days—it’s been said since Jesus’ days, and for good reason. Because He ushered in those last days when He offered Himself up for us on the cross.

But there’s another way of looking at it too. We’re not living in and looking to the end of the world—we’re living in the new one.

Do you know why Christians have worshipped on Sunday since the first days of the Church? Because Jesus fulfilled the Sabbath, fulfilled the old creation when He was killed on Friday and rested on Saturday. Then He did something amazing on the first day of the week—He rose from the dead. He created something new, a new world, a new generation, a new life. A life that has no end. Ancient texts sometimes refer to Sundays as “the Sabbath’s Sabbath.” The Eighth Day. Early Christians didn’t just view it as “the first day” anymore, they viewed it as the day that the old world was completely recreated. And since this new world, this new Kingdom—the Kingdom of God—will have no end, they couldn’t commemorate it on the last day, so they did so on the first.

On the Sabbath, they remembered the old with sobriety and solemnity. On the Eighth Day, they worshipped their risen Savior with joy and jubilation, praising Him for making us ALL a new creation.

I pray the Lord’s Prayer every day, several times. And as I mediate upon the phrase, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” I couldn’t help but view those words in this context this week. When we pray that prayer, we’re praying that the Lord will help us continue that work that Christ already did—continue the work of the cross. Continue the Kingdom He already brought to fruition, continue it through the price He paid with His blood.

Because the will of God is not achieved by twiddling our thumbs. It’s achieved by vigilant prayer—prayer to the point of sweating blood. It’s achieved by sacrifice. It’s achieved by loving others more than we love ourselves, by loving God most of all. And when we love like that, we act like that.

We act like Christ. We give our all for this Kingdom. Knowing that the will of God will make this new creation good.

I’ve been a C.S. Lewis fan for decades. I, like most kids, started out reading The Chronicles of Narnia, and when I reread the books to my own kids a couple years ago, I realized how much of my faith life was formed by those books–especially by The Last Battle. In some ways, the final book in the series is odd and different from the others…but it’s the one whose theology messages stuck with me through thirty years of growth and discovery.

Several times in that book, one or another of the characters points out that Aslan “is not a tame lion.” Keeping in mind that Aslan is the Christ figure, really let that sink in. Jesus is not tame. Jesus is not civilized. Jesus is not cultured. Jesus is not predictable.

My husband recently read On Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterston, an author that Lewis read and admired, and we could see Chesterton’s influence in those beloved passages from The Last Battle. Chesterton points out that Jesus is not a safe God to follow–He’s dangerous. He isn’t full of pretty philosophy–He’s full of violent contradictions.

The Man who overturns tables in the temple and then draws a child onto His lap. The One who instructs His followers to strap a sword to their side, but tells them to turn the other cheek. The Eternal One who chose to take on flesh and let himself be killed. Killed. Think about that for a second–an eternal being, suffering a very human death.

As my husband chatted through the Chesterton book with his friends in their book club, they dwelled a good bit on the kind of faith this sort of untamed God demands of us. The answer is pretty obvious, is a way: an untamed faith.

But what does that mean?

It means that we don’t just accept these seeming contradictions in Jesus, we embrace them. It means we don’t just say that He’s the God of the impossible, we prepare ourselves to live the impossible. It means we don’t just come expecting that the Spirit will move, we come KNOWING that Jesus is there with us.

It means embracing the hard-to-believe. It means clinging to the illogical. It means walking out the incredible.

So many teachings of Christ, many of which we learn to recite without really pondering the depths, are hard. They don’t make sense. The “bread of life” discourse in John 6 is a perfect example. Jesus told the crowds they would have to eat his flesh and drink his blood–and they FREAKED OUT. Said, “You’re speaking symbolically, right? RIGHT?” But He was very clear. So clear that most of His followers left Him.

It was too hard. Too illogical.

In the early church, heretic after heretic had to be rooted out and dismissed, because they were trying to make Jesus fit their human understanding. He couldn’t have been both fully God and fully man–it makes no sense! He must have not really been physical…or, if physical, not really God…

Nope. That doesn’t fly either.

Faith in Christ–true faith, the kind He will recognize–is crazy. It’s wild. It’s nonsensical. Illogical. It’s dangerous. It’s fantastical. It is completely untamed and untamable.

And that’s the point. Lions are not tame. The one that lies down with the lamb–it’s a wild, dangerous beast. The God who fashioned the universe cannot be put into our human boxes of understanding. He will break free, burst through, tear those walls to pieces.

There are those who do not believe miracles happen after the age of the disciples–but when, then, did God become tame? How is that not changing His nature, to claim it?

Most Christians I know say miracles do happen, of course…but many times we name small things, everyday things. I always shook my head at that, but you know what?

A miracle that happens every day is even more amazing than a once-in-history kind, isn’t it? What’s more amazing–that God parted the Red Sea once, or that He dwelled with the Israelites in fire and cloud and provided daily manna for forty years? That Jesus died once and rose from the dead, or that He promised to be present in the bread and wine every time we partake of it?

He is a wild, unpredictable, huge, dependable, consistent God. All those things, even when they contradict. He is a God that calls us to believe what we don’t know how to believe. To walk when we cannot see. To cling to the hand we cannot touch. And to do it, knowing He will always be there with us.

What can we do but cry out like the father in the Gospels, “Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief!”