Topic: When Will This Be?

Lectionary: Luke21:5-19

Speaker: Professor Kwan Shui Man Simon

Venus: Chung Chi College Chapel Sunday Service, The Chinese University of Hong Kong

Date: 16 November 2025

Introduction: When the Temple We Rely Upon Crumbles

Grace to you in the Lord, brothers and sisters.

I am truly grateful to be worshipping with you today in this beautiful, dignified, and historically resonant chapel. The Chung Chi Chapel where we stand has stood here for more than half a century, quietly carrying the prayers, hymns, weddings, and funeral services of generation after generation. It stands like a solid temple, a landmark for our souls, a spiritual symbol of this university.

I imagine that two thousand years ago, when Jesus's disciples walked through Jerusalem, their hearts were likely much like ours at this moment. Luke 21:5 records: "When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God." They gazed upon that magnificent, resplendent temple, their hearts overflowing with religious reverence. This temple was the center of Jewish faith, a sign of God's presence, an eternal and unchanging symbol in their eyes. They believed that as long as the temple stood, God's covenant remained, and all was secure.

Yet, just as the disciples were marveling at its grandeur, Jesus spoke words that shattered the heavens: "As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down" (Luke 21:6).

Consider the shock of that moment. This was not merely an architectural prophecy; it was the proclamation of an era's end. It was saying that the very foundation of their faith, their identity itself, would turn to ash. Jesus's words directly assaulted the most stable, most essential bedrock upon which they had built their entire existence—their "temple."

Dear brothers and sisters, while today we may not have a physical temple to rely upon, each of us nonetheless carries in our lives various "temples" of different shapes and sizes—those things we take for granted, those stable foundations upon which we build our lives. Perhaps it is our healthy body, a secure career, a fulfilling relationship, our academic achievements, or even Hong Kong, the home we know so well. We habitually place our hope and security upon these "temples."

But Jesus's words, like the sound of the evening bell that echoes through morning, transcend two thousand years and still speak to us today. He reminds us that all "temples" visible to our eyes, no matter how beautiful or solid they may seem, will one day crumble. So then, when the temples in our lives begin to shake, when what we depend upon loses its stability, when "not one stone is left upon another" in the chaos that visits us, how should we conduct ourselves? With fear? With despair? Or is there another possibility?

Today, I invite you to return with me to Luke's text, to listen to the core message of hope and mission that Jesus Christ gave to the disciples in the midst of chaos and apocalyptic prophecy—a message he gives to us as well.

(I) From End-Times Imagery to Historical Reality

When the disciples heard that the temple would be destroyed, their first instinct was naturally to ask: "Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?" (Luke 21:7). This is a profoundly human question. Facing an unknowable future, we always seek some certainty, some clue we can grasp, so that we might be prepared.

Jesus's response that follows is what we know as the "Little Apocalypse." Similar accounts appear in the parallel passages of Matthew and Mark. The text is filled with unsettling end-times imagery—wars, famines, earthquakes, celestial phenomena. For a long time, many readers of this passage have treated it as a code for deciphering the world's end, eagerly matching the signs in the text to international news, trying to calculate the precise moment of Christ's return.

However, when we carefully examine Luke's account and compare it with the parallel passage in Mark, we find that Luke's author seems deliberately to be guiding his readers to shift their focus from "guessing when the world will end" to "how to live out one's faith in the circumstances one faces."

First, scholars generally date Luke's gospel to after AD 70, after the destruction of Jerusalem by Roman armies. His readers—very likely a church composed primarily of Gentile Christians—had fresh memories of this devastating war. Luke directly points out that what Jesus prophesied was not some distant, mysterious disaster in the future, but rather a concrete historical event already unfolding before their very eyes. He seems to be telling his readers: The calamity you are experiencing is not because God has lost control; all of this was already contained within the Lord's prophecy.

Second, Luke records: "10 Then he said to them, ‘Nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom; 11 there will be great earthquakes and in various places famines and plagues, and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. 12 But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name.’" Luke wants to tell his church that the persecution and suffering they face is not the final great catastrophe before the end of the world; rather, it is the "daily reality" they confront every day and night right now. Suffering is not the future tense; it is the present continuous.

Luke's arrangement pulls the readers' eyes from the heavens back to earth, from the future back to the present. What he addresses is not an abstract theological problem about an end-times schedule, but rather an extremely urgent pastoral concern: When a person lives in unstable, anxious, and troubled times, how should they understand their circumstances? How should they continue to live?

(II) Turning Crisis into Opportunity: Suffering Becomes an Occasion for Witness

This leads us to the heart of this entire passage—verse 13. After foretelling all manner of hardship, Jesus does not say, "You must endure, because the reward in heaven will be great." He does not say, "You must flee quickly." He utters a sentence that overturns our normal logic: "This will give you an opportunity to testify" (Luke 21:13).

In Luke's writing, "testifying" or "bearing witness" is a central theme running through both the gospel and Acts. Witnessing is not merely proclaiming the gospel with one's mouth; it is living out one's faith with one's entire life. Jesus here presents a revolutionary perspective: Suffering is neither God's punishment nor a sign of God's absence. Rather, it is a unique "opportunity"—a setting in which the disciples' lives can become the most powerful "witness" to the gospel.

Brothers and sisters, what a tremendous paradigm shift this is! How do we normally view suffering? We see it as a trouble to avoid, a problem to solve, a burden to remove. We pray asking God to deliver us "from" suffering. But Jesus says that suffering itself can "become" an opportunity.

So how does it "become" one? Jesus then offers two promises and one command.

First comes the promise of wise speech. He says: "I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict" (Luke 21:15). He instructs the disciples not to "prepare your defense in advance." This is not calling us to laziness or abandonment of thought. This is calling us, at the most critical moment, to learn complete reliance. In Acts, we see Stephen, Peter, and Paul—all of them bearing witness to this promise when facing persecution.

Second comes the promise of ultimate preservation. Jesus says: "But not a hair of your head will perish" (Luke 21:18). This statement sounds deeply paradoxical. For just two verses earlier, He had just said: "You will be betrayed even by parents and siblings, by relatives and friends, and they will put some of you to death" (Luke 21:16). If they are going to be put to death, how can He say that not a hair of their head will perish?

Herein lies the wonder of the gospel. What Jesus promises is not the physical body remaining unharmed, but rather the ultimate safety of our whole being in God. The misfortunes of this world can at most kill our bodies, but they cannot touch the new life we have in Christ. Our true life, our eternal worth, is safely kept in God's hands. From an eternal perspective, nothing can separate us from God's love. This is a promise about "gaining one's soul," or life, in the deepest sense.

Upon these two promises, Jesus gives a command: "By your endurance you will gain your souls" (Luke 21:19). The Greek word translated as "endurance" is ὑπομονή (hypomonē), which does not refer to passive, resigned suffering, but rather to an active, proactive, upright perseverance. It depicts a soldier standing firm at their post on the battlefield. No matter how fierce the bombardment around them, they remain unmoved.

Therefore, Jesus's teaching is: When life descends into chaos, the disciples' mission is not to speculate about how things will end, but to "stand firm" in their respective positions. When human relationships break because of faith, when the world is filled with problems, when the future is filled with uncertainty, the Christian witness lies precisely in that steadfastness that is not easily shaken—this very "endurance." This endurance itself is the most powerful sermon. It silently proclaims: That which we trust in is greater than the storm before us.

(III) My Cervical Spine

Brothers and sisters, the biblical interpretation I have shared above may still sound somewhat distant. Though our world today truly does experience "nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom...great earthquakes...famines...plagues" (v. 10), those of us in Hong Kong are generally safe. And we sitting here quietly probably are not experiencing, as Luke's church did (v. 12)—"they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons...and you will be brought before kings and governors."

However, I would like to share with you a deeply personal experience that illustrates how this passage of scripture has become a real and shocking reminder in my own life.

My body has always had certain "old problems." For many years now, I have had issues with lumbar disc herniation. And discomfort in my cervical spine has intermittently troubled me, causing neck pain and stiffness. But over the years I have become accustomed to it, so I did not take it seriously.

Then, this March, my second elder sister—perhaps unable to bear seeing my condition any longer—offered to pay for an MRI scan and urged me to get an updated diagnosis. Unable to refuse her kindness, I went. And the result of the scan is this image I brought with me this morning.

This is a lateral view of my cervical spine. First of all, several of my cervical discs are herniated. But more critically, the cerebrospinal fluid in my spinal canal has largely drained away. One of the cerebrospinal fluid’s vital functions is to act as a natural cushion, constantly protecting our delicate spinal nerves from ordinary impact. Now, because that protective fluid is gone and the herniated discs are pressing inward, the image clearly shows that my spinal cord is being severely compressed.

Then, pointing at the image, the doctor spoke in an even, measured tone, yet every word carried immense weight: “Your spinal cord is now in a fragile and unprotected state. It’s as if a knife were hanging over your neck. Any accident—a sudden stop on a bus or an unexpected fall—if your neck takes an improper hit, could cause permanent damage to your spinal cord, resulting in paralysis of the lower body.”

The doctor, fearing I didn't understand, cited a recent example. He said: "To make it clearer for you, do you remember the dancer A-Mo who was critically injured at the Mirror’s concert?"

At that moment, I was completely shocked. This potential risk was something I had never anticipated. I had thought it was merely a normal degenerative problem—perhaps some pain and numbness at most. It never occurred to me that it would be connected to the word "paralysis." Although the doctor emphasized this is only a "potential risk"—meaning that if no accident occurs, my mobility would remain as normal as always—this "if" hangs like an invisible knife over my neck. To verify, I took over a hundred MRI images to several highly experienced physical therapists and medical doctor friends. They all confirmed with very serious attitudes the reality and severity of this risk.

Brothers and sisters, at that moment, I felt the "temple" I had so carefully constructed in my life suddenly shake violently. I should have retired last year. But for the sake of the Chung Chi School of Divinity that I serve, which was facing a difficult transition in its faculty, I applied for and received the university's approval for a two-year extension, retiring officially next year. I had already meticulously planned out a beautiful vision of retirement: to enjoy a "free and unfettered life," to travel, to have more time serving in the church, to pursue research I love. This "retirement temple" was my cherished vision of a beautiful future in recent years.

But this diagnosis ruthlessly carved a crack into this temple. A single small accident could transform all my plans for a "free and unfettered" life into a remaining lifetime spent in a wheelchair. My heart was filled with confusion: The healthy body I had relied upon turned out to be so fragile. The beautiful retirement life I had anticipated proved to be so easily destroyed.

It was during those days filled with anxiety, repeatedly absorbing this news, that I returned to the teaching in Luke 21. Verse 13—"This will give you an opportunity to testify"—these words, like a sharp light, pierced through the fog of my confusion.

I began asking myself: How can this fragile cervical spine of mine, this "second half" of life shrouded by risk, become an "opportunity to testify"?

In prayer and reflection, my heart gradually shifted. I took several steps. First, I spoke honestly with my family, preparing them mentally for my situation. This was not about spreading fear, but about learning a kind of honesty within trust.

Next, I began trying to use biblical teaching to restructure my response to this matter.

First, rather than asking "Teacher, when will this be? What will be the sign that this is about to take place?" I asked, "Teacher, having encountered this matter, what do you want me to do?"

Second, this is my bearing witness to trusting reliance. This teaching reminds me that I cannot use worry to control the future. In the past, perhaps I relied on my own plans and my healthy body. Through this fragile cervical spine, the Lord invites me to learn complete surrender. My witness is no longer about displaying a perfect "free and unfettered" retirement plan to people, but rather about showing that even amid uncontrollable risks, I can still rely on the Lord who holds all life in God’s hands, and live well each day. I have already shared this insights directly with brothers and sisters in various churches.

Third, this is my bearing witness to "true life." Jesus promised "not a hair of your head will perish," and commanded us to "gain [our] souls" through endurance. This paradoxical promise is especially real to me now. My physical life could be "damaged" at any moment by accident. But my true life, the eternal life I have in Christ, is something no accident in this world can take away. This crisis compels me to discern more deeply: What am I really pursuing—a "free and unfettered" physical life, or that spiritual wholeness in which I can stand firm in the Lord in all circumstances? My witness is to live out, in the midst of this tension, an ever-deeper longing for and certainty in "a life that is all in the Lord."

Finally, this is my bearing witness to perseverance (hypomonē). Perseverance is not passively waiting for calamity to strike, but actively and firmly standing firm in one's position. In the face of adversity, we are not defined by an uncertain future, but guided by calling and mission.

My cervical spine still has its problems. That knife hanging over my neck still exists. But I thank the Lord that through this tottering "temple," He has allowed me to glimpse the truest landscape of faith. Indeed, those temples in our lives that crumble can truly become the bedrock upon which we bear witness to God.

Conclusion: Standing Firm and Bearing Witness an a Crumbling World

Brothers and sisters, in our lives, how often do we suddenly realize that the “temple” within us is shaking violently? It could be academic pressure, a career bottleneck, a family crisis, a broken relationship, or perhaps, like me, a sudden warning signal from our body.

In such an age, the words of Jesus Christ have given us a way forward. This path is not about escaping reality, nor is it about resignation. This path is one of "standing firm," a path of "perseverance," a path of "witness."

Jesus has not promised us that the sky will forever be blue or that the fragrance of flowers will forever fill the air. But He has given us an even greater promise: In the midst of all chaos, He is with us; in all that befalls us, He will transform it into the most glorious witness of our lives.

So, dear brothers and sisters, what is the “temple” in your life that is now being shaken? What is causing you confusion or unease?

Let us together turn our gaze from the crumbling stones toward Christ, who has prophesied all this and holds all this in God’s hands. Let us no longer ask "when" or "what signs," but instead ask: "Lord, in this very moment, in these circumstances, how can I bear witness to You?"

Perhaps your witness is living gentleness and peace in an office filled with animosity.

Perhaps your witness is holding fast to honesty and humility amidst fierce academic competition.

Perhaps your witness is choosing forgiveness and reconciliation in the midst of family conflict and heartbreak.

Perhaps your witness is displaying that unshakable hope and perseverance that comes from the Lord in the midst of pain and anxiety about the future.

Each of our lives can become a sermon. Our perseverance in weakness, our trust in the midst of despair, will become the most powerful testimony in this crumbling world, telling humanity: There is a God whose love is stronger than death; whose kingdom shall never fall.

May we all, by the grace of the Lord, stand firm amidst our respective storms and live out this unique and singular witness.

Amen.