Walking With Christ

(Part 7 of 7)

Revelation 20:12  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.(ESV)

There are passages in Scripture that are difficult to read casually.  This is one of them.

The dead stand before God.  Great and small.

No distinction of status matters anymore.  No titles.  No wealth.

Books are opened.  Judgment comes.

The sea gives up the dead.  Death and Hades give up the dead.  And everyone is judged.

There’s something final about the scene that makes us slow down.  There’s nowhere else to appeal.

No higher court.  No second opinion.  No opportunity to explain the story differently to someone more sympathetic.

The throne is occupied.  The books are open.  The Judge knows.

We pause there.  We should.

Judgment is one of those subjects people often prefer to keep at a distance, but Revelation doesn’t allow much distance.

The scene is intentionally enormous.  It makes the reader feel small.

Then Jesus says something much quieter:

Matthew 7:21–23  (21)“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.  (22)On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’  (23)And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’(ESV)

And somehow we keep reading.

Pause.

These people call Him Lord.  That’s a big deal.

Jesus isn’t describing people who openly rejected Him.

They know His name.  They speak religiously.  They apparently expect to be received.  They even present evidence.

“Did we not prophesy in your name?”

“Did we not cast out demons in your name?”

“Did we not do many mighty works in your name?”

These aren’t people standing before Jesus saying:  “We wanted nothing to do with You.”

They are saying:  “Look at what we did for You.”

And Jesus answers:  “I never knew you.”

That may be one of the most frightening sentences in the Bible.

Not because judgment exists.  Revelation already made that clear.

What makes Matthew 7 uniquely unsettling is that the people being judged appear surprised.

They thought they were safe.

They thought their works proved something.

They thought their use of Jesus’ name proved something.

They thought visible spiritual activity proved something.

They were certain.

And they were wrong.

That should make us all pause.

Maybe longer than Revelation does.  Because Revelation allows us to imagine judgment happening to people somewhere else.

Matthew 7 moves the danger much closer.

Religious language isn’t enough.  Activity isn’t enough.  Miraculous claims aren’t enough.

Calling Jesus “Lord” with the mouth isn’t enough if the life doesn’t belong to Him.

That’s uncomfortable, and it should be.

Jesus isn’t trying to create anxious Christians who spend every waking moment terrified that they accidentally missed salvation.

He’s confronting false assurance.  There’s a difference.

False assurance says:

“I said the right words.”

“I attend the right church.”

“I know the right doctrine.”

“I’ve done ministry.”

“I’ve spiritual experiences.”

“People think I’m faithful.”

“I’ve served.”

“I’ve taught.”

“I’ve prayed.”

“I’ve done impressive things.”

Therefore:  “I must belong to Christ.”

Jesus doesn’t accept that equation.

The people in Matthew 7 bring Him their résumé.

Jesus answers with relationship and obedience.  “I never knew you.”

That’s the center of the warning.

They knew things about Jesus.  They used His name.  They acted in ways they believed were connected to Him.

But Jesus says there was never the relationship they assumed existed.

That should force a different kind of examination.

Not:  “Have I done enough impressive Christian things?”

But:  “Do I actually know Christ?”

And:  “Does my life submit to Him?”

That second question matters because Jesus had already said:  “the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.”

Again, this isn’t salvation by résumé.  The whole passage destroys that idea.

The people standing before Him have a résumé.  A dramatic one.  It doesn’t save them.

But neither does Jesus describe genuine faith as a label with no obedience attached.

That’s the tension we often try to escape.

We don’t earn Christ through works.  But belonging to Christ changes what obedience means.

We stop using Him as a name attached to our activity.  We begin following Him as Lord.

There’s a huge difference between doing things in the name of Jesus and actually belonging to Jesus.

That difference may not always be visible to other people.  That’s part of what makes this passage frightening.

Others may have believed these people.  Perhaps they believed themselves.

Public appearance can fool people.  Religious vocabulary can fool people.  Spiritual activity can fool people.  We can even fool ourselves.

But the One sitting on the throne isn’t fooled.

That connects Matthew 7 back to Revelation.

The fear of the final judgment isn’t merely that God will discover something about us.

He already knows.

The fear is that we may discover something about ourselves too late.  That’s why self-examination matters now.

Paul tells believers to examine themselves to see whether they are in the faith.  John writes so that believers may know they have eternal life.

Scripture gives assurance.  But biblical assurance isn’t built on refusing examination.

It survives examination because it’s rooted in Christ.  That distinction is vital.

A person who truly belongs to Christ doesn’t need to spend life trying to generate enough fear to prove sincerity.

But neither should anyone use grace as permission never to ask whether the confession of the mouth has any relationship to the allegiance of the life.

“Lord, Lord.”  Those words sound right.

Jesus still says:  “I never knew you.”

Pause there.  Really pause there.  Ask what your confidence is actually resting on.

A prayer you once prayed?

A church membership?

A family tradition?

A position?

A ministry?

A theological system?

A spiritual experience?

Something impressive you once did?

Other people believing you’re faithful?

Your grandma praying over you?

None of those things can replace Christ.

The people in Matthew 7 had impressive things to point toward.

Jesus still pointed past all of them.

Relationship.  Obedience.  Truth.

The throne scene in Revelation frightens us because everything is exposed.

Matthew 7 should frighten us because some people apparently reach that exposure convinced there’s nothing to fear.

That’s the danger.  Not uncertainty.  False certainty.

There’s a kind of confidence that comes from knowing Christ.  There’s another kind that comes from never asking hard questions.

They aren’t the same.

So pause at Revelation.  Pause as long as is needed to hear this.

Let the throne be enormous.  Let the books being opened sober you.  Let judgment feel like judgment.

Then turn back to Matthew 7.

Don’t skim because you’ve heard it before.

Listen to the people speaking.  “Lord, Lord.”  Listen to what they point toward.  Their works.  Their experiences.  Their certainty.

Then listen to Jesus.  “I never knew you.”

And before deciding who else that passage is about, ask the harder question.

What’s my confidence resting on?

Not what do people think?  Not what have I accomplished?  Not what words do I know?

Do I know Christ?

Does He have my allegiance?

Is my life actually submitted to the One I call Lord?

Those questions aren’t meant to destroy faith.  They’re meant to destroy counterfeit confidence.

The throne is real.  So is grace.  So is assurance.  But assurance should rest on Christ.

Not on our ability to build a convincing case for ourselves.

One day, the books will be opened.  That makes us pause.

Jesus tells us something else before that day arrives.

Not everyone who says, “Lord, Lord.”

Pause there too.