“Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; being purged, a fire sparkling in lover’s eyes; being vexed a sea nourished with lovers’ tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet” or, so says Shakespeare through his tragic suitor Romeo. Erich Segal, in his much forgettable Love Story, had Jennifer say to Oliver, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” A few years ago, Tina Turner demonstrated our post-modern confusion with even the simplest of emotions by asking the pointed question, “What’s love got to do with it?”
Whatever we think of Shakespeare, Segal, and Turner, the fact remains that love is a subject that we cannot long ignore. Hallmark and American Greeting have made certain that no occasion passes without someone around you expecting a reminder of your undying love and affection. Just look at your calendar; there is some observation just around the bend and someone, somewhere is expecting a card from you affirming your unending love.
Perhaps our generation is more confused over the meaning of love than any in recent memory. Modern culture portrays love as something you catch like a disease. If you are in the right place at the right time- Zap! just like catching the common cold, you’re infected. Romantic notions of love-at-first-sight have polluted our cultural mythology. We no longer understand or feel the need for the natural progression from friendship to affection to love. Media portrayals of love teach us that we may very well be joined intimately- and then, as an afterthought, may consider the question of love and commitment, or the name of our partner. One of the hottest shows on HBO for a number of years was "Sex and the City" and the follow-on movie sequel is receiving extensive coverage in the newspapers and magazines currently. "Sex and the City" is a celebration of Eros, a show dedicated to confusing physical attraction with genuine love and tawdry love affairs with true commitment.
To further confuse matters, we are told contradictory things about the nature of love. Some say that love, if it is real, is always unconditional and makes no demand upon its object. Others tell us that love must be tough, must not facilitate self-destructive behavior but seek to change the object of its desires. How can we pick our way through this maze? Perhaps we would do well go the Scriptures and see what God has to say about love. As you have no doubt noticed, our text is devoted to that very subject.
As we look into the nature of love, one of the problems we encounter is the inadequacy of the English language. Although rich in many ways, our language is impoverished, offering only one word to do duty for that which the Greek language, the language of our New Testament, had four words. First, the Greeks had a word, Storge, that meant natural love, or family love. It was used to describe the love that binds parent and child. It could even be stretched to include the love for some larger body, such as patriotic love for one’s country. This is a love rooted in familiarity, not so much in the desirability of the object of love. Perhaps a close English gloss for storge would be our word affection. We might, then, talk about loving an old pair of slippers or a crusty old relative.
I have an old baseball glove that I have owned since I was twelve years old. It is called the “Sacred Mit” because no profane hands may touch it without my permission. It is really not worth much, as old and worn as it is. However, I love that mit; that is, I have a strong sentimental attachment to it. For what it is worth, the word that describes this love, storge, is not used in the New Testament.
A second Greek word for love, Eros, also fails to appear in the New Testament. Eros is romantic love. It is the name of the little Greek god with the bow and arrows, the figure we call Cupid. Now Eros is more than sexual love, although sexuality is deeply related to romantic love. Anyone who has read the Old Testament book Song of Solomon knows that erotic love is part of romantic love.
However, there are two peculiar facts about Eros that distinguish it: 1) It is love that is based on the worth of the beloved. And 2), it is love that desires to possess. You have heard, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” You and I may not understand romantic love, but if two people are in love, it is because they find something attractive in each other. Also, you will never hear a real man say, “I am in love with Mary, but I don’t care who marries her.” Eros desires to possess the one deemed attractive. This, however, is not the New Testament understanding of love.
There is a third Greek word for love, Philia. This is the love of friendship, of one man for another, or of a woman for her close friend. Philadelphia is the city of brotherly love, that is, unless you’ve lived there as I have, and know better! Concerning Philia, C.S. Lewis said, “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself (for God did not need to create). It has no survival value; rather, it is one of those things which gives value to survival.” Friendship is a love that is built on common insight or shared tastes, something that two individuals experience together and not in common with the masses. Philia is used only once in the New Testament, although the verbal form is used on several occasions. D.A. Carson, noted New Testament scholar, says that one of the reasons for its infrequent use is the fact that by the first century, philia was used quite regularly as a synonym for kiss and thus would have limited appeal to the New Testament writers.
At last we come to the fourth Greek word for love, Agape. This is a word that was rarely used before the New Testament, but was used extensively by the writers of Scripture. Why would the Christians choose to use such an otherwise obscure word to express the meaning of love? It is not true that agape means “divine love,” per se. Nor is it entirely accurate to say that the writers of Scripture sought to portray a love that could not be expressed by any of the other words. However, Agape is used frequently in reference to divine love. When used to describe God’s love, it is fair to say that it represents love that is determined by the one who loves, not by something in the one who is loved. It is love that is “a free and decisive act determined by its subject.”
Agape is love that does not arise because of the worth of the object, nor is it love that selfishly seeks to possess for its own gain. We find that in our text. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
This is the essence of love, not only in the New Testament, but even in the Old Testament. In Deuteronomy 7, Moses explained to the people of Israel, “The Lord your God has chosen you out of all the peoples on the face of the earth to be his people, his treasured possession.” This divine love is intentional, predicated on an act of the will that decides to engage in relationship. Moses went on in the passage to say this, “The Lord did not set his affection on you and choose you because you were more numerous than other peoples, for you were the fewest of all peoples. But it was because the Lord loved you . . . that he brought you out with a mighty hand and redeemed you from the land of slavery.” Did you get that? God loved Israel as a free act of his own will, not because there was anything lovely in them, anything commendable about them. That is the love that is Agape.
And we see such love displayed even more pointedly in the New Testament. Paul wrote to the church at Rome “that God demonstrated his own love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” My friends, this is unconditional love. Knowing full well that he was getting damaged goods, God chose to love us anyway. Fully aware that there is none righteous among us, that we all have sinned and come short of the glory of God- God nonetheless gave his only begotten son, that whoever believes in him would not die but have eternal life. He sees us as we are, warts and all- and loves us anyway. And, boy, do we have a hard time accepting this. As a rule, that is not how we love- so we have a terrible time believing that anyone, including our Heavenly Father, could love in that way.
Consider this further. The noted scholar Leon Morris reminds us that “God’s love is not some vague, theoretical thing, a woolly benevolence. It took the hard way: it meant the cross.” (Apostolic Preaching of the Cross, Morris, p. 133) As Paul wrote to the Corinthian Christians, “He has made him who knew no sin to become sin for us.” The spotless Son of God becomes the guilty, cursed bearer of our sin as a manifestation of the Father’s love for us!
That is tough love! Don’t you think- if there had been some other way to provide forgiveness, God would have used it? Don’t you suppose he would have avoided the cross if there were another way to overcome sin? There wasn’t. And, thankfully, the exorbitant price of this cross did not hinder his love for you and me.
Now a further thought. This love that arises out of an unconditional acceptance is nevertheless a love that is intentional and focused. God, who loves us in spite of our sin, desires that we do not remain in that sin. He paid an infinite price in the death of his son on the cross. This is history’s greatest display of love. But, he who paid such a great price to forgive our sins, to make us children of God, desires that we turn from those sins and bear the family image. We read in Hebrews 12:6, “For whom the Lord loves he disciplines, and he scourges every son whom he welcomes.” In other words, the “writer is thus pointing out that God cares enough to do the unpleasant thing for the sake of his beloved.” Love is not incompatible with a desire for change in the beloved—and God desires that we all learn to look like Jesus.
So, then, what does this mean for us? Well, the implications are clear. God is love and we love him because he first loved us. Furthermore, by this, Jesus said, shall all men know you are my disciples— that you love one another. Let me confess something to you. For years I read our text, the love chapter, and marveled at the love of God. I wallowed in the depths of God’s love and stood amazed at its breadth. But there is one thing I did not do, not for years, at least. I never drew the conclusion that since God’s love was at work in my life, I was supposed to love that very same way! Today, I am astounded that I could have been so dense!
You and I are to be “patient and kind. We are not to envy, not to boast, not to be proud. We are not to be rude, or self-seeking, not easily angered. We are to keep no record of wrongs. We must not delight in evil, but rejoice with the truth. We are always to protect, always to trust, always to hope, always to persevere. Love never fails, and neither should we.” Say, that puts it all in a different light, doesn’t it!
Now for some application. If there is any place where we ought to exercise divine love, it is in our relationships with our spouses. Yet, this is the place where, I suspect, we are most likely to fail most miserably! Why? Perhaps familiarity breeds contempt. Perhaps we use up all our long-suffering in the workplace and have little left over when we get home. Whatever the reason, or the excuse, it is not good enough. Our text does not offer “exceptions to policy!” Look, too often what we do in our marriage relationships looks as though we consider everything apart from love. Our behavior does not believe all things, but instead keeps an exact record of all wrongs, perceived or actual; it is proud and boastful, envious, self-seeking and rude. Our attitudes and actions towards our husband or wife do not protect; it does not trust. It accuses, judges, and condemns; it has the sulfurous smell of hell about it.
Brothers and sisters, this will not do! Our text says we are to love even as God loves—and we make no mistake about it; this is not an easy thing for us to do. Yet, I would remind you, the cross was not an easy thing to do. The cross was tough love. It was tough for Jesus to bear our guilt. It was tough for the Father to turn his back on his son hanging on the cross. It was tough for God to love us while we were yet sinners. And it will be tough for you and for me to learn to live by the words of our text, to love that which is not always lovely; to be willing to seek the good of others, especially our spouse, above our own; and to think the best and to give the benefit when in doubt.
But learn to live by these words we must, if as married men and women, (or as those who one day plan to be married) we will honor God. If we will learn to live in peace, it will be because we prefer one another and do not seek our own way. Have you experienced the love of God shed abroad in your hearts? Are you seeking the well-being of your fellow Christians and, most importantly in light of this weekend, the best interests of the man or woman you have pledged to honor above all?
My dear brothers and sisters, “love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. . . . And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.” Today, we walk by faith, but one day by sight, for we shall see him as he is. Today, we hope in the Lord’s promise of redemption, but one day we shall be with him, and our hope will be fulfilled. But throughout endless ages, one thing will continue without interruption: we shall never cease to experience the ever-deepening love of God. That is why our text says so simply, and yet most eloquently, “the greatest of these is love.”
Showing posts with label Sermon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sermon. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
THE MEANING OF DEATH
Psalm 90:1-12, A PRAYER OF MOSES, THE MAN OF GOD. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. 2 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. 3 You return man to dust and say, "Return, O children of man!" 4 For a thousand years in your sight are but as yesterday when it is past, or as a watch in the night. 5 You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning: 6 in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers. 7 For we are brought to an end by your anger; by your wrath we are dismayed. 8 You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence. 9 For all our days pass away under your wrath; we bring our years to an end like a sigh. 10 The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away. 11 Who considers the power of your anger, and your wrath according to the fear of you? 12 So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.
I don’t get to Durham often—and this is not how I planned to spend my weekend. But, then, I suspect none of you expected to be here for Keith’s funeral either. When my brother, Dale, called on Monday, I knew something was wrong. He had that “I have some bad news hesitancy” in his voice—and then he said, “I have some bad news.” Just a few days ago, the last thing on anyone’s mind would be gathering for Keith’s funeral. The New Year began with such promise and hope—who would have expected this? Yet Monday morning came, and with it the word spreading from family members to friends, to co-workers, to acquaintances, that Keith had slipped away from this vale of tears into the presence of the Lord. And so here we are today, and our hearts are heavy with loss. It is a privilege for me to stand here today—to reflect on a life lived well, and to say a last goodbye to a beloved friend.
I have had the privilege of knowing Keith for almost 40 years. What a trip this has been. I have some rather vivid memories of Keith, and I am sure you do as well. However, since I have the floor now, I will share some of mine. I remember the day Keith showed up at school with his ’67 Mercury Cougar. He was wearing what we called his “purple pantsuit.” I remember thinking to myself, this is a man who is secure in his masculinity! If we had only had a 1970’s version of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” we could have saved him from this massive wardrobe malfunction. But those were the days of Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy—and Keith in his purple pantsuit.
There was a tight little group of friends that used to hang together. And Keith was usually present when we were flirting with disaster. When we went out to toss eggs at people. Or light firecrackers. Or launch water balloons. Or shoot bottle rockets at other cars, or people, or front porches. Or throw bottles at traffic signs. Or shine our spotlight into the living-room windows of folks we didn’t like. Keith was with me when I put my Camaro in a ditch. And then, not to be outdone, he put his Cougar in a ditch. And then I upped the ante and put my Camaro in another ditch. At that point Keith had the good sense to realize there was no future in this ditching of cars—and let me win. Anyone who watched us might have concluded: it is only a matter of time before they all ended up in the penitentiary. And Barry, if someone had asked, “Will Barry spend his life fighting fires—or setting fires?” I suspect it would have been even money on both. But here we are and the only stripes we are wearing are pin-stripes. Amazing grace, indeed.
Well, in time, Keith married, had two wonderful, now-grown and accomplished children, built a career, and completed his college education. Yes, completed his college degree! What a marvelous triumph of dedication and perseverance that was! And he was so proud of both Keith, Jr. and Laura—and so looked forward to Laura’s wedding. Now a word about Keith’s marriage. You know that Keith was the first among us to have a mixed marriage. I remember when he fell head over heels for Cheryl. I thought maybe it was her car that got his attention. I was wrong. He fell in love and married her, and, well, . . . Cheryl was not from around here. I used to think Keith was nuts, marrying a Yankee and all. Until I ended up marrying one, too. . . . Now I think both of us were nuts!
Okay, I am just kidding about that one—but I am not kidding about this. Keith, like all of us, had the capacity to become angry and to be stern. But such emotions were rarely seen and, if they did appear, always seemed out of character. His default setting was something I always admired—and wished that I had. There was a kindness, dare I say, a gentleness, about Keith. A steady, dependable, “what can I do to help you” spirit that came through in every part of his life.
My brother, Keith, was a man of faith. Not the oppressive rule-oriented Christianity of our youth. Long ago, many of us walked away from that flavor of Christianity. Look, it is no secret that a lot of us have had lingering heartburn with the church. And so did Keith. And so do I—even to this very day. Over the years we had many conversations about what is wrong with the church. But it is one thing to complain about the church, and the bad behavior of a lot of church-folks, and another thing entirely to place your trust in a merciful and gracious God. In the midst of all the trials of life, I have never doubted for one moment that Keith’s faith in the Lord was alive and well. It was to the Lord that Keith returned time and again for sustaining grace. And it is to the same gracious God, who gifted him with faith, that we turn today in our hour of need.
Today, as we gather here, I suspect we don’t really think about the meaning of death as the Bible presents it. We don’t like to think about death at all. Like the toddler who believes he disappears when you play “peek-a-boo,” we act as if death will go away if we just ignore it. And so we were all shocked to hear that Keith, so vital, so much a part of our lives, is gone from us. We want to consider his death an anomaly. But that is not the case. Keith is not the exception. To think that this shattering event is extraordinary is the furthest thing from the truth of Scripture. In reality, what is wrong with this picture is not that Keith has died, that he is gone. What is wrong with this picture is that we are NOT dead. D.A. Carson, in his book, How Long, O Lord? notes that “death must be seen, not as the supreme instance of a cosmic lack of fairness, but as God’s well-considered sentence against our sin.” (D.A. Carson, How Long, O Lord?, 110.)
And that is exactly what we find in our text. “You return man to dust and say, ‘Return, O children of man!’ . . . You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning.” Moses, the author of this psalm, continues, “we have been consumed by Your anger. And by Your wrath we have been dismayed. You have placed our iniquities before You, Our secret sins in the light of Your presence. For all our days have declined in Your fury; We have finished our years like a sigh.”
Now, these are not just the words of the “Angry God” of the Old Testament. The New Testament echoes this same theme, telling us in Romans 6:23 that “the wages of sin is death” and in Hebrews 9:27, “it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.” This means, as Carson points out, “that I am a responsible participant in my own death. ”(Ibid., 112.) We are a race of sinners, on our way to just condemnation. And if God calls one of us to account sooner, rather than later, this does not mean that his sin is more horrendous, or her guilt somehow greater. It does not mean that those who live on are somehow more righteous than those who pass away in an “untimely” fashion. And doesn’t our sense of shock at an “untimely death” say something about our expectation “that we ought to live out a full life span, that God somehow owes that to us?” (Ibid., 116) On the contrary, according to Scripture, everyone in this room has spent a lifetime working towards condemnation and death. My mother used to talk about being “in hell with her back broke.” That is what we have earned.
Not exactly the words of encouragement you were expecting at a funeral, eh? Well, having said these things, there is yet more that we must say. For to stop here is to miss another biblical truth, the truth that God’s anger at our sin is not the whole story. Indeed there is a whole different angle of vision we must consider if we will know fully the meaning of death. The fact is, death also points us to the mercy of God, the love of God, and the grace of God. Hear these words from another Psalm, the 103rd:
“Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. . . . The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He will not always chide, nor will he keep his anger forever. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us. As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children's children.”
Now let’s be clear about this: God’s compassion is not abstract; it is concrete. Romans 5:8 says that “God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” Here is the great mystery of the gospel, that God who hates sin and reckons all sinners worthy of death, loved us with an everlasting love—and sent his son, our Lord Jesus Christ to bear the guilt of our sin, to suffer and to die on our behalf. As the Scripture says, “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:22).
Look. Nowhere does the Scripture indicate that God has changed his mind about sin. He still hates sin. In fact, Romans 1:18 reminds us that “the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth.” But this God who hates sin and whose wrath is revealed against all ungodliness is the same God “who so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whoever believes on him, shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” The meaning of death cannot be understood apart from the person of Jesus Christ who died, was buried, but rose again from the dead.
And this brings us to another thought about the meaning of death. Jesus, who died on the cross not only satisfied God’s wrath against sin, he also rose again to show God’s approval of his sacrifice. “The cross, then, is the place where God’s justice and love meet. God retains the integrity of his justice; God pours out the fullness of his love. In the cross, God shows himself to be just and the one who justifies sinners whose faith rests in his Son. The death of God’s own Son is the only adequate gauge of what God thinks of my sin; the death of God’s own Son is the only basis on which I may be forgiven that sin. The cross is the triumph of justice and love.” (Ibid., 116)
This triumph of justice and love is the promise that those who die in the Lord, will yet live again. In John 11, Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.” This is our hope, that death is not the end, but the beginning. When we consider the meaning of death in the light of eternity, we acknowledge that “death remains an enemy, an outrage, a sign of judgment, a reminder of sin, and a formidable opponent.” ( Ibid., 150) But, . . . from another perspective “it is the portal through which we pass” to new and unending life in the presence of our Lord. (Ibid.)
My friends, look around you. Many of us have known each other for three or four decades. We knew each other before losing all the hair, gaining all the weight, and undergoing all the surgeries. We can all remember the days before Insulin, Lipitor, Coumadin, and Viagra. Do not do fool yourself by living as though death will not come your way; as though the strength of your youth will not fail. I can predict your future. And it runs through Clements Funeral Home, . . . or some other mortuary. No one gets out of this life alive.
In his children’s book, The Silver Chair, C.S. Lewis tells the story of Jill, a young girl who finds herself thirsty and standing before a stream of cool, clear water. Although the sight of the water made her feel ten times thirstier than before, she didn’t rush forward and drink. She stood still as if she had been turned into stone. And she had a very good reason; just on this side of the stream sat a huge lion. Those of you who have seen the movie, The Chronicles of Narnia, have seen this great lion. His name is Aslan; he is the Christ figure in Narnia, and in the book and movie he offers himself as a sacrifice to pay for the sins of the guilty. But in this story, Aslan is the barrier between Jill and the stream of water.
After a bit, Aslan, spoke. “If you’re thirsty, you may drink” . . . . For a second Jill stared about, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, “If you are thirsty, come and drink.” But Jill saw who spoke and was afraid to move. “Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion. “I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill. “Then drink,” said the Lion. “Do you eat girls?” she said. “I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. Aslan didn’t say this as if he were boasting, nor as if he were sorry, or even angry. He just said it. “I dare not come and drink,” said Jill. “Then you will die of thirst,” said the Lion. “Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.” “There is no other stream,” said the Lion. Jill went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn’t need much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once.” (C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair, 21.)
Let’s be clear: without Jesus, death is the beginning of unending sorrows, separation from God, and eternal darkness. Without Jesus, the emptiness that you sometimes experience now will never end— it will only grow infinitely worse. Your thirst will never be quenched. If you are trusting in Jesus, death is only the “valley of the shadow of death.” He is the living water that quenches the thirst of all who come to him and drink. You see, those who believe in Jesus pass through death and death dies as we enter into the joy of the Lord forever. What are you holding on to this day? Do you have a hope that is greater than you? Hear these words 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.” There is no other stream.
Cheryl, Keith, Laura, Barry, George—we sorrow today, but not as those who have no hope, for we believe that Keith has passed from this life into the presence of his Lord. He is there with his mother Estelle and a host of other believers, without number, from every tongue, and tribe, and nation on earth. Not because Keith was worthy of heaven. Oh Lord, none of us is worthy of heaven and I might very well be the least worthy in this room. No, Keith is in the presence of the Lord because Jesus loved him with an everlasting love—dying for his sins on the cross and promising to raise him to newness of life at that last day. The book of Revelation begins with a vision of Jesus Christ. The apostle John tells us what he saw:
“Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands one like a son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest. The hairs of his head were white like wool, as white as snow. His eyes were like a flame of fire, his feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and his voice was like the roar of many waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, from his mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and his face was like the sun shining in full strength. When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand on me, saying, ‘Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hell.’”
Jesus has the keys! The meaning of death has been transformed forever by the resurrection of our Lord, so that we cry out, “‘O grave, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (I Cor. 15:55-57). In the Heidelberg Catechism, Question 1 asks, “What is your only comfort in life and death?” And gives this answer: “That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Savior Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.” Indeed, our comfort is this: when Keith was not able to hold on to life any longer, he belonged to his faithful Savior, Jesus, who was able to hold on to Keith. And that is our hope; in life, in death, in life beyond death. Thanks be to God.
Funeral Service for my best friend, Keith
Durham, NC
January 10, 2009
I don’t get to Durham often—and this is not how I planned to spend my weekend. But, then, I suspect none of you expected to be here for Keith’s funeral either. When my brother, Dale, called on Monday, I knew something was wrong. He had that “I have some bad news hesitancy” in his voice—and then he said, “I have some bad news.” Just a few days ago, the last thing on anyone’s mind would be gathering for Keith’s funeral. The New Year began with such promise and hope—who would have expected this? Yet Monday morning came, and with it the word spreading from family members to friends, to co-workers, to acquaintances, that Keith had slipped away from this vale of tears into the presence of the Lord. And so here we are today, and our hearts are heavy with loss. It is a privilege for me to stand here today—to reflect on a life lived well, and to say a last goodbye to a beloved friend.
I have had the privilege of knowing Keith for almost 40 years. What a trip this has been. I have some rather vivid memories of Keith, and I am sure you do as well. However, since I have the floor now, I will share some of mine. I remember the day Keith showed up at school with his ’67 Mercury Cougar. He was wearing what we called his “purple pantsuit.” I remember thinking to myself, this is a man who is secure in his masculinity! If we had only had a 1970’s version of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” we could have saved him from this massive wardrobe malfunction. But those were the days of Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy—and Keith in his purple pantsuit.
There was a tight little group of friends that used to hang together. And Keith was usually present when we were flirting with disaster. When we went out to toss eggs at people. Or light firecrackers. Or launch water balloons. Or shoot bottle rockets at other cars, or people, or front porches. Or throw bottles at traffic signs. Or shine our spotlight into the living-room windows of folks we didn’t like. Keith was with me when I put my Camaro in a ditch. And then, not to be outdone, he put his Cougar in a ditch. And then I upped the ante and put my Camaro in another ditch. At that point Keith had the good sense to realize there was no future in this ditching of cars—and let me win. Anyone who watched us might have concluded: it is only a matter of time before they all ended up in the penitentiary. And Barry, if someone had asked, “Will Barry spend his life fighting fires—or setting fires?” I suspect it would have been even money on both. But here we are and the only stripes we are wearing are pin-stripes. Amazing grace, indeed.
Well, in time, Keith married, had two wonderful, now-grown and accomplished children, built a career, and completed his college education. Yes, completed his college degree! What a marvelous triumph of dedication and perseverance that was! And he was so proud of both Keith, Jr. and Laura—and so looked forward to Laura’s wedding. Now a word about Keith’s marriage. You know that Keith was the first among us to have a mixed marriage. I remember when he fell head over heels for Cheryl. I thought maybe it was her car that got his attention. I was wrong. He fell in love and married her, and, well, . . . Cheryl was not from around here. I used to think Keith was nuts, marrying a Yankee and all. Until I ended up marrying one, too. . . . Now I think both of us were nuts!
Okay, I am just kidding about that one—but I am not kidding about this. Keith, like all of us, had the capacity to become angry and to be stern. But such emotions were rarely seen and, if they did appear, always seemed out of character. His default setting was something I always admired—and wished that I had. There was a kindness, dare I say, a gentleness, about Keith. A steady, dependable, “what can I do to help you” spirit that came through in every part of his life.
My brother, Keith, was a man of faith. Not the oppressive rule-oriented Christianity of our youth. Long ago, many of us walked away from that flavor of Christianity. Look, it is no secret that a lot of us have had lingering heartburn with the church. And so did Keith. And so do I—even to this very day. Over the years we had many conversations about what is wrong with the church. But it is one thing to complain about the church, and the bad behavior of a lot of church-folks, and another thing entirely to place your trust in a merciful and gracious God. In the midst of all the trials of life, I have never doubted for one moment that Keith’s faith in the Lord was alive and well. It was to the Lord that Keith returned time and again for sustaining grace. And it is to the same gracious God, who gifted him with faith, that we turn today in our hour of need.
Today, as we gather here, I suspect we don’t really think about the meaning of death as the Bible presents it. We don’t like to think about death at all. Like the toddler who believes he disappears when you play “peek-a-boo,” we act as if death will go away if we just ignore it. And so we were all shocked to hear that Keith, so vital, so much a part of our lives, is gone from us. We want to consider his death an anomaly. But that is not the case. Keith is not the exception. To think that this shattering event is extraordinary is the furthest thing from the truth of Scripture. In reality, what is wrong with this picture is not that Keith has died, that he is gone. What is wrong with this picture is that we are NOT dead. D.A. Carson, in his book, How Long, O Lord? notes that “death must be seen, not as the supreme instance of a cosmic lack of fairness, but as God’s well-considered sentence against our sin.” (D.A. Carson, How Long, O Lord?, 110.)
And that is exactly what we find in our text. “You return man to dust and say, ‘Return, O children of man!’ . . . You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning.” Moses, the author of this psalm, continues, “we have been consumed by Your anger. And by Your wrath we have been dismayed. You have placed our iniquities before You, Our secret sins in the light of Your presence. For all our days have declined in Your fury; We have finished our years like a sigh.”
Now, these are not just the words of the “Angry God” of the Old Testament. The New Testament echoes this same theme, telling us in Romans 6:23 that “the wages of sin is death” and in Hebrews 9:27, “it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.” This means, as Carson points out, “that I am a responsible participant in my own death. ”(Ibid., 112.) We are a race of sinners, on our way to just condemnation. And if God calls one of us to account sooner, rather than later, this does not mean that his sin is more horrendous, or her guilt somehow greater. It does not mean that those who live on are somehow more righteous than those who pass away in an “untimely” fashion. And doesn’t our sense of shock at an “untimely death” say something about our expectation “that we ought to live out a full life span, that God somehow owes that to us?” (Ibid., 116) On the contrary, according to Scripture, everyone in this room has spent a lifetime working towards condemnation and death. My mother used to talk about being “in hell with her back broke.” That is what we have earned.
Not exactly the words of encouragement you were expecting at a funeral, eh? Well, having said these things, there is yet more that we must say. For to stop here is to miss another biblical truth, the truth that God’s anger at our sin is not the whole story. Indeed there is a whole different angle of vision we must consider if we will know fully the meaning of death. The fact is, death also points us to the mercy of God, the love of God, and the grace of God. Hear these words from another Psalm, the 103rd:
“Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. . . . The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He will not always chide, nor will he keep his anger forever. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us. As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children's children.”
Now let’s be clear about this: God’s compassion is not abstract; it is concrete. Romans 5:8 says that “God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” Here is the great mystery of the gospel, that God who hates sin and reckons all sinners worthy of death, loved us with an everlasting love—and sent his son, our Lord Jesus Christ to bear the guilt of our sin, to suffer and to die on our behalf. As the Scripture says, “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:22).
Look. Nowhere does the Scripture indicate that God has changed his mind about sin. He still hates sin. In fact, Romans 1:18 reminds us that “the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth.” But this God who hates sin and whose wrath is revealed against all ungodliness is the same God “who so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whoever believes on him, shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” The meaning of death cannot be understood apart from the person of Jesus Christ who died, was buried, but rose again from the dead.
And this brings us to another thought about the meaning of death. Jesus, who died on the cross not only satisfied God’s wrath against sin, he also rose again to show God’s approval of his sacrifice. “The cross, then, is the place where God’s justice and love meet. God retains the integrity of his justice; God pours out the fullness of his love. In the cross, God shows himself to be just and the one who justifies sinners whose faith rests in his Son. The death of God’s own Son is the only adequate gauge of what God thinks of my sin; the death of God’s own Son is the only basis on which I may be forgiven that sin. The cross is the triumph of justice and love.” (Ibid., 116)
This triumph of justice and love is the promise that those who die in the Lord, will yet live again. In John 11, Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.” This is our hope, that death is not the end, but the beginning. When we consider the meaning of death in the light of eternity, we acknowledge that “death remains an enemy, an outrage, a sign of judgment, a reminder of sin, and a formidable opponent.” ( Ibid., 150) But, . . . from another perspective “it is the portal through which we pass” to new and unending life in the presence of our Lord. (Ibid.)
My friends, look around you. Many of us have known each other for three or four decades. We knew each other before losing all the hair, gaining all the weight, and undergoing all the surgeries. We can all remember the days before Insulin, Lipitor, Coumadin, and Viagra. Do not do fool yourself by living as though death will not come your way; as though the strength of your youth will not fail. I can predict your future. And it runs through Clements Funeral Home, . . . or some other mortuary. No one gets out of this life alive.
In his children’s book, The Silver Chair, C.S. Lewis tells the story of Jill, a young girl who finds herself thirsty and standing before a stream of cool, clear water. Although the sight of the water made her feel ten times thirstier than before, she didn’t rush forward and drink. She stood still as if she had been turned into stone. And she had a very good reason; just on this side of the stream sat a huge lion. Those of you who have seen the movie, The Chronicles of Narnia, have seen this great lion. His name is Aslan; he is the Christ figure in Narnia, and in the book and movie he offers himself as a sacrifice to pay for the sins of the guilty. But in this story, Aslan is the barrier between Jill and the stream of water.
After a bit, Aslan, spoke. “If you’re thirsty, you may drink” . . . . For a second Jill stared about, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, “If you are thirsty, come and drink.” But Jill saw who spoke and was afraid to move. “Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion. “I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill. “Then drink,” said the Lion. “Do you eat girls?” she said. “I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. Aslan didn’t say this as if he were boasting, nor as if he were sorry, or even angry. He just said it. “I dare not come and drink,” said Jill. “Then you will die of thirst,” said the Lion. “Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.” “There is no other stream,” said the Lion. Jill went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn’t need much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once.” (C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair, 21.)
Let’s be clear: without Jesus, death is the beginning of unending sorrows, separation from God, and eternal darkness. Without Jesus, the emptiness that you sometimes experience now will never end— it will only grow infinitely worse. Your thirst will never be quenched. If you are trusting in Jesus, death is only the “valley of the shadow of death.” He is the living water that quenches the thirst of all who come to him and drink. You see, those who believe in Jesus pass through death and death dies as we enter into the joy of the Lord forever. What are you holding on to this day? Do you have a hope that is greater than you? Hear these words 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.” There is no other stream.
Cheryl, Keith, Laura, Barry, George—we sorrow today, but not as those who have no hope, for we believe that Keith has passed from this life into the presence of his Lord. He is there with his mother Estelle and a host of other believers, without number, from every tongue, and tribe, and nation on earth. Not because Keith was worthy of heaven. Oh Lord, none of us is worthy of heaven and I might very well be the least worthy in this room. No, Keith is in the presence of the Lord because Jesus loved him with an everlasting love—dying for his sins on the cross and promising to raise him to newness of life at that last day. The book of Revelation begins with a vision of Jesus Christ. The apostle John tells us what he saw:
“Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands one like a son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest. The hairs of his head were white like wool, as white as snow. His eyes were like a flame of fire, his feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and his voice was like the roar of many waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, from his mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and his face was like the sun shining in full strength. When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand on me, saying, ‘Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hell.’”
Jesus has the keys! The meaning of death has been transformed forever by the resurrection of our Lord, so that we cry out, “‘O grave, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (I Cor. 15:55-57). In the Heidelberg Catechism, Question 1 asks, “What is your only comfort in life and death?” And gives this answer: “That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Savior Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.” Indeed, our comfort is this: when Keith was not able to hold on to life any longer, he belonged to his faithful Savior, Jesus, who was able to hold on to Keith. And that is our hope; in life, in death, in life beyond death. Thanks be to God.
Funeral Service for my best friend, Keith
Durham, NC
January 10, 2009
Thursday, April 22, 2010
AT THE END OF ALL THINGS: A Sermon experiment
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
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
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