In Five Years' Time
Be patient. If you're reading this, you're still in process. Embrace the process and discover a beautifully fresh faith.
Superman, the strongest and most powerful creature on earth, is trapped by Lex Luthor in an inter-dimensional prison where he is weak, vulnerable, and helpless. Mr. Terrific, with Lois Lane at his side, heads to the beach to do something about the situation.
If you haven’t seen James Gunn’s 2025 version of Superman, you simply must.
If you have seen it, you know about “the beach scene.” It’s one of my favorite of Gunn’s musical action edits (it’s right up there with Gunn’s Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. III fight scene featuring the Beastie Boys’ song, Brooklyn).
Mr. Terrific is calm and focused as he causes chaos and mayhem on the beach while taking out every single one of Lex Luthor’s goons. Do they get to Superman? You’ll have to watch and find out.
When you do see it, you’ll understand this particular look on Lois Lane’s (Rachel Brosnahan) face as she safely watches the entire scenario unfold…
The look on Lois’ face is how some of us are watching history unfold right now. It’s a mess out there. It feels as though we’ve experienced a year’s worth of global crises so far in 2026, and as of this writing, we’re only two weeks in!
Perhaps the coolest part of the Mr. Terrific - Lois Lane beach scene is the song playing through it. It’s entitled 5 Years’ Time, written by Charlie Fink and performed by his British indie group Noah and the Whale, which broke up back in 2015.
The song, which carries us through the chaos on the beach, is… whimsical. The first stanza of the song presents a scene that could potentially unfold five years into the future:
Oh well, in five years time we could be walking round a zoo
With the sun shining down over me and you
And there’ll be love in the bodies of the elephants, too
I’ll put my hand over your eyes but you’ll peek through
Sounds fun, right? But a later stanza offers a different prediction:
Oh, in five years time I might not know you
In five years time we might not speak
Oh, in five years time we might not get along
In five years time you might just prove me wrong
In other words, a LOT can change in five years.
Five years ago, my life looked very different. I was the Senior Pastor of the church Angie and I had planted in 2011, also serving pastors globally through Saddleback Church.
By April of 2021, I’d burned out. I wrote briefly about it in my resignation letter as I stepped away from vocational pastoral leadership in the church we’d poured ten years of our lives into.
I’ve described the condition of my soul during and after that transition with words like discouraged, disenchanted, and disillusioned. There were a lot of dark, lonely days spent battling depression while trying to find my footing again.
Aaron Niequist, in his book, The Eternal Current: How a Practice-Based Faith Can Save Us from Drowning, wrote about his rather similar experience in this way:
Most often, the despair came out sideways. My disillusionment with faith spread to a disillusionment with just about everything and everyone else. Rather than grappling with the terror of feeling the ground disintegrating beneath my feet, I mostly just poked holes in everything else. Everyone was stupid. Everyone was fake. Everything was a lie. This was essentially a matter of self-protection. If I could remain focused on how everyone was wrong, then I wouldn’t have to wrestle with the terrifying reality of my own wrongness. But in quiet moments, the unwelcome cries of my disintegrating faith sneaked through my cynic’s armor, and in those undefended moments, I felt truly lost.
As of this writing, it’s been close to five years since that transitional moment, and a lot of things haven’t changed. But internally, everything is different.
Having walked through the dark tunnels of this deconstruction-reconstruction journey, I’ve learned by actual experience that God doesn’t give up on us. He accompanies us even in the moments we couldn’t possibly be convinced that he cares.
What I’ve discovered is a faith that is more contemplative, welcomes mystery, and wrestles with big questions courageously. And as Richard Rohr declares,
We need to reconstruct, and not just continue to deconstruct. Then you will see angels everywhere.
If you’re reading this and you’re walking through the valley of disillusionment in which you can’t seem to make it all make sense, keep walking. Keep going.
It will be in your release of the need to fully comprehend and control your world that you will discover freedom.
Jesus taught this. Who really “gets” (sees) what the kingdom of heaven is all about? The poor in spirit. Who is comforted? Those who mourn. Who inherits the earth? The meek.
In the shadow of the valley of death itself - even what feels like the death of our faith as we once knew it - it is Jesus that ultimately gets us through. He’s among the sick and sinful and never gives up on any of us.
Brian Zahnd echoes this thought in another excellent book for those walking through a similar journey, When Everything’s on Fire: Faith Forged from the Ashes:
A dark night of the soul does not have to be the end of a faith journey but can be the beginning of a new journey that leads deeper into the mystery of God.
A lot can change in five years’ time. Here’s my challenge to you as you try to peer ahead beyond the next curve in life’s journey…
Be patient.
Be patient with yourself. You’ve gone through some stuff. You’ve come this far. You’re still here. Keep wrestling. Keep seeking. Commit to the long journey and leave room for God’s Spirit to show you things you couldn’t possibly understand back when you thought you had all the answers.
Be patient with others, too. Everybody is a work in progress. Everybody is a little stressed out. No matter how much you want to isolate from others, heathy community and friendship will be the channel through which you will experience real healing.
You and I don’t get the benefit of knowing what life will look like five years from now. But we do have the power to steer our own minds and hearts in the direction of love, grace, and mercy instead of bitterness and isolation.