A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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When you open your Bible and land on Matthew chapter 24, you can almost feel the weight of the words before even reading them all. It’s one of those chapters where Jesus lays out big, heavy truths about the future, about the end times, about watchfulness, and the seriousness of what is coming. And to be honest, every time I read it, I get that same little shiver in my spine. Like standing outside before a storm, the air feels thick, you know thunder is coming, but you don’t know how close it is. That’s Matthew 24.
I’m not gonna lie, it’s not the easiest chapter to read. It’s not like the parables of the lost sheep or the sower where you go, “Oh I get that right away.” Nope, this one is layered with prophecy, warnings, signs, and things that Christians have argued about for centuries. Some folks see it as fulfilled in history (like the fall of Jerusalem in AD 70), while others see it pointing straight ahead to events not yet come, the great tribulation, and second coming of Christ. And then, well, some believe it’s both—kind of like a mountain range when you’re far away: you see all the peaks at once, but they’re spread across different distances.
Let’s go slowly, passage by passage, and I’ll throw in my reflections, some old church history stuff, and honestly just my own human thoughts as I wrestle with what this chapter means for everyday life.
The scene starts with Jesus leaving the temple. Now that detail is not small. He had been teaching and rebuking inside, especially giving those hard words to the Pharisees in chapter 23, calling them hypocrites, whitewashed tombs, blind guides. Heavy stuff. And now He walks out. Almost like a symbol—God’s presence leaving the temple.
The disciples are still in awe of the temple though. They point out the buildings, the size, the stones, the beauty. I can imagine them gesturing like tourists, “Look at that, Rabbi! Isn’t it something?” And Jesus just shakes their amazement with words that must have stung:
“Do you see all these things? Truly I tell you, not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down.”
Boom. That’s like telling someone admiring a skyscraper that tomorrow it’s all rubble. It must have sounded impossible. That temple was massive, a wonder of the ancient world, with stones so huge that even today we wonder how they moved them. But Jesus wasn’t exaggerating. About 40 years later, in 70 AD, the Romans destroyed Jerusalem and the temple. They burned it, tore it apart, and the stones were indeed thrown down. History records it, and archaeology confirms it.
This is one of those moments where you just pause and realize—Jesus’ words always, always come true. Even the ones that sound unlikely at first.
After leaving the temple, Jesus sits on the Mount of Olives, and the disciples come privately. They want the inside scoop. They ask Him:
“Tell us, when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”
Notice how they lump it all together. For them, destruction of the temple and the end of the age felt like the same thing. It’s hard to separate. And honestly, that’s part of the challenge reading this chapter. Some things Jesus says seem clearly tied to 70 AD, while others stretch into the final end times. It’s like a dual-lens prophecy, near and far fulfillment.
Jesus starts with a warning, not a timeline. That itself is interesting. He says:
“Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am the Messiah,’ and will deceive many.”
Before He talks about wars or earthquakes, He points to deception. That tells me something important—the spiritual danger is greater than the physical. A false Christ can ruin souls, not just cities.
And indeed, history after Jesus saw plenty of false messiahs. There were Jewish rebels claiming to be deliverers. In later centuries too, cult leaders and pretenders kept showing up. And even now… well, scroll the news, you’ll find plenty who claim special authority or hidden revelation, leading people astray.
I once met a man in my town who swore he had visions that proved he was chosen by God to lead a new movement. He had a small following, and they truly believed him. But his “teachings” twisted Scripture into something unrecognizable. It was sad to watch. Jesus already warned us about people like that.
Then He talks about wars, rumors of wars, nations rising against nation, famines, earthquakes. You can almost hear the disciples’ heartbeat rise—“is this the end?” But Jesus calms that:
“But the end is not yet… all these are the beginning of birth pains.”
Birth pains. That image is perfect. Painful, yes, but not the end—rather, the beginning of something being born. Wars and disasters are not signs that God lost control. They’re reminders that the world is groaning, like Paul later says in Romans 8.
If you’ve ever been around someone in labor, you know those contractions come in waves, sharper and closer as the birth nears. That’s what history feels like—cycles of conflict, suffering, disasters. And every generation asks, “Is this it? Is this the last contraction?” Maybe, maybe not. But it’s certainly pointing us forward.
Here comes the hard part. Jesus says His followers will be handed over, persecuted, hated by nations. Many will turn away, betray, hate each other. False prophets again. Love growing cold.
I find that phrase—the love of many will grow cold—chilling. Not just outside hatred, but inside hearts. When love dies, faithfulness follows. And I think we see some of that even in our day, don’t we? Churches splitting, believers growing weary, people trading love for self-protection.
But He also gives hope:
“The one who stands firm to the end will be saved.”
That’s not salvation by endurance, but salvation shown by endurance. True faith clings to Christ even through fire.
And then a big prophecy:
“This gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.”
You know, when Jesus said that, the disciples probably couldn’t even picture it. The whole world? Beyond Rome? Beyond the seas? But look now. The gospel is everywhere—radio, internet, translations, missionaries. We’re living in times closer to the fulfillment than ever. Yet there are still unreached peoples, so maybe the end waits until the last corner hears.
Here’s where prophecy gets heavy. Jesus refers to Daniel and says when you see “the abomination of desolation” standing in the holy place, then flee. For first-century Jews, this might’ve echoed back to Antiochus Epiphanes who desecrated the temple centuries earlier. For them, it would soon mean the Roman armies surrounding Jerusalem in AD 70. Luke’s version makes that clear.
He tells them to run, not fight. Don’t go back for your coat. Just get out. And indeed, history says Christians did flee Jerusalem before its destruction.
But there’s also a future flavor here. Many see in this a foreshadow of the Antichrist, the ultimate desecration before Christ’s return. That’s why studying Matthew 24 always feels like standing with one foot in history and one foot in prophecy.
Jesus warns again—don’t believe people who say “Here is the Christ” or “There He is.” His return won’t be secret or hidden. It’ll be like lightning flashing across the sky. Visible to all.
I’ve always loved that imagery. You don’t need someone whispering, “He’s in the desert” or “in the inner room.” When Jesus comes, no one will miss it. Like lightning cracking the sky at night, sudden and bright, impossible to ignore.
Now Jesus speaks of cosmic signs—sun darkened, moon not giving light, stars falling, heavenly bodies shaken. That’s end-of-the-age language. It’s not just politics or wars anymore—it’s the whole creation shaking.
And then the sign of the Son of Man appears, and He comes on the clouds with power and glory, angels gathering His elect. This is the climax. The second coming.
Sometimes when I read this, I try to picture the sound, the sight. The sky split open, trumpet blasts, angels moving like fire through the heavens. Honestly, I get chills. But it’s not fear—it’s longing. This is the moment history leans toward.
Jesus tells a parable. When the fig tree buds, you know summer is near. Likewise, when you see these things, know the end is near.
And then He says:
“This generation will not pass away until all these things have happened.”
This is one of the most debated verses. Some think “generation” meant the disciples’ own lifetime—pointing to the destruction of Jerusalem. Others think it means “this race” (Israel) will not pass away. Others see it as the generation alive when the final signs start unfolding.
Whatever the case, He assures: His words will never pass away, even if heaven and earth do. That’s the anchor.
Here Jesus clears any speculation:
“But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”
That should shut down date-setting once and for all. Yet, strangely, every few years someone still tries predicting the exact date of the end. But Jesus said no one knows. Not the smartest scholar, not even Himself in His earthly humility—only the Father.
He compares it to Noah’s days—people eating, drinking, marrying, until the flood came. Normal life. That’s scary in a way, because it means people will be caught off guard.
He says two men in a field, one taken, one left. Two women grinding, one taken, one left. That imagery is sobering. Separation. Urgency.
So the call is simple: Be ready. Be watchful. The Son of Man comes at an hour you don’t expect.
Jesus ends with a parable of a servant. The faithful one keeps watch and does his duty until the master returns. The wicked one says, “My master’s delayed,” and starts abusing others and living selfishly. But the master comes when he’s not expected, and judgment falls.
That’s the choice for us too—faithful or careless, watchful or distracted.
Matthew 24 is not meant to make us timeline experts. It’s meant to keep us awake. Alert. Humble. The point is not to know every detail of prophecy but to stay faithful until the end.
And honestly, the chapter reminds me of how fragile things are. I remember standing once in an old cathedral in Europe, massive stone pillars, stained glass glowing. And I thought—people probably once thought this would stand forever. But nothing on earth does. Not temples, not nations, not buildings. Only Christ’s word stands forever.
Now, friend, I could go on and on (and I kind of did). But if I had to wrap it with one sentence, I’d say this: Matthew 24 is less about predicting tomorrow and more about shaping how we live today—faithful, loving, ready.
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