In Kenny Chesney’s song, “Don’t Blink,” a 102-year-old man tells a reporter, “Trust me, friend, 100 years goes faster than you think.” I don’t know about 100 years, but I do know about 50. This year, I went to my 50-year high school reunion. I have no idea where half a century went.
This was the first reunion I had ever attended, and it was an interesting experience. There were 130 in our graduating class, and 51 of us were there. The last time I saw these people, they were eighteen years old. I had gone to school with them and played on sports teams with them. If I had seen any one of them in a restaurant, I would not have recognized them. I am sure they felt the same way about me. We all had to introduce ourselves and wear nametags so people would know who we were.
We were all old. Some spoke of cancer diagnoses and how they had retired because of disabilities. Some were walking with noticeable limps. It was quite a change from the way I remembered them.
A table that was set up reminded us most clearly of how different things were. There were thirty-five 5×7 pictures taken from our yearbook. They showed the members of our class who had died. They included my best friend, who used to take my mother to work on his motorcycle. Another picture was of a member of my high school basketball team. He was the best player on the team and the best athlete in our class. There were a couple of girls I’d had a crush on half a century earlier. All of them looked so young—just as I remembered them.
During the reunion, there was a slideshow that played on a loop. There were hundreds of pictures of us as high school seniors. All fifty-one of us saw what we looked like back then. We saw ourselves at the prom, on athletic teams, in goofy poses, at graduation, and in many other situations teenagers might find themselves in.
What a contrast between what we saw on the slideshow, what we saw on the table with the thirty-five photos, and what we saw as we walked around. The slideshow was a display of youthful vigor, potential, and life. Back then, our lives were in ahead of us, with exciting possibilities.
The table of photos displayed death. Over twenty-five percent of our class was no longer with us. And as we got reacquainted, it was obvious that we were no longer models of life and health.
When the pictures were taken fifty years ago, we couldn’t see it. But we could see it now—on the table of photos and in our conversations. We were dying.
In Rom 8:22, Paul writes, “For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now.” In the wider context, he is talking about what was obvious at my reunion. Death is the ever-present tyrant in our world. When we are young, it is easy to ignore him, but as we get older, or even step back and look around us, he is easy to spot.
Paul, of course, uses personification. Our world is not literally groaning as a person does, but it is subject to death. If it were human, it would long to be released from this tyranny. It would long to give birth to a world in which death no longer exists.
That day is coming. Christ defeated death by dying and rising from the grave. His kingdom will be one in which death will be no more. Death will be done away with. The curse of death will no longer exist. Death will be totally defeated (Rev 20:14; 22:3; 1 Cor 15:54). Everyone who has believed in Him for eternal life will live on a new earth that is no longer groaning and longing to be released from such a terrible enemy.
Someone may get the impression that my reunion was depressing. It was not. It was great to see everybody again after all those years. It reminded me that not everything is well with the world we live in. But the King is coming to make everything perfect. Even so, come, Lord Jesus! (Rev 22:20).
