Living Ready for His Return
Text: 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18
Introduction:
Turn on the news or scroll through your feed, and it doesn’t take long to feel the weight of the world. Wars and rumors of wars. Natural disasters. Economic uncertainty. A culture increasingly confused about truth and morality. And tucked underneath all of it is a question many are too afraid to ask out loud: Where is all of this going?
For the early church, that question was front and center. These were believers who had turned from idols to follow Jesus. But now, some of them were dying. Others were facing persecution. And many were asking: What happens when a believer dies? Is Jesus really coming back? If so, what does that mean for us right now?
Paul writes to answer those very questions. But notice—he doesn’t write with speculation. He writes with certainty. Not about dates and timelines, but about the unshakable promise that Christ will return. That death is not the end. That grief, while real, does not have to be hopeless. And that we, as believers, are called to live ready for the return of our King.
So today, we look at one of the most hope-filled passages in all of Scripture. A passage that doesn’t just teach theology—it shapes how we grieve, how we wait, and how we live in a broken, restless world.
Scripture Reading: 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 (NIV)
13 Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death,so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. 14 For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. 15 According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first.17 After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. 18 Therefore encourage one another with these words. – 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 (NIV)
Context:
In the Greco-Roman world, the dominant worldview offered little hope beyond the grave. Tomb inscriptions often read, “I was not, I became, I am not, I care not.” Death was final. Grief was absolute. But the gospel introduced a radical new hope—that death had been defeated by Jesus Christ, and that eternal life was real.
The Thessalonians, however, were new believers. Many had come from pagan backgrounds. And while they believed in Jesus, they were still unsure about what happened after death. Had their deceased loved ones missed out on Christ’s return? Would they ever see them again?
Paul writes to clarify. And more than that—he writes to comfort. He calls them not to ignorance, not to fear, but to hope. A hope grounded in the death and resurrection of Christ, and anchored in the promise of His return.
Message:
1. Grieve with Hope, Not Despair
“We do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope.” — v.13
Let’s begin by saying what Paul doesn’t say. He doesn’t say, “Don’t grieve.” He doesn’t urge believers to suppress emotion, put on a smile, and act like everything’s fine. No—grief is not sin. It is not weakness. It is not a sign of unbelief. Grief is love in its rawest form. It’s the echo of deep connection. When someone we love dies, our hearts ache—and that ache is not only natural; it’s biblical.
Even Jesus—the Resurrection and the Life—stood at the tomb of His friend Lazarus and wept. He knew He was about to raise him from the dead, yet still He wept. Why? Because death is a thief. It was never part of God’s original design. It’s an intruder in the story of life, and Jesus felt the sting of it just like we do. His tears sanctify ours.
But here’s where our story begins to differ from the rest of the world. Paul says we do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. There’s the distinction. Not that we don’t grieve—but that we grieve with hope.
The world around us often views death as a period—the end of the sentence. But Scripture reveals it as a comma. A pause. A passage. For those who are in Christ, death is not a prison—it’s a portal. The grave is not a conclusion—it’s a transition. Behind it is the eternal presence of God, where every tear is wiped away, and joy becomes unending.
The hope of the believer is not wishful thinking. It’s not a coping mechanism. It’s not a sentimental comfort we whisper to ourselves to get through funerals. It is rooted in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Because Christ was raised, we too will be raised. That is not abstract theology—that is the foundation of our faith.
Paul will go on to say in this same chapter, “We believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him” (v.14). The phrase “fallen asleep” is intentional. For the Christian, death is not final. It’s sleep. And sleep, by its very nature, is temporary.
Think of it this way: When you stand at the graveside of a believer, you’re not saying goodbye forever—you’re saying, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
In 2018, Christian artist TobyMac faced the unimaginable loss of his 21-year-old son, Truett. The pain was raw and crushing. In a statement shortly afterward, he wrote these words: “God didn’t promise us a life without pain, but He promised He’d never leave us in it. And I’ve never needed that promise more than now.” That’s a testimony of hope in the midst of heartbreak.
In a later interview, he talked about how worship became both his anchor and his outlet. The songs he had sung for years suddenly became lifelines. The promises he had proclaimed to others now held him together. “God’s presence became more real in the valley than it ever had on the mountaintop,” he said. That’s what it means to grieve with hope—not denying the pain, but not surrendering to despair.
Hope doesn’t cancel out sorrow. But it does carry us through it. We may walk through the valley of the shadow of death—but we do not walk alone. And we do not walk in circles. We walk through. On the other side is resurrection. On the other side is reunion. On the other side is Jesus.
Application:
If you’re walking through grief today—through the loss of a parent, a child, a spouse, or even a dream—hear this: You are not without hope. You may feel broken. You may feel numb. You may feel like the pieces will never come back together. But because Jesus walked into the grave and walked out again, you are not walking into a dead end—you are walking through a doorway.
Hold on to that hope. Speak it. Sing it. Share it. Let it shape how you process your pain. Let it change how you comfort others. And when the tears come, don’t be ashamed of them. Let them fall—but let them fall in the light of the resurrection.
We do not grieve like those who have no hope—because our hope has a name. His name is Jesus. And He has conquered the grave.
That leads us to the next truth—our confidence doesn’t just rest in what has happened. It rests in what will happen…
2. Trust the Promise of Christ’s Return
“For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first.” — v. 16
If there was ever a truth that sustained the early church in times of persecution, hardship, and death—it was this: Jesus is coming again. That wasn’t a fringe belief. It was central to their faith. They clung to it. They prayed it. They lived by it. And Paul doesn’t offer it here as a vague hope or poetic idea. He states it with bold certainty: The Lord Himself will come down from heaven.
Notice the emphasis—the Lord Himself. Not an angelic courier. Not a celestial representative. Not a symbolic manifestation. Jesus—the crucified, risen, glorified Savior—will personally return. The same Jesus who walked the shores of Galilee… who was betrayed and crucified… who rose from the grave and ascended into heaven… that same Jesus will descend again, in glory.
And He won’t come silently. He won’t slip in through the back door of history. Paul tells us His return will be marked by a loud command, the voice of the archangel, and the trumpet call of God. This is not a secret rapture—it’s a royal procession.
The trumpet is a powerful symbol throughout Scripture. In the Old Testament, trumpets were used to call the people to battle, to announce the arrival of a king, or to summon the congregation to worship. In Exodus, a trumpet blast signaled God’s presence descending on Mount Sinai. In Joshua, the trumpet sounded as the walls of Jericho fell. And now, in 1 Thessalonians 4, the trumpet will announce the greatest act of divine deliverance the world has ever seen: the return of Christ and the resurrection of the dead.
“And the dead in Christ will rise first.” Think about that. Those who have died with their faith in Jesus—our loved ones, our spiritual heroes, those who endured hardship and finished their race—they will be the first to rise. Not one of them will miss the moment. They will rise—not as spirits floating in some ethereal dream—but in resurrection bodies, just as Christ was raised. Whole. Redeemed. Glorified.
Then—Paul says—we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them… That means no one is left behind. The living and the dead are united in a single moment of eternal transformation. And we will meet the Lord in the air—not to stay there—but to accompany Him in triumph.
Can you imagine it? Imagine standing at the graveside of someone you love—grieving, remembering, weeping—and then suddenly hearing the trumpet. Imagine the sky splitting open, light cascading down, and the King of Kings descending in majesty. Imagine the dead being raised—not in fear, but in glory. That is not fantasy. That is our future. This is the great reversal. The day when graves lose their grip, and every tear is wiped away.
And just in case that sounds too good to be true, remember what Jesus Himself said in John 14:3: “I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” That’s a promise—not a parable. Not a metaphor. A promise from the lips of our Lord.
Application: So how are you living today? Are you living like that promise is real? Are you living like Jesus could return before the sun sets? Because He could. This isn’t meant to stir fear—it’s meant to ignite faith. When Paul wrote these words, he wasn’t trying to frighten the church. He was trying to anchor them. To remind them that no matter how hard life gets, no matter how deep the grief, or how long the wait—Christ is coming.
Let that truth shape your decisions. Let it purify your heart. Let it awaken urgency in your prayers, humility in your repentance, boldness in your witness. Let it reorder your priorities. If we truly believe that Jesus could return today, what would change? Would we be more forgiving? More intentional? More generous? More focused on eternity?
Theologian A.W. Tozer once said, “The return of Christ is the blazing hope of the church. It is the promise that will keep us watching, working, and waiting with joy.”
And here’s the thing—this hope isn’t meant to be private. It’s not just for personal comfort. It’s for proclamation. We don’t just cling to the hope of Christ’s return—we carry it into the world. We live it, speak it, and model it—because the world is desperate for a hope that outlasts the grave.
3. Encourage One Another with Eternal Hope
“Therefore encourage one another with these words.” — v.18
Paul doesn’t end this section with a theological footnote—he ends with a pastoral charge. He says, in light of all we’ve just heard about Christ’s return, the resurrection of the dead, and the promise of eternal reunion—“encourage one another with these words.”
Don’t just hold onto this hope quietly. Don’t hide it inside your heart like a secret. Speak it. Share it. Say it out loud.Why? Because we’re not meant to walk through sorrow or struggle in silence. Because this kind of hope isn’t just personal—it’s communal. And sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for someone isn’t to solve their problem—it’s to remind them of their future.
Let’s be honest: we live in a weary world. A world where people are exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, spiritually. People you know and love are walking through real valleys—disappointment, disease, depression, financial strain, fractured relationships. And it’s easy, in those moments, for eternity to feel distant. Like it’s a doctrine for the end of life, not something for this moment.
But Paul says—No. Bring it close. Bring it to the living room. Bring it to the hospital room. Bring it to the funeral. Bring it into the broken places and the uncertain seasons of life. Encourage one another with these words.
This isn’t sentimental comfort. This is theological courage. This is a truth so weighty that it can lift someone’s head who’s bowed down. It can put strength in the bones of someone who’s ready to quit. It can shine light into the eyes of someone whose vision has grown dim with sorrow.
This is how we talk to one another as believers. Not with clichés. Not with shallow optimism. But with eternal truth.
Picture it again. Imagine standing at the grave of someone you love—someone whose absence is so heavy you can hardly speak. And there you are, in the stillness, with nothing but memories and tears. But then—imagine the stillness is broken. A trumpet sounds. The sky splits wide open. The clouds roll back like curtains. And Jesus—the risen, glorified, reigning King—descends.
In that moment, everything changes.
The ground trembles—not in fear, but in glory. Bodies rise from graves. Tears are dried. Hearts are made whole. And you see that familiar face again—not in a dream, not in a memory, but standing before you, alive, radiant, resurrected. You reach for them, and they reach for you. And together, you rise to meet the Lord. Not for a moment—but forever.
That is not fantasy. That is not a religious crutch. That is the living hope purchased by the blood of Jesus Christ. It is the truth that allows us to say, with all confidence,
“Death has been swallowed up in victory” (1 Cor. 15:54).
And Paul says: Encourage one another with these words. In other words—don’t let people forget it. Don’t let sorrow drown it out. Don’t let time dull its brilliance. Speak it. Sing it. Pray it. Preach it. Remind one another: this life is not the end of the story.
Application: So let me ask you—who do you need to encourage this week? Who in your circle is walking through the fog of loss, fear, or disappointment? Who needs you to come alongside and speak hope—not shallow words, but solid promises?
Maybe it’s someone who just buried a loved one. Maybe it’s someone who’s weary from the weight of unanswered prayers. Maybe it’s someone going through a divorce or battling depression. Or maybe… it’s you.
Whoever it is, don’t stay silent. Say the name of Jesus. Share the truth of His return. Remind one another: The King is coming. This broken world is not the end. There’s a day coming when every wound will be healed, every wrong will be made right, and everything sad will come untrue.
And until that day—keep encouraging. Keep lifting each other’s eyes. Keep anchoring each other in eternal hope.
Conclusion:
So how do we live ready for His return?
- We grieve—but we grieve with hope.
- We trust—not in our strength, but in His promise.
- We encourage—not with shallow words, but with eternal truth.
This is not escapism—it’s expectancy. We don’t bury our heads in the sand. We lift our eyes to the sky, watching and waiting—not with fear, but with faith.
Jesus said, “Surely I am coming soon.” (Revelation 22:20)
And the church echoes back: “Even so, come, Lord Jesus.”
Until that day, live ready. Live holy. Live hopeful.
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, thank You for the hope we have in You. Thank You that death is not the end, and that Your return is not a threat, but a promise. Help us live ready. Help us encourage one another. Help us hold fast to what is true when the world around us feels uncertain. We long for the day when every tear is wiped away and every grave is emptied. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Amen.