Least Favorite Subject
I spent some time in a cemetery yesterday. I saw gravestones dating back as far as 1876. I’m sure there were probably older ones. And, of course, there are newer ones. One, fresh, unmarked yet. Now I know we don’t like talking about death and dying, but after living a long time, and ministering most of that time, I have reached the conclusion that this mortality we all share ends, and sometimes abruptly.
Now if I knew a tornado or a tsunami were coming to an area near you, I’m thinking you would like for me to let you know about it. So, I going to take the chance that you might want to hear this as well.
Death is coming. It may be a multitude of years before it overtakes you, or it might be tonight. God has individually numbered our days and has not given us the number. I know the Bible talks about “threescore and ten” (Psalm 90:10) years of life and we know that some live longer, some not so long. My father lived fourscore years, and my mother fourscore and fourteen, and perhaps my time will fall somewhere in-between.
No matter really. Once we have come to faith in Jesus Christ, we’re fit for Heaven and will spend eternity in the dwelling place He has prepared for us (see John 14). My concern lies not in longevity, but in the quality of the spiritual maturity we possess and demonstrate while the numbers are still running.
It was such a joy to speak of the “saint-ly-ness” of my friend yesterday. To see a life lived well on Earth, and believing she received Heaven’s “well-done” upon arrival brings peace in the midst of sorrow, joy in the midst of hurt.
We need to focus everyday on “our calling.” We need to demand of ourselves a walk worthy of who we are and what has been entrusted to us by the Father. We must recognize that while we traverse this landscape we call life, there is a responsibility that cannot be avoided or dismissed. Our lives have impact on others. What we say and what we do are those things that bless or curse, wound or heal, speak life. . .or not.
For most of you who read these words, that guy who bores you on Sunday and stays too long in your hospital room when you want to sleep, who calls you to inopportune challenges, and confuses you with his own vacillations, will someday accompany you to the cemetery. What will he say there? I know we don’t like thinking about that. . .but let’s do it anyway.