“The King is coming!”

The rumor was all over Brora, the wee (as the Scots would say) village where we summer for seven weeks each year in the north of Scotland. The word was buzzing around the golf course and more. No one could remember a King or Queen ever visiting Brora, so I paid the rumor little attention.

Brora is a small fishing village on the North Sea where tourists show up for links golf, as it was played in 1891, when Brora Golf Club was formed. We rent a small house which has a view that cannot be explained. The sun comes up out of the ocean around 4 am. The first tee at the golf club is just in view to the left of the rising sun. The sound of a golf ball being hit off the first tee at 7am is music to the ears.

On Sunday evenings, we walk two hundred yards to the Fisherman’s Hall. The front stone declares “1892” to memorialize the date of opening for the small church building, which offered hope for lost souls in the good ol’ days. At 8 pm, a handful of Scottish saints and sinners gather for tea and coffee before hymns are sung and a sermon is preached. The building seats forty, but it hasn’t been full in decades. It feels like saving souls is now a lost art in Scotland.

So, back to the rumor. In mid-July, a golfing friend said, “The King is coming to Brora next Tuesday.” Makes sense, I thought, since Castle Mey, about 70 miles north, was the Queen Mother’s summer holiday residence. The tourist trap is now closed for two weeks each summer because King Charles and his entourage arrive on the scene.

But Tuesday came and went. False alarm. No King Charles in Brora, unless you count the King Charles dogs who live around the corner.

Oh well, I thought. Reminds me of my friends who insist that King Jesus is coming back any day. Some fools have even predicted the date of His arrival. IF you were paying attention, September 23, 2025, came and went. So far, they have all been wrong.

I fully believe that I will soon see King Jesus, since I am 74, but not so sure it will be the famous ‘Second Coming”.

And then at 9am on August 6, a text comes in from Thelma, a local friend. “The King is coming to Brora. Ten AM at the new Heritage Center.” She seemed sure of herself. The King will cut some ribbons and conduct a ceremonial opening. He will fly in on a helicopter, stay for an hour or so, shake some hands, and go away.

This seemed too real to ignore, especially when Andrew, a second friend from the Fisherman’s Hall, gave the same advice via text. And then one final reminder from a third friend. “The King is Coming.” He thought 10:30 am was good enough to see all the action.

The cultural center was less than two miles from our rented home. We decided to quickly dress and walk to the site, still not sure of the King’s arrival. At 9:45 am, we headed out the door, hoping to see the King.

And sure enough, a few others were walking that way. It became obvious that the King must be coming. We arrived at 10 am, and found a good spot along the line- a perfect venue to see him, if he comes, and maybe even shake his hand. The crowd was smaller than we thought, perhaps a hundred people. We wondered why there were not more people. This was King Charles, not Princess Diana, I thought to myself.

Our friend Andrew showed up with an App that tracks all air flights —and sure enough—he spotted the helicopter on his phone and announced quietly that the King was over Helmsdale, arriving at 10:55 am. Better late than never.

Wow. I thought. That’s what we need, an App that announces when Jesus is coming back. What time and place? When and where? Let’s ask Artificial Intelligence. “No one knows”, says even AI.

Right on time, the helicopter landed in a field adjacent to the Cultural Center. Here came the King, dressed in a royal uniform of some sort. Shorter than I thought. He now looks all of his 75 years. Obviously accustomed to being the center of attention- a somewhat sad life of being stared at, snapshotted, and talked about ad nauseam.

The dogs and locals were all so pleased. Some local dignitaries, if Brora has such a thing, were especially proud.

And then here he came down the line, shaking hands along the way. My wife Sue was in the front row to shake his hand, but she was too polite to get a handshake, so the King, just inches away, went to the gentleman next to her who did stick out his hand for the shake of his life.

Oh well, we got a good picture anyway. And as we departed the scene, in one of Sue’s classic honesty moments, she said, “I smelled whisky on his breath.” What? At 11 am? Alcohol already on the regal breath? I was too busy taking pictures and videos to notice the King’s breath. Maybe we now have a clue as to why Diana divorced him.

But what can we learn, if anything? One, his life is surely a symbol of how some people are forced to live. Put on a good front. Have meaningless conversations with people that they truthfully have little or no interest in. This is a guess…. but I would surmise that the King would rather have been in one of his castles, in his pajamas all day, watching one of his favorite movies, sitting on a couch with his beloved Camelia, sipping his whisky, and munching on his favorite snack. Instead, duty calls. He must get dressed in a royal uniform, hop on his helicopter to cross the North Sea, landing in a field near Brora (population about 1,500), talking to people he cares nothing about, and then going somewhere else to do it all over again.

Certainly, if I were King, I would have preferred to come to Brora for a golf game, helped by a local caddie who would share the awesome history of the Links. A healthy six-mile walk with a putter in hand after bouncing a ball onto a green. Now that would have made sense. But sadly, the King came and went. He cut some ribbons. He shook some hands. He pretended to enjoy the day.

He did his duty.

Oh well, but second, my biggest take was simply this reminder. Indeed. “The King is Coming.”

And here is my take on it all. My logical and lawyerly brain has figured it out for me. Please do not call me a heretic. I have no problem with anyone who is expecting Jesus back any day now, especially since that group includes much of my family. But so far, every person who has predicted the soon physical return of King Jesus has been wrong. Zero people have gotten it right, so far.

But…… He is coming soon. I am 74. He is coming to get me. And it will indeed be soon. Up to this date in history, everyone who has died and gone to meet Jesus face-to-face has been 100%.

The odds are more than overwhelming that my face-to-face encounter with Jesus will be on the other side of eternity in a setting that no eye has seen and no ear has heard.

I believe that. I need to be ready.