Do I fear Armageddon? All the time, although probably not like you imagine.

I was a child in the 1960s, raised on civil defense drills and assurances of mutual destruction. I don't remember whether I really believed the Soviet Union  was the Evil Empire. I don't remember whether I even thought much about it, because I believed, absolutely, in the propensity of humankind to self destruct. I still believe that. There's no shortage of evidence.

I've never been particularly convinced that the universe will end with a whimper.   Oh, I'm sure there will be a lot of whimpering, because there already is, but I'm inclined to believe Jesus was right when he said none of us will know the day or the hour.  Granted, I'm theologically disposed to believe that, but it's an entirely logical belief. Things will continue to go south. We can already see the trajectory. Clean air and water are in short supply. New diseases are evolving. Famine and war are as prevalent now as they ever were. Are we making anything better? I don't see it. Not only do I fear we're destroying the world, I'm certain of it.

But I still think the end will come suddenly. There's certainly no shortage of opportunity for some cataclysmic human-caused apocalypse. That's not to say it will happen because someone finally pushes the red button; it's more likely to happen because we all forget the red button is there. We'll keep right on pretending, contrary to every sign we see, that everything's going to be ok, because we want it to be, we need it to be, and by gosh, we're arrogantly convinced that we deserve it to be. No, we won't see the end coming.

The Grand Canyon is not too far from here, so we have occasional opportunities to stand behind tourists (never stand in front of a tourist at the Grand Canyon; that's a no-brainer) and listen to their comments. Some of them marvel that God would carve such a wonder with God's giant holy trowel. I'm another kind of Christian — I don't believe God has to use a shovel — but I appreciate that they understand they're seeing an immutable force at work. I can disagree with people's beliefs without mocking them.

Others, though, stand on the edge and say, "Isn't it amazing that this was carved one grain of sand at a time?" That, I think, is also a dangerous delusion, because that's not exactly how it happens. Wind and water carry away grains of sand, one at a time, until they undermine something bigger. Maybe it's a pebble, but sometimes the collapse involves millions of tons of rock.

 That's the way it's going to happen. We will grab one grain too much and the whole of creation will come tumbling down. That may be what Jesus meant: We don't know what's holding it all together, and we won't recognize what will blow it all apart. We'll keep right on believing that the next grain of sand won't be the last one, because after all, the last one wasn't. One of them — one atom, one molecule, one final selfish choice past the tipping point —will be.

When we wake up on Sunday with the world somewhat intact and fully populated, we'll have another chance to decide what we're going to do with it. At my church, we'll be talking about working to make it more like the kingdom of God, which is also probably not like you imagine. It's a place where we're all good to one another, and it comes about in the same way: one grain of sand, one positive choice at a time, until evil is unsupported and no one is left behind.