Chuck Larsen

Sometimes the days seem to stretch on without end, yet the old saying still holds its ground: “everything must come to an end.” That truth applies not only to the events that fill our calendars but also to our lives themselves. My dad was not a Bible scholar, but he had a way of summarizing deep truth in a single line. He often said, “and this too shall come to pass.” History quietly agrees with him. Civilizations rise and fall with a regular rhythm that would almost be predictable if it were not so sobering. Egypt, Babylon, Persia, Greece, Rome, and many others have all taken their turn on the stage. Because our own lives unfold in such a short span within a single era, it is easy to think things will continue as they are. Yet history reminds us that what feels permanent often is not. Even the things we assume will last, like that box of leftovers in the refrigerator, have a way of proving otherwise.

Jeremiah gives us insight into why even great nations fall. The decline of Israel was not random or accidental. It was tied directly to its rebellion against the God who had formed and sustained it. From its early days in Egypt to its strength under Solomon, Israel experienced both blessing and collapse. Jeremiah 4:28 records the seriousness of that fall: “For this, the earth shall mourn, and the heavens above be dark; for I have spoken; I have purposed; I have not relented, nor will I turn back.” That is a sobering picture. In our daily lives, we may not be managing empires, but we still wrestle with the same tendencies. We drift, we forget, and we occasionally act as if we are in charge of outcomes that clearly belong to God. History, both ancient and personal, gently reminds us that our plans are not always as sturdy as we imagine. The rise and fall of nations mirrors the smaller patterns we see in our own lives.

The New Testament, especially through Luke’s writings, shows that history is not a random collection of events but the unfolding of God’s purpose. As James Montgomery Boice observed, Luke is not merely recording the story of the early church but revealing that history has a plan. Scripture says, “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son” (Galatians 4:4). History moves toward Christ and finds its meaning in Him. Jesus stands at the center, drawing people into a new fellowship and shaping lives for His glory. He also promises, “Behold, I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:5). The rise and fall of nations, the passing of days, and even our own brief lives are part of a larger story. As the saying goes, all history is His story. God has spoken, and He will not turn back. In Christ, what must come to pass leads not to uncertainty, but to a future shaped by His unchanging purpose.

God’s grace can be seen throughout the Old Testament, especially in the stories that speak of judgment. In each account, the central theme is not destruction but the way of escape. Noah found safety by believing God. Lot escaped by believing God. The Israelites in Egypt were spared through faith in God’s provision. Rahab, Abraham, and many others discovered that the path to life was the same: believe God. Even in the coming destruction of Jerusalem, Jeremiah did not simply announce doom; he proclaimed hope and called the people to trust the Lord. Jeremiah 4:27 captures this balance: “For thus says the LORD, ‘The whole land shall be a desolation; yet I will not make a full end.’” The story, in the end, is not centered on those who refused to believe but on those who did. God’s grace consistently shines through, even when the skies grow dark.

That pattern speaks directly into our daily lives, though perhaps in quieter ways. We may not be building arks or marking doorposts, but we still face moments that require trust. We often prefer visible guarantees, detailed plans, and perhaps a small preview of tomorrow just to feel comfortable. Instead, we are invited to trust God without seeing the full picture. History reminds us that God refused to let Noah perish in the flood, would not allow Lot to be consumed in Sodom, and protected those who placed the Passover blood over their doors. He spared Rahab in Jericho and extended hope again and again. Even Adam and Eve were given the promise of a coming deliverer. There has always been a ray of hope in the sky, though sometimes we squint to see it, especially on days when the clouds seem to have settled in for an extended stay. The consistency of God’s grace reminds us that He has never been careless with those who trust Him.

The New Testament reveals that this steady thread of hope finds its fulfillment in Jesus Christ. He declares, “I am the root and the offspring of David, the bright morning star” (Revelation 22:16). What was promised in shadows is made clear in Him. The warnings of judgment are no longer reasons for fear but reminders of God’s love and provision. Jesus assures His followers, “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me, and I give eternal life to them, and they shall never perish” (John 10:27-28). Scripture adds that “He is able to save forever those who draw near to God through Him” (Hebrews 7:25). Because He lives, “you shall live also” (John 14:19). In Christ, the way of escape is not a distant hope but a present reality, and even death itself becomes, as Paul wrote, “gain” (Philippians 1:21).

After the six days of creation in Genesis, God commissioned Adam and Eve to “be fruitful and fill the earth.” It was a world shaped by His voice, ordered out of chaos, and filled with goodness. Yet sin has a way of undoing what God has so carefully arranged. Rebellion does not build; it unravels. Jeremiah captures this reversal with sobering clarity as he describes Judah’s condition using the language of creation turned backward. What once had form becomes “without form and void.” What once teemed with life grows empty. In Jeremiah 4:25 he writes, “I looked, and behold, there was no man, and all the birds of the air had fled.” It is a haunting picture. The fruitful land has become barren, and the fullness of life has slipped away. It reminds us, perhaps uncomfortably, that when we drift from God’s design, things do not merely pause; they begin to come apart.

This pattern is not confined to ancient history. It quietly repeats itself in our own lives. We may not notice it at first. Life gets busy, priorities shift, and before long we find ourselves surrounded by a kind of inner clutter that we did not plan. We were meant to flourish, yet sometimes we feel a bit like a room that was cleaned last week but now seems to have been visited by a small tornado. Jeremiah’s words help us see that the issue is not simply external circumstances but the deeper condition of the heart. Without God, everything trends toward disorder. Yet Jeremiah does not leave us there. He speaks of a coming New Covenant, a time when the Spirit of God would once again move “over the face of the deep.” Lloyd-Jones described this as a “breath of hope,” like a traveler in a desert suddenly seeing an oasis. Scripture echoes this promise: “The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light” (Matthew 4:16). Even in our confusion, there remains the quiet possibility of renewal.

That promise finds its fulfillment in Jesus Christ. Jeremiah pointed forward to a covenant that would restore what sin had undone, and Jesus declared its arrival. At the last supper, He took the cup and spoke of “the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:20). Through Him, order is brought back into chaos, and life is breathed into what once felt empty. The New Testament reminds us, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17). The same God who formed the world now works within hearts, restoring what was lost. In Christ, hope is not an illusion but a present reality. Even as we walk through the valleys of life, we carry the promise that God’s purposes are not abandoned. As Jesus said, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10).