This pastor's blog post draws directly from ParisKY Nazarene's sermon “The Best Is Yet To Come” so you can keep engaging with the message all week. Read, reflect, and share it with your small group or friends.
Keep Your Fork: The Best Is Yet to Come
Meta Description: When the world feels chaotic and hopeless, Scripture points us forward—not backward. Discover why the best is truly yet to come.
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Featured Image: A single fork resting on an open Bible, soft natural light, warm tones — simple, symbolic, and visually striking for both web and mobile.
I want to tell you about a woman who was buried holding a fork.
At her funeral, everyone who passed her casket noticed something unusual. She was wearing her favorite dress, holding her Bible in her left hand — and clasped tightly in her right hand was an ordinary kitchen fork. People kept whispering the same question: Why is she holding a fork?
The pastor finally explained. Before she passed, she had told him that at every church potluck and social dinner she'd ever attended, her favorite moment came when someone leaned over after the main course and said, "Keep your fork." She loved those words because she knew what they meant — something better was coming. Dessert was on its way.
"I want people to see that fork," she told him, "and I want you to tell them: keep your fork. The best is yet to come."
That's a beautiful story. But let's be honest — when we look at the world around us right now, it doesn't always feel that way.
When the World Sounds Like a Chaotic Warm-Up
The brokenness, the loneliness, the floods and earthquakes and cultural confusion — it can feel less like anticipation and more like the table has been cleared and we've been left behind to clean up the mess. Many of us are tempted to look backward with nostalgia, longing for "the good old days," because we can't begin to imagine what tomorrow looks like.
But here's the image I keep coming back to: think about an orchestra before a concert begins. Every musician is doing their own thing — the violins screeching, the trumpets blasting, the drums thumping with no connection to anything else. It's a wall of noise. It hurts your ears.
Then the first oboe player stands up and plays a single note — usually an A. And something remarkable happens. One by one, every instrument stops making its own noise and turns toward that one perfect sound. The violins adjust. The brass players rearrange. Within moments, the entire room falls into beautiful, harmonious alignment.
Right now, our world sounds like that chaotic warm-up. But the final two articles of faith of the Church of the Nazarene remind us that a single perfect note has already been struck. Jesus's return is that perfect frequency. We don't have to panic at the noise today, because we know the Conductor is about to step up to the podium.
What Paul Said to a Grieving Church
This past Sunday, we wrapped up our four-part series, Here's What We Believe, by looking at Articles 15 and 16 — the Second Coming of Christ, and the resurrection, judgment, and destiny of all people.
To understand why these truths matter so much, imagine a tiny house church in ancient Thessalonica around 50 AD. These were brand-new Christians who believed Jesus was returning soon — but some of their loved ones had already died. They were drowning in grief, wondering if their family members had somehow missed out on the kingdom forever.
Paul wrote to them directly. In 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18, he said:
"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. 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... 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. 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. Therefore encourage one another with these words."
Notice what Paul didn't say. He didn't say they were annihilated or finished. He said they sleep. When you put a child to sleep, you don't cry thinking it's the end. You know they're going to wake up in the morning. Paul was completely reframing how we think about cemeteries and graves. They are not final landfills. They are dressing rooms for eternity.
The Royal Arrival We've Been Waiting For
Here's something that changed everything for me when I studied this passage more closely. That phrase "the coming of the Lord" — in the original Greek, the word is parousia. To our ears, it just sounds like "arrival." But to a first-century Roman citizen, a parousia was a highly specific royal event.
When a king was coming to visit a city, heralds would go out months in advance to announce it. Citizens would immediately begin cleaning the streets, repairing the walls, and preparing a great banquet. And when the king finally appeared on the horizon, the people didn't lock themselves inside the gates — they marched out to meet him on the road, welcomed him, and escorted him back into the city in a triumphant, joyful parade.
That's exactly what Paul is describing. When Jesus returns, the church rises to meet him in the air — not to float away forever, but to welcome our arriving King and escort him back to earth to establish his kingdom here. We are not waiting for an escape hatch from a ruined world. We are waiting for our King to arrive so he can step onto the soil and fix everything.
Our Bodies Are Getting an Upgrade
Article 16 also addresses something many Christians misunderstand: the resurrection of the dead. A lot of people picture eternity as becoming a ghostly, disembodied spirit floating through the clouds. That's ancient Greek philosophy — it is not Christian theology.
Jesus after his resurrection wasn't a ghost. He had scars in his hands and feet. He breathed air. He sat on the beach and cooked fish with his disciples. God loves the physical world he created. He is not a cosmic landlord who evicts us from a building on fire — he is a master builder who is going to completely renovate the entire property.
Paul described it this way in 1 Corinthians 15:51–55:
"Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed — in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality... then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?'"
That word Paul used — "in a flash" — comes from the Greek word atomos, the ancient root of our word atom. It described something so small it could no longer be divided. Paul was saying this transformation will happen in one single, invisible, microscopic slice of a second. And the perishable being clothed with the imperishable? That means God isn't throwing our bodies away. He's giving us an upgrade.
The aching lower backs, the joints that don't move like they used to, the cells that give way to disease — Paul looked death right in the face and taunted it: "Where is your victory? Where is your sting?" Because the grave is temporary. It's a holding cell, not a permanent destination.
How to Live While We Wait
So what does all of this mean for a random Tuesday morning?
In the Nazarene tradition, the second coming is never an invitation to check out of society, head for the hills, and try to chart the exact sequence of end-times events. It is an immediate motivator to live a holy life right now. A city preparing for a royal parousia didn't sit around doing nothing — they swept the streets. They lived in readiness.
Paul captured it perfectly in Titus 2:12–13:
"The grace of God... trains us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in this present age, while we wait for our blessed hope — the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ."
Waiting for our blessed hope is not a license to get lazy. It is the very thing that trains us to live in honor of God right here and right now. We won't compromise our character just to fit into a broken culture, because we already know how the story ends.
Imagine walking through a cemetery and staging a holy protest — because you know the casket is just a comma, not a period. Imagine facing a difficult diagnosis or chronic pain and declaring by faith: "This body is getting an upgrade one day. Sickness does not get the final word." Imagine walking through global chaos and economic uncertainty with a smile on your face, because you know the King is on the horizon.
Keep Your Fork
As I've been thinking about this throughout the week, I keep coming back to that woman and her fork. I sent everyone home on Sunday with a simple plastic fork as a reminder. Maybe you'll put it on your kitchen counter or in your pocket — somewhere you'll see it every day.
Let it remind you: your current pain is not the end of the meal. History is not winding down. It is winding up. The heralds have made their announcement. The King is on his way.
Every time anxiety tries to fill your week, remember the promise of the parousia. Remember that the grave is a dressing room. Remember that your body is getting an upgrade. And remember the words of that wise woman who knew something better was always coming.
Keep your fork. The best is yet to come.
If this message encouraged you, share it with someone who needs a reminder that hope is not lost — it's just ahead. We'd love to have you join us in person or online as we continue to explore what it means to live in light of what we believe.
Social Media Excerpt (Facebook/Instagram): Why did a woman ask to be buried holding a fork? Because she knew something better was always coming. This week's message is a reminder that the chaos around us isn't the end of the meal — God's about to serve dessert. Keep your fork. The best is yet to come. 🍴
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