OK- not a traditional sermon, but an attempt at preaching to postmodern listeners.
I suppose the idea for this sermon came about one night as I was watching “The Return of the King,” on TV, the third part of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The next day I found myself day-dreaming, letting my mind do a little free association as it wandered here and there. For some reason, the phrase “At the end of all things” kept coming to mind. I knew that was a Tolkien phrase and so I pulled out my trusty, well-worn copy of the third volume and double-checked the context. After the Ring of Power was destroyed in the fiery cracks of Mt. Doom, Frodo and Sam watched the world come crashing down around them. Frodo said to Sam, “the quest is achieved, and now all is over. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam.”
I began to ponder that phrase, “at the end of all things.” Certainly when Frodo uttered those words, it seemed clear that the end was near as mountains tumbled and rivers of fire streamed all ever closer. Sure looked like the end of all things. And, if you listened to certain voices, there are many who seem to think we are very close to the end of all things. Nothing like a global economic meltdown and possible swine flu pandemic to get folks stirred up in full Armageddon mode. Seems like every time I flip down to the premium channels Arnold’s film, “The End of Days,” is showing. I flipped on John Hagee the other day just in time to see him press his thumb and forefinger close together and say, “We’re that close to the Second Coming.” Catch Jack Van Impe or Hal Lindsey on the tube and they will gladly coordinate your Bible with the latest headlines, especially all the doom and gloom economic news, disease, earthquakes, wars and rumors of wars.
This fascination with “the end of all things” is quite interesting, and I am not unaffected by the headlines. The economic downturn has hit home. My retirement account is about as healthy as I am—and that’s pretty scary. If a world-wide influenza outbreak occurs (stay tuned for breaking news), or tensions in Pakistan, North Korea, Iran, or the Taiwan Strait, turn into military confrontation, we will all sit up and pay attention. Meanwhile, I remain suspicious that the focus on all the bizarre apocalyptic stuff misses the mark on what is really important “at the end of all things.” And that is what I want to talk about for a few minutes.
I could tell you that I had a dream and that my dream is where this sermon idea originated. You know, sort of a John Bunyan, Pilgrim’s Progress, motif. But that would not be the truth. I suspect I could not pull that off. Some of you might remember when the television series, “Dallas,” miracled away the entire 1986 season as Pamela Ewing woke up from a dream. That desperate measure had all the subtlety of a battleship and I freely admit I do not have the literary skills to make “my dream” believable.
So, instead, I will simply tell you what came to mind while I was consciously day-dreaming. I have occasionally visited that Walter Mitty world where I have preached to thousands, written New York Times bestsellers, and single-handedly won the War on Terror. This time, however, I was pondering that phrase, “the end of all things.” In my mind, I saw myself in a room that was new to me, yet somehow comfortably familiar. I had never been there, yet had this pleasantly odd feeling that I was at home. Can you remember finding something that you have been looking for? The sense of relief, that your own internal mental dialogue has been satisfied: Where did I put it? When did I use it last? Remember how it felt when you found what was missing and held it in your hands again? I think that was what I was feeling, that I had found the place I had been looking for all of my life.
I realized I was not alone. I sensed a presence and saw a figure in the near distance. I don’t think he suddenly appeared. Rather, it was as though I had been looking through a dirty window that needed a good cleaning. You know how it is, after all the spring pollen has been flying around; your windows need a good cleaning. Give them a squirt of Windex and wax on, wax off—suddenly everything becomes clear. He beckoned to me to come closer. I recognized, well recognized is not the word, really. That only works when you have seen someone before. Yet I believed that I had seen him, though not with these eyes. It was the Lord Jesus, himself, and he was surrounded by an innumerable host of heavenly beings and saints. He was seated and there was a table next to his chair.
At first, I thought how wonderful this is! There was definitely an other-worldly air about it all and so far no one in a red suit, pitchfork, and horns—and the temperature seemed just about perfect. Not too hot at all. I started to kneel when I heard him say, “Behold the perfect law, the law of liberty.” I looked and there before me was a copy of the Ten Commandments—like the ones you see posted in the yards of some folks, but more substantial. Maybe of marble or granite—or at least a very high quality veneer. I looked and saw that there were, indeed, Ten Commandments. And I was quite pleased! The Reformed WERE right. I knew the Lutherans and the Roman Catholics were wrong when they jammed 1 and 2 together and broke 9 into two parts! My inner systematic theologian thought, “Yes!”
And then the Lord said, “We are here to discuss your non-compliance with regulatory requirements.” This really was a shock. I had always thought the Lord might be a closet Republican—and here he was talking like a Democrat political appointee. I felt a sudden weakness in my knees and said, “Well, I did say a few things while I was in Iraq that I am not exactly proud of.”
“Yes, I noted those infractions—but whoever keeps the law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it.”
“You mean, I am guilty of all Ten? But surely there is a bit of flexibility here, I mean, that’s not quite the same as actually breaking them all. For example (and I looked quickly for solid ground), I have never murdered anyone.”
“Is that so? Do you not remember— ” and then a name rolled off his tongue, a name I had nearly forgotten. I had for a time hated that man. He was wicked by all accounts, and I despised him for it. He must have known my thoughts, for the Lord spoke again: “You are right. He was wicked, bent, and he remains wicked to this day. And he will spend eternity separated from me because he was wicked. But I told you, did I not, to love your enemies?”
“Yes Lord, you did.”
“Do you not remember— ” and another name escaped from his lips and seemed to hang in midair between us. “I do,” I replied with some hesitation, “but I always thought him to be a scoundrel.”
“Indeed you did. And you tried to hide it, and not admit the truth to yourself. But in your heart you hated him. Didn’t you?” I looked down for a moment before slightly lifting my eyes, “Yes, I suppose I did.”
“Did I not say that ‘everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment?’ Will it surprise you to learn that he is here?”
“What! Him? Here?”
“You ARE surprised,” the Lord said—and smiled a curious smile that caught me completely off-guard. But before I could offer any justification, he spoke again. “Well, that’s not important. He was surprised that you are here, also. But never mind that; you will learn to love each other. Those are the rules of the house, and even though you didn’t get it right in the vale of tears, you will find the very air in this place breathes forgiveness and love. I have great hopes for you, still.”
“Hope? You have hope for me? That is good news indeed! This meeting has not gone exactly as I had hoped.” As I spoke, he gestured gently with open palm and before my eyes, ten, thick volumes bound in fine blood-red Corinthian leather appeared on the table. Stamped in fiery gold letters on each volume was the title Gore, R. J. Jr.,: Complete Works in Ten Volumes. “I don’t suppose that is the large print edition of my writings as a professor?”
“No,” he replied, with just the least trace of sadness in his voice. “Open and see for yourself.”
I have to confess I was unnerved by this whole sequence of events. I was curious about what was in those volumes, but the most unsettling feeling come over me as I stretched out my hand. I tried to place that feeling and couldn’t quite locate it. And then it came to me—I KNEW that feeling; I had felt it once when I heard the screeching of tires—in the moment before my I slid my 1971 Camaro into a ditch. I had felt it when a mortar exploded just outside our headquarters building in Iraq. Instinctively, I drew back my now-trembling hand.
“Go ahead,” he said patiently. “Take, and read.”
I opened the first volume. At the beginning, of course. I have never been one of those people who jump around in a book. There is a first chapter and first page for a reason, you know. I reached down into my jacket pocket to retrieve my glasses, when I realized I could read the print without needing glasses! I had not been able to do that since my early 40s! My momentary excitement turned to dread as I saw what was on the first line. And the second. And the third. I flipped pages quickly, hoping that the plot would change. It did not.
It was a list. The most horrible list I have ever seen. It started on May 25th, 1955 and continued on, day after day, year after year. It looked as though it contained every sin I had ever committed, in word, thought, or deed—all the things I had done I ought not to have done, and all the things I ought to have done, but left undone. Sins of word, thought, and deed. I grabbed the fifth volume, I think, flipped it open to the middle (I know I told you I was not one of those people, but this was a special situation). It too was a list. More sins—of a more recent vintage, however. And the particular sins had changed—new sins, the sins of a young adult—but all pointing to remaining wickedness of heart and that part of me that was never fully sanctified. I felt my face grow warm, flushing with shame; the great host of witnesses watched intently.
A sense of dread fell upon me, greater than anything I had ever experienced before.
I heard his voice: “The bill of particulars appears to be very long.” He did not say this harshly, but, it seemed, with a voice full of pity. I looked up, hesitantly, and saw his eyes. I am not sure I can describe what I saw. His eyes were, well, I couldn’t tell you the color, but they were filled with love, pity, grief, and mercy all at once.
I screwed up all the courage I had, but could only squeak out a very weak, “Yes, Lord.”
“You don’t remember many of those, do you?”
“No, Lord. Some of those sins I recalled as I read them. Others, I don’t remember at all.”
“Well, love covers a multitude of sins—and here and there I have already healed some of your memories. But, you can be confident the record is accurate. Completely accurate. Now, I want you to look at the last volume.”
“Must I? I know I did those things, said those words, and thought those terrible thoughts. I confess my guilt. I know I failed you over and over again. I asked forgiveness many, many times. Wasn’t that enough?”
“My son, open the last volume. Turn to the last page. In the vale of tears, you did trust me, however feebly and inconsistently. And, no, asking forgiveness is not enough. Now, trust me one more time.”
My hand was trembling mightily as I opened the last volume. It took both hands to get to the last page. With my left hand I held down all those stacked pages on the left as my right hand stretched the binding to open the last page.
“Look at the last line on the last page.”
I scrolled down the list of very recent sins; it seemed as though I had just committed some of them moments before. And then the list stopped. Underneath the Times New Roman, 12 point type, Someone had written a few lines by hand. It was an unknown script, yet somehow familiar. My heart skipped a beat as I scrutinized the handwriting. It said, “Full Atonement Made. Debt Paid in Full. Zero balance due.” Underneath that was the signature in the same handwriting: “Jesus Christ, Mount Calvary, 14 Nisan, A.D. 27.” An asterisk pointed me to the bottom of the page where there was a footnote: “Name transferred to Book of Life, 13 October, 1968.”
I looked up, and he smiled and said, “Enter into the joy of the Lord.” I wanted to break into song, to jump, to celebrate! My heart was so full, yet all I could do was say, “Thank you, Jesus.”
And that is how it will be at the end of all things for all of us. You are all writing your own collected works; some of you will have a collection that is larger than mine, others, smaller. But be certain—in spite of all the bad TV preachers and their wild interpretations of prophecy, the time will come when the books will be opened. At the end of all things you will need an atoning sacrifice that washes away all sin. In Revelation 20:12-15, John writes: “Then I saw a great white throne and him who was seated on it. From his presence earth and sky fled away, and no place was found for them. And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Then another book was opened, which is the book of life. And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, according to what they had done. And the sea gave up the dead who were in it, Death and Hades gave up the dead who were in them, and they were judged, each one of them, according to what they had done. Then Death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. This is the second death, the lake of fire. And if anyone's name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.”
At the conclusion of Pilgrim’s Progress, Bunyan says, “So I awoke, and behold it was a dream.” Well, I have already told you that I wasn’t actually dreaming, so I can’t try that clever ending. Besides, it has already been used and my plagiarism would be obvious. So, it was only a day dream and merely the wanderings of a slightly fevered mind. But I think it has the ring of truth about it.
One day we will come to the end of all things. But the end of all things also will be the beginning of all new things—that is, for those whose debt has been paid in full! Until that glorious day, hear again these words of grace and mercy from Revelation 22:17, “The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who hears say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price.”
“Thank you, Jesus.
R. J. Gore Jr., Ph.D.
Preached in chapel at Erskine Seminary, 29 April 2009
