What Will Last?

Last week I walked through the city of Jarash and this thought resonated through the entire tour—“What will last?”

I didn’t expect to be so moved by ancient stones.

Jerash (ancient Gerasa) is tucked into the hills of northern Jordan, and it’s one of the most well-preserved Roman cities outside of Italy. You walk in and immediately feel small. Giant stone columns line the streets, and you can still see where chariot wheels carved their path into the stone. There’s a huge oval plaza, temples, gates, and even a theater that still carries a whisper of applause in the air.

It’s stunning. And haunting.

I stood in the middle of that old amphitheater—just me, my thoughts, and a few birds overhead—and I couldn’t help myself. I walked to the center of the stage, stood where actors once projected their voices to the crowd, and quoted the only Shakespeare I know by heart:
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day and all our yesterdays lighted fools the way to dusty deaths. Out out brig candle…”
It felt… fitting. A line about the passing of time, spoken in a place where time has clearly moved on.

As I wandered through the ruins, I thought about how this city was once alive with noise, power, and purpose. Jerash was part of the Decapolis—those ten Greek-influenced cities mentioned in the Gospels. It was a place of wealth, influence, entertainment, politics, and pride. I imagine the people who lived here thought it would last forever.

But today, it’s quiet. Just the wind, birds, and curious travelers.

That silence made me think. Empires rise and fall. People build things they think will last—kingdoms, temples, governments. But time has a way of humbling everything. What seemed unshakable is now just weathered stone.

And then my mind went to Jesus. He once traveled through this region, not with armies or architecture, but with stories and compassion. He didn’t build marble temples—He built people. And His kingdom? Still growing. Still changing lives. Still outlasting every empire that ever tried to outshine it.

The contrast hit me hard: Jerash is a monument to what fades. Jesus is a reminder of what endures.

I left the city with dusty shoes and a full heart. It made me ask myself, “What am I building that will actually last?” I’m not interested in carving my name into stone. I want to invest in things that won’t crumble—faith, people, love, truth.

And that Macbeth line keeps echoing: Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow… Yeah, the days creep on. But not aimlessly—not when we’re building something eternal.