Pop Jesus: Or How I Learned to Quit Worrying and Let Pro Wrestling Teach Me About the Second Coming

I’ve seen Chris Jericho’s “Y2J” debut segment about a hundred times. And it still gives me goose bumps.

Chris Jericho was one of the major stars of World Championship Wrestling (WCW) in the late 90’s. He had achieved nearly everything there was to accomplish there and left WCW at the expiration of his contract to sign on with the WWE (back then the World Wrestling Federation). He signed his contract two months before his scheduled appearance, which gave the WWE a chance to build suspense for his arrival. This was 1999, and the whole world was on edge at the impending doom that the Y2K Bug would inevitably bring. Since all computers at that time operated on a two-digit date system, at the stroke of midnight on December 31, all computers would advance from “99” to “00” and supposedly send us back to the Stone Age. Cars would stop running, planes would fall out of the sky, milk jugs would explode, electricity would cease to exist, etc. The worst parts of America’s apocalyptic imagination.

The WWE saw an opportunity to ride that wave and began a “millennium countdown.” The Millennium Clock would appear in random spots on weekly airings of Monday Night Raw, and fans quickly figured out that the countdown wasn’t leading to December 31, 1999. It was leading to August 9, 1999.

And that’s when Jericho appeared. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson was in the ring taunting The Big Show (something about hotel rooms, his size-thirteen boot, and candy wrappers). Just as The Rock finished his segment, the Millennium Clock started. And this time, it only had ten seconds left. The crowd waited in eager anticipation. And then the name “Jericho” flashed on the screen.

When it did, the crowd reaction was deafening.

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It’s called the “pop,” the term that the sports entertainment industry gives to the eruption of the crowd when the performer’s entrance music hits. If a wrestler is heavily favored and liked by the fan base, then the crowd reaction will rival anything that an NCAA title-winning buzzer-beater has ever evoked. Fans live for this. Performers work for this. And it is, without question, the most satisfying and enjoyable moment in professional wrestling. (Uugh, okay, “sports entertainment.” Leave me alone.)

Why is the “pop” so significant? What is it about the appearance of a beloved hero that arouses the emotions of the crowd? There’s something in us that longs for our champion to come and finally defeat the villain that has been terrorizing everyone. It’s the long-awaited discovery of Neo in The Matrix. The return of Aragorn, Isildur’s heir, prophesied for centuries, now earning his rightful place with every battle. The appearance of Paul Atreides in Dune (or his son, depending on how you read it). The birth of Annakin Skywalker (or his son, depending on how you read it). Harry Potter. Perseus Jackson. Emma Swan. The Pevensie children.

We long for the return of the hero, the appearance of the deliverer, the one who will finally defeat the villain and restore order, hope, and life. And when that messiah is revealed, our hearts leap with joy, exuberant with the hope that all will very soon be put back to right. Ignore for the moment that at the moment the wrestler appears, he/she hasn’t actually done anything. The revelation of the hero is a deposit guaranteeing the redemption that is but a foregone conclusion.

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The most notable “pops” in sports entertainment history occur when that long-absent hero returns to action, when a star who has done the hard work and won the crowd over reappears after a long hiatus. C.M. Punk’s debut with All Elite Wrestling in Chicago. Stone Cold Steve Austin’s return after neck surgery. Hogan’s appearance in Montreal. Sting’s descent from the rafters. Triple H’s return after a blown quad injury. Becky Lynch’s return at Summer Slam. Edge appearing at the Royal Rumble after a ten-year hiatus and triple-fusion neck surgery. Cody Rhodes’ surprise return at WrestleMania 38.

I say it was a surprise, but it really wasn’t. The WWE tried to keep it under wraps, but everybody knew that Cody had left AEW and that Seth “Freakin” Rollins would face a mystery partner at Mania. It was never advertised. But everybody knew it was gonna be Cody. Cody had done more than his fair share of comeuppance, and the fan base respected his work ethic and professionalism. It didn’t hurt that he was on his own quest to finish a story his father had begun four decades earlier. Everybody knew it was gonna be Cody. And the “pop” was insane!

The same way everybody knew that Punk was gonna be at Chicago. After a slew of injuries and fallouts with the WWE, he had retired from pro wrestling. Seven long years the fan base waited for his eventual return, hoping to relive the “Summer of Punk.” In a vacuum of hope, the whisperings began. It had been rumored for weeks, and then it was confirmed. It didn’t matter that everybody knew. The crowd still went crazy. They knew he would return. They showed up in Chicago en masse and started chanting his name before the show even began. The fan base saw the signs, and they knew the second coming of Punk was near.

The same way everybody seemed to know that Jericho would appear on August 9, 1999. Watch the video carefully and you’ll note, not only that there were numerous “Jericho” signs in the crowd, but also that, when the lights went down, just before his name flashed on the screen, a segment of the crowd was already chanting his name.

In the most notable cases the appearance wasn’t really that much of a surprise. The “dirt sheets”—those journalistic internet reports earning their market edge by revealing little bits of back-stage information—had told us these things were gonna happen. But it didn’t lessen the reaction. Knowing builds anticipation. And the anticipation leads to the most intense “pop.”

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All of this gets me to thinking about the Second Coming of Jesus. The 27 “dirt sheets” of the New Testament have told us that he will return. They were written by those in the Jesus Appreciation Society, those in his inner circle, so the Church has believed them.

We’re never told exactly when it will happen.

But we know the where—it will be universally visible, “as lightning in the east is seen in the west” (Matt. 24:27), and like vultures gathering to a carcass, seen for miles and miles away (Matt. 24:28).

We know the how—a sudden appearing (Titus 2:13), like a thief without warning (2 Peter 3:10; Rev. 16:15; 1 Thess. 5:2), Christ descending from the heavens on the clouds (1 Thess. 4:14, 17; Matt. 24:30).

And we know that he’ll bring an entire stable or faction with him—an army dressed in white (Rev. 19:14; Matt. 13:40-41), those devoted to him, both alive and previously deceased (1 Thess. 4:14-17).

There are still a few things unknown. But the Church has been anticipating this for two millennia. It seems at times like it's never gonna happen. Like it should have happened already. It seems rather slow, like a storyline that has stalled out. But one of Jesus’ faction, the Apostle Peter, reminded us that, since God lives outside of time, what seems slow to us is but a whiff in God’s presence (2 Peter 3:8-10). So until it happens, we wait. Patiently.

But, come on. We know. And knowing builds anticipation.

Jesus spent three years setting up his match with the Jewish leaders. He went to the Temple, he cut promos, declared his right-ness to criticize them, and then climbed into the ring with them. To the casual observer, it looks like he lost the match. The Romans interfered, hit him with a steel chair, and the match was over as soon as it began. To the casual observer, it looks like Jesus intentionally threw the match. He didn’t fight back, and though he could have called down twelve legions of angels to fight at his side and rescue him from that situation (Matt. 26:53), he didn’t. He let what was planned happen to him. But anyone who had been listening to him carefully, I mean really paying attention, knew for certain that this is what he always intended. The storyline had a longer arc. A three-day arc, to be precise. And his resurrection from the dead declared him the eternal, heavyweight, universal champion.

And now the church waits for his return. And when he does, the “pop” will be cosmic! I don’t know what the entrance music will be. Paul suggested trumpets (1 Thess. 4:16), and the shout of a loud command. (John Cena’s entrance music opens with trumpets, and the Usos’ entrance opens with the shout of their name. Their “pops” are massive!) Whatever it is, it will be instantaneous. The Church across the entire planet will erupt in a shout of joy, finally witnessing the manifestation of what we’ve hoped for since that business with the serpent, that ancient thing called the diabolos, the satan, the “slanderer.” The Devil is the ultimate heel, and he’s been standing in the ring, trashing us on the mic in front of the whole world, beating us up for a long time. Our champion will bind him with chains (Rev. 20:1-3), choke slam him through the center of the ring straight to the abyss, and then hold his trophy high.

Not a championship belt, but a crown. One made of thorns.

Until then, the Church continues to wait in eager anticipation. This is why we chant his name in worship. This is why we study scripture, and pray, and perform acts of service. We go to house shows (bible studies), and watch the weekly programs (worship), and gather with our friends for premium live events (Christmas, Easter, etc.). Because we know that his return is imminent. We pray for it. We long for it. We hope for it. It’s the validation of all that we’ve waited and worked for, the conclusion to the longest story arc in history--God’s galactic plan to redeem humanity.

He will finish the story.

He is the One.

And everyone will acknowledge Him.