The List

The List
The List - Audio/Visual 

When they came to a place called the Skull, the soldiers crucified Jesus and the criminals — one on his right and the other on his left. Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:33-34)

The soldiers were throwing dice to see who’d get his clothes. The crowds just stood there watching the train wreck – you don’t want to stare, but you just can’t look away. And the religious leaders made fun of Jesus, saying, “He saved others. Let him save himself if he is God’s Chosen One, the Christ.” (Vs. 35) The soldiers, between rolls of the dice, took turns taunting Jesus, coming to him and offering him cheap wine that’d gone bad just to prolong the torture. They said, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!” (Vs. 37) And at the top of the cross these words were written: THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.

Then, one of the criminals being crucified began to shout insults at Jesus: “Aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself and us.” But the other criminal stopped him and said, “You should fear God! You are getting the same punishment he is. We are punished justly, getting what we deserve for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong.” (Vs. 41) Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus’ reply? “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Vs. 43)

Do you believe in heaven? Okay, and if you do, do you think you’ll go there? But if so, how do you know? I know how I know. I’ve got a list. You know, a list. “I’m dependable at work; I go to church; I don’t cheat on my taxes; I don’t beat the dog;” etc. The List. And there’s a pretty good chance you’ve got one, too. It’s our qualifications. It’s as though heaven can be earned, at least in my book, through hard work and responsible pet ownership. And the line of logic is fairly simple — we keep the list on earth and … ding, ding, ding, ding, ding … we get the place in heaven. So, what’s on your list?

The truth is that we think we’re basically good, decent, hardworking folk and we have our list to prove it. Now, maybe yours doesn’t include work or taxes, but you probably have a list. “I pay my bills.” “I love my spouse and kids.” “I’m better than Hitler.” “I’m basically good.” Most of us have a list because there’s a purpose for having one: to prove that we’re good. But there’s a problem with that premise: none of us are good enough.

Paul made that point abundantly clear when he strategically placed two sticks of dynamite in the third chapter of his letter to the church in Rome. The first is in verse 10. “There is no one who always does what is right,” he wrote, “not even one.” No one. Not you. Not me. Not anyone. And the second explosion occurs in verse 23: “All have sinned and are not good enough for God’s glory.” Boom! So much for lists. So much for being “basically good.”

Okay, then how do we get to heaven? If no one is good, if no list is sufficient, if no achievements are adequate, how can a person possibly be saved? Frankly, no question is more crucial. And to hear Jesus’ answer to that question, follow me to that last encounter he had before he gave up his Spirit. An encounter between Jesus and two criminals. All three are being crucified.

Now, you could think that these two thieves are victims. You know, undeserving of punishment; good men who got a bad rap; patriots dying a martyr’s death. But that’s not the case. Matthew dispatches that notion with just one verse: “The robbers who were being crucified beside Jesus also insulted him.” (Matt. 27:44) Tragedy, it seems, has a way of revealing a person’s character. And the tragedy of this crucifixion reveals that these two thieves had none. They slander Jesus with their last breath. Can’t you just hear them? Voices, husky with pain, are sneering at the Savior. “Some king of the Jews you are.” “Life’s pretty tough on Messiahs these days, eh?” “How about a little miracle, Galilean?” “Ever see nails that size in Nazareth, carpenter boy?”

Now, you’d expect that from the Pharisees. You might even expect it from the crowd. Even the mocking of the soldiers isn’t surprising. But from the thieves? Crucified men insulting a crucified man? It’s like two men with nooses on their necks ridiculing the plight of a third. Or, like two POWs before a firing squad taunting the other’s misfortune. Could anyone be more blind? Better yet, could anyone be more evil?

Frankly, it’s no wonder these two guys are on the cross. Rome deems them worthy of an ugly, torturous death. Their only value to society is to serve as a public spectacle. Strip them naked so all will know that evil cannot hide. Nail their hands to a piece of wood so all will see that the wicked have no strength. Post them high so the adults can tell their children, “That’s what happens to evil men.” Every muscle in their bodies screams for relief. The nails pulse fire through their arms. Legs contort and twist seeking comfort. But there’s no comfort on a cross. Yet even the pain of the spikes won’t silence their spiteful tongues. These two will die as they lived – attacking the innocent. But in this case, the innocent doesn’t retaliate.

The man they were mocking wasn’t much to look at. His body was whip-torn flesh that had been yanked away from the bone. His face was a mask of blood and spit; eyes puffy and swollen. “King of the Jews,” was painted over his head. A crown of thorns pierced his scalp. His lip was split. Maybe his nose was bleeding, or a tooth was loose. The man these guys were mocking was half-dead. The man they were mocking was beaten. But the man they were mocking was at peace. “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they’re doing.” (Luke 23:34)

And after Jesus’ prayer, one of the criminals starts shouting insults at him: “Aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself and us.” (vs. 39) The heart of this thief remained hard. The presence of Christ crucified meant nothing to him. Jesus was worthy of ridicule, so the thief ridiculed. And he fully expected his chorus to be harmonized from the other cross. But it wasn’t. Instead, it’s challenged. “You should fear God! You’re getting the same punishment he is. We are punished justly, getting what we deserve for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong.” (v. 40-41)

Unbelievable. The same mouth that cursed Christ earlier now defends Him. What happened? What could he have possibly seen since he’s been on the cross? Did he witness a miracle? Did he hear a lecture? Was he read a treatise on the trinity? No, of course not. In fact, according to Luke, all he heard was a prayer – a prayer of grace: God’s Riches At Christ’s Expense.

But that was enough.

Something happens to a man who stands in the presence of God. And something happened to the thief. Read his words again: “We are punished justly, getting what we deserve…. But this man has done nothing wrong.” The core of the gospel in just one sentence. The essence of eternity through the mouth of a crook: I am wrong - Jesus is right; I have failed – Jesus has not; I deserve to die – Jesus deserves to live. The thief knew precious little about Jesus, but what he knew was precious indeed. He knew that an innocent man was dying an unjust death with no complaint on his lips. And if Jesus can do that, he just might be who he says he is. So the thief asks for help: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

The heavy head of Christ lifts and turns. The eyes of these two meet. And what Jesus sees is a naked man. I don’t mean in terms of clothes. I mean in terms of charades. He has no cover. No way to hide. And his title? Scum of the earth. His achievement? Death by crucifixion. His reputation? Criminal. His character? Depraved until the last moment. Until the final hour. Until the last encounter. Until now.

Tell me, what has this man done to warrant help? He’s wasted his life. Who is he to beg for forgiveness? He publicly ridiculed Jesus. What right does he have to pray this prayer? Do you really want to know? The same right you have to pray yours, and the same right I have to pray mine. You see, that’s you and me on the cross. Naked, desolate, hopeless and estranged. That’s us. That’s us asking, “In spite of what I’ve done, in spite of what you see, is there any way you could remember me when we all get home?” But this time, we don’t boast, and we don’t produce our lists because any sacrifice appears silly when placed before God on a cross.

It’s more than we deserve, but we’re desperate. So we plead, as have so many others – the cripple at the pool; Mary at the wedding; Martha at the funeral; the demoniac at Geresene; Nicodemus at night; Peter on the sea; Jairus on the trail; Joseph at the stable. And every other human being who has dared to stand before the Son of God and admit his or her need. And right now, we, like the thief, have one more prayer. And we, like the thief, pray. And we, like the thief, hear the voice of grace. Today you will be with me in my kingdom. And we, like the thief, are able to endure the pain knowing he’ll one day take us home.

Even a thief like me.

Grace,

Randy

Jabez

Jabez
Jabez - Audio/Visual 

Jabez cried out to the God of Israel, "Oh, that you would bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, and keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain." And God granted his request. (1 Chronicles 4:10)

Buried in the least-read section of one of the least-read books of the Bible is the story about a guy named Jabez. And to get to his story, you have to read through almost four chapters of a book that sounds like a disease, trying to pronounce ridiculously hard names of a nation’s family tree that spans over a thousand years. However, 44 names into the chapter, a story suddenly breaks through, and then the roll call resumes as if nothing had happened at all. It’s as if the writer is saying, “Hey, you’ve just got to know something about this guy named Jabez. He stands head and shoulders above the rest!” It’s the story of things starting out badly for a person no one’s heard of, who prays a one-sentence prayer that’s answered in an extraordinary way. It’s a story about God’s little big man.

When’s the last time God worked through you in such a way that you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was in it? Better yet, when’s the last time you witnessed a miracle, even if it wasn’t your own? The truth is most of us don’t know how to ask for that kind of experience, much less even think we should because it sounds impossible, even embarrassingly suspicious in our self-serving culture. But there’s Jabez, crying out to the God of Israel and asking for a blessing. But doesn’t that seem just a little demanding? I mean, shouldn’t we revere God instead of treating him like a genie in a bottle that owes us three wishes? That didn’t seem to bother Jabez – apparently he hadn’t heard that it’s politically incorrect to ask God for too many blessings.

Jabez lived in southern Israel after the conquest of Canaan, during the time of the judges. He was born into the tribe of Judah, and eventually became the head of his clan. In Hebrew, the word Jabez means “pain.” A literal rendering of the word reads, “He causes (or will cause) pain.” Not exactly the start of a promising life. And while all newborns give their mothers a certain amount of pain during childbirth, apparently there was something about Jabez’s birth that went beyond the norm – so much so that his mother chose to memorialize the occasion by naming her son, “Pain.” Why would a mother do that? Well, maybe the pregnancy or the delivery was traumatic; maybe the baby was born breech; maybe the mother’s pain was emotional; maybe the father had abandoned her during the pregnancy; maybe he died; maybe the family was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy and the prospect of another mouth to feed was just too overwhelming. Regardless, Jabez grew up with a name that any boy would love to hate.

But people’s names do mean something, don’t they? I mean, look at Kim Kardashian and Kanye West’s baby, North. It’s a directional thing, right? “North West.” That way, I suppose, the baby will never get lost. And in the Bible, names had meaning, too. Jacob meant “heal catcher,” or “grabber” – a good one-word biography for the con man patriarch. And in the book of Ruth, Naomi and her husband named their two sons Mahlon and Chilion. Translation? “Sickly” and “Sulking.” And, that’s exactly how they behaved until they died in early adulthood. So, maybe being called a “Pain” wasn’t that bad after all.

But note that when Jabez asks for God’s blessing, it’s not like one of those sneezing prayers. “Bless the missionaries;” “Bless the kids;” “Bless the food we’re about to eat;” “Bless a sneeze.” Jabez was asking God to impart supernatural favor. He wasn’t asking for more of what he could get for himself. He was crying out for the wonderful, unlimited goodness that only God had the power to give. And notice, too, the rather radical aspect of Jabez’s request: he left it entirely up to God to decide what the blessing would be, and where, when and how he would receive it. A radical trust in God’s good intentions toward him. It wasn’t like asking for a Mercedes Benz (because all his friends drove Porsche’s and he had to make amends), a six-figure income, or some other material sign that he had found a way to cash in on his connection with God. Jabez wanted nothing more, but nothing less, than what God wanted for him.

But then Jabez continues by asking God to “enlarge his territory.” Maybe that was a request for a larger home, a better job, or greater influence. I’m not exactly sure. But talk about being bold. I mean the nerve! Right? But then again, maybe he was asking God to “enlarge” his wisdom, or his understanding, or his humility, or his patience, or love, or joy, or good health. Maybe it was to enlarge his mind, his spirit or his character. Whatever it was, what would happen if you asked God to give you more influence to help others, your family, your church, your city, the nation, or even the world? Maybe Jabez’ request was not just a desire for more real estate, but a desire for more responsibility, more opportunity to make a mark for the God of Israel. In the original Hebrew, the word “territory” is translated as either “coast” or “borders,” kind of like a “homestead,” or a “frontier.” And that makes sense because prior to that time Joshua had partitioned the Promised Land into chunks of real estate for each tribe. So it’s like, “Surely I was born for more than this, God!”

Have you ever noticed that as opportunities expand, the resources do, too? Perhaps Jabez sensed the pleasure that God felt in the sincerity and urgency of his request to accomplish great things in Israel. The truth is that, typically, we look at “territory” as follows: My abilities + my experience + my training + my personality + my appearance + my past + the expectations of others = my assigned territory. The truth is that “territory” is better defined as my willingness and weakness + God’s will and supernatural power = my expanding influence. And it’s not like miracles have to break natural law to be a supernatural event. When Jesus stilled the storm, he didn’t set aside universal law – the storm would have eventually subsided on its own. Or when Elijah prayed for it to stop raining, God directed the natural cycle of drought and rain. Frankly, the reason most of us don’t witness God’s miracles in our life is that we’re either living under a rock, or we’re afraid to take a risk. Let’s face it: you don’t need God when you’re standing in one place.

It’s when you thrust yourself into the Jet stream of God’s plans for this world (which are beyond our abilities to accomplish), and plead with Him to use you, that his miraculous power is released. At that moment, Heaven sends angels, resources, strength and the people you need to accomplish his purpose. So now, Jabez is really on a roll. Having made the flabbergasting request that God increase his influence and opportunities, he says, “Let your hand be with me.” In other words, Jabez was asking that God’s presence, love and power be manifest in every minute of Jabez’ life. More than a thousand years later, the Apostle Paul would write similar words to a struggling church in Philippi – “And my God shall supply all your needs according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:19)

In other words, it’s as if God wants us to attempt something so large that failure is guaranteed unless God steps in. But that flies in the face of our common sense. It contradicts our life’s experiences. It disregards our feelings, our training and our need for security. It sets us up to look like the fool and a loser. Yet, it’s God’s plan for his most-honored servants. Dependence upon God makes heroes of ordinary people because it’s not a about a person’s greatness; it’s a matter of the person’s surrender. You become dependent on the strong hand of God to turn your needs into his unlimited opportunities. Here’s what I mean.

In Matthew 28:19-20, Jesus said, “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations … and lo, I am with you always.” In that single sentence Jesus was giving the eleven an impossible task, coupled with an incredible blessing. Go into the entire world and preach? Really? That’s a disaster in the making. After all, Jesus was commissioning unreliable cowards like Peter, who had already proven that a little girl could get him to curse the Christ. But in 2 Chronicles 16:9, the writer says, “For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to him.” Please note that God isn’t scanning the horizon for spiritual giants or seminary standouts. He’s seeking out hearts who are loyal to Him. The problem is that “loyalty” is the only part of his expansion plan that He doesn’t provide. That’s up to you.

Finally, Jabez makes the incredible request for freedom from harm and the resultant pain it causes. Doesn’t this guy know when to stop? I mean, territories and lots of blessings, okay. But freedom from pain and suffering? Protection? Yep, because that’s what Jesus would later say. Did you know that nearly one-quarter of the Lord’s Prayer is a request for deliverance? “And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.” (Matthew 6:13) There’s nothing in there about spiritual insight or special powers. Not a word about confrontation. But since God answers the prayers of those who are a threat to Satan’s kingdom, we should be prepared to confront the spiritual attack that is bound to follow. So, a little protection would be a good thing, don’t you think?

So, what happened? “And God granted his request.” No further comment is necessary. You see, when Jabez had a problem, he didn’t go to school to get smarter, or to his friends to get advice. He prayed. When things didn't work out for him, he didn’t complain, or start a riot. He just prayed. When Jabez had a hopeless and desperate situation, he prayed God-sized prayers. Do you want a breakthrough in your spiritual life? Then pray. Pray with faith and humility and confidence and perseverance until God blesses you. I’m not suggesting, as some do, a prosperity gospel where all you have to do is “name it and claim it.” But what I am suggesting is that you pray continually and give God thanks in all your circumstances because that’s God’s will for you in Jesus. (1 Thess. 5:17-18) And then to see Jesus in your neighbor since whatever you do for your neighbor, you do for Him. (Matt. 25:31-46) Then God will work a miracle. He’ll either calm the storm, or calm your heart. Here’s what I mean.

The 23^rd chapter of Luke begins with an account of Herod, Pilate’s jurisdictional counterpart whom Pilate had skillfully used to toss a political hand grenade to avoid getting blown up. But Herod had heard a lot about Jesus, so much so that he wanted to see the miracle worker perform a trick anyway. So, he asked Jesus a ton of questions. Silence. So after getting the silent treatment, maybe Herod handed Jesus a glass of water and asked him to change it into wine. Still nothing. Or, maybe he gave Jesus a piece of bread and asked him to make it a loaf. Nada.

But in Luke 23:12, we have a curious sidebar from the doctor: “(Herod and Pilate, who had been enemies before, became friends that day.)” The parentheses are Luke’s, not mine. It’s as if Luke doesn’t want us to miss the irony of the miracle that had just occurred – apparently, it was harder to see water changed to wine, than an enemy turned into a friend. In other words, Herod had his miracle. He just didn’t see it.

           Jabez, labeled with sorrow and pain, uttered a simple prayer to nullify the label. Maybe Jabez thought his name was his destiny. So, he prayed for God’s protection from the pain he anticipated. But you don’t have to be a pain to pray like a Jabez. And you don’t have to pray a novel when a sentence will do. Just be God’s little big man, or woman, and then don’t miss the miracle.

Grace,

Randy

Hell

Hell
Hell - Audio/Visual 

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)

The hero of heaven is God. Angels don’t worship mansions or golden streets. Gates and jewels don’t prompt the hosts to sing. God does. His majesty stirs the pen of heaven’s poets and the awe of its citizens. They enjoy an eternity-long answer to David’s prayer: “One thing I ask of the LORD . . . to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD.” (Ps. 27:4) What else deserves a look? Inhabitants of heaven forever marvel at the sins God forgives, the promises he keeps, and the plans he executes. He’s not the grand marshal of the parade; he is the parade. He’s not the main event; he’s the only event. His Broadway is a single stage and star: himself. He hosts the only production and invites every living soul to see. He, at this very moment, issues invitations by the millions. He whispers through the kindness of a grandparent, or shouts through the tempest of a tsunami. Through the funeral he cautions, “Life is fragile;” through a sickness he reminds us, “Days are numbered.” God may speak through nature or nurture, majesty or mishap, but through it all he invites: “Come, enjoy me forever.”

But a lot of people don’t care. They don’t want anything to do with God. He speaks and they cover their ears. He commands and they scoff. They don’t want him telling them how to live their lives. They mock what he says about marriage, money or the value of human life. They regard his son as a joke, and the cross as foolishness. (1 Cor. 1:18) They spend their lives telling God to leave them alone. And at the moment of their final breath, he honors their request: “Get away from me, you who do evil. I never knew you.” (Matt. 7:23) This verse is, perhaps, the most somber of Christian realities: hell.

No topic stirs greater resistance. Who wants to think about eternal punishment? We prefer to dumb down the issue, make jokes about its residents or turn the noun into an adjective. Odd that we don’t do the same with lesser tragedies. For instance, you never hear, “My golf game has gone to prison.” Or, “This is an AIDS of a traffic jam.” It seems like there’s a conspiracy to minimize hell. Some, on the other hand, prefer to sanitize the subject, dismissing it as a moral impossibility. Bertrand Russell, a self-described atheist, said, “I do not myself feel that any person who is really profoundly humane can believe in everlasting punishment.” Or, as is more typical, “A loving God wouldn’t send people to hell.” It’s as if hell has disappeared and no one noticed.

And it’s easy to understand why. Hell is a hideous topic. Any person who discusses it glibly, or proclaims it gleefully has really failed to consider it deeply. Scripture writers dip quills into gloomy ink to describe its nature. They speak of the “blackest darkness” (Jude 13), “everlasting destruction” (2 Thess. 1:9), and “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” (Matt. 8:12) And a glimpse into the pit won’t brighten your day, either. But it will enlighten your understanding of Jesus because he didn’t avoid the discussion. To the contrary, he planted a one-word caution sign between you and me and hell’s path: “perish.” “Whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16) Jesus spoke of hell a lot. In fact, thirteen percent of his teachings refer to eternal judgment and hell, and two-thirds of his parables relate to resurrection and judgment. Jesus wasn’t cruel or capricious, but he was blunt. His candor even stuns us. He speaks in tangible terms. “Fear Him,” he warns, “who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.” (Matt. 10:28) He quotes Hades’ rich man pleading for Lazarus to “dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue.” (Luke 16:24) Words such as “body,” “finger” and “tongue” presuppose a state in which a throat longs for water and a person begs for relief — sentient relief.

The apostles said that Judas Iscariot had gone “to his own place.” (Acts 1:25) The Greek word for place is topos, which means a geographical location. And Jesus describes heaven with the same noun: “In My Father’s house are many mansions. . . . I go to prepare a place for you.” (John 14:2) Hell, like heaven, is a location, not a state of mind. It’s not some metaphysical dimension of floating spirits, but an actual place populated by sentient beings. And God has quarantined a precinct in his vast universe as the depository for the hard-hearted. So exactly where is hell? Jesus gives one chilling clue: “outside.” “Tie him hand and foot, and throw him outside, into the darkness.” (Matt. 22:13) Outside of what? Outside of the boundaries of heaven, for one thing. Abraham, in paradise, told the rich man in torment, “Between us and you there is a great gulf fixed, so that those who want to pass from here to you cannot, nor can those from there pass to us.” (Luke 16:26) In other words, there are no heaven-to-hell field trips. Hell is to heaven what the edge of our universe is to earth: outside the range of a commute.

Hell is also outside the realm of conclusion, too. Oh, that hell’s punishment would have an end, and that God would schedule an execution date. And New Testament language leads some scholars to believe that he will: Fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. (Matt. 10:28) Whoever believes in him shall not perish. (John 3:16) Destroy. Perish. Don’t these words imply an end to suffering? I wish I could say they do. There’s no point on which I’d more gladly be wrong than the eternal duration of hell. If God, on the last day, extinguishes the wicked, I’ll celebrate my misreading of his words. Yet annihilation seems inconsistent with Scripture. God sobers his warnings with eternal language. Consider John’s description of the wicked in Revelation 14:11: “the smoke of their torment goes up forever and ever, and they have no rest, day or night.” So how then could the euthanized soul “have no rest, day or night”?

Jesus parallels hell with Gehenna, a rubbish dump outside the southwestern walls of Jerusalem, infamous for its unending smoldering and decay. He employs Gehenna as a word picture of hell, the place where the “worm does not die and the fire is not quenched.” (Mark 9:48) A deathless worm and quenchless fire — however symbolic these phrases may be — smack of an ongoing consumption of something. Jesus speaks of sinners being “thrown outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” (Matt. 8:12) If that’s true, how can a nonexistent person weep or gnash their teeth? And Jesus describes the length of heaven and hell with the same adjective: eternal. “They will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” (Matt. 25:46) Hell lasts as long as heaven. It may have a back door or graduation day, but I haven’t found one. And a lot perishes in hell. Hope perishes. Happiness perishes. But the body and soul of the God-deniers continue outside. Outside of heaven; outside of hope; outside of God’s goodness.

None of us have seen such a blessingless world. Even the vilest of humanity know the grace of God. People who want nothing of God still enjoy his benefits. Adolf Hitler witnessed the wonder of the Alps. Saddam Hussein enjoyed the blushing sunrise of the desert. The dictator, child molester, serial rapist, and drug peddler — all enjoy the common grace of God’s goodness. They hear children laugh, smell dinner cooking, and tap their toes to the rhythm of a good song. They deny God yet enjoy his benevolence.

But these privileges are confiscated at the gateway to hell. Scofflaws will be “shut out from the presence of the Lord.” (2 Thess. 1:9) Hell knows none of heaven’s kindnesses. There’s no overflow of divine perks. The only laughter the unrepentant hear is evil; the only desires they know are selfish. Hell is society at its worst. Perhaps more tragically, hell is individuals at their worst. It surfaces and amplifies the ugliest traits in people. Cravings will go unchecked. Worriers will fret and never find peace. Thieves will steal and never have enough. None will be satisfied. Remember: “Their worm does not die.” (Mark 9:48)

Death freezes the moral compass. People will remain in the fashion they enter. Revelation 22:11 seems to emphasize hell’s unrepentant evil: “Let the evildoer still do evil, and the filthy still be filthy.” The Godless remain ungodly because hell is not a correctional facility or a reform school. Its members hear no admonishing parents, candid sermons, or the Spirit of God. There’s no voice of God or the voice of God’s people. Spend a lifetime telling God to be quiet, and he’ll do just that. God honors our request for silence. Hell is the chosen home of insurrectionists, the Alcatraz of malcontents. Hell is reserved, not for those souls who seek God yet struggle, but for those who defy God and rebel. For those who say about Jesus, “We don’t want this man to be our king.” (Luke 19:14) So, in history’s highest expression of fairness, God honors their preference. “I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live.” (Ezek. 33:11) It is not God’s will that any should perish, but the fact that some do highlight God’s justice because God has to punish sin. “Nothing impure will ever enter [heaven], nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb’s book of life.” (Rev. 21:27) God, inherently holy, must exclude evil from his new universe. God, eternally gracious, never forces his will. He urges mutineers to stay on board but never ties them to the mast. So, how could a loving God send sinners to hell? He doesn’t. They volunteer.

Once there, they don’t want to leave. The hearts of damned fools never soften; their minds never change. “Men were scorched with great heat, and they blasphemed the name of God who has power over these plagues; and they did not repent and give Him glory.” (Rev. 16:9) Contrary to the idea that hell prompts remorse, it doesn’t. It intensifies blasphemy. Remember the rich man in torment? He could see heaven but didn’t request a transfer. He wanted Lazarus to descend to him. Why not ask if he could join Lazarus? The rich man complained of thirst, not injustice. He wanted water for the body, not water for the soul. Even the longing for God is a gift from God, and where there is no more of God’s goodness, there is no longing for him. Though every knee shall bow before God and every tongue confess his preeminence (Rom. 14:11), the hard-hearted will do so stubbornly and without worship. There won’t be any atheists in hell (Phil. 2:10–11), but there won’t be any God-seekers either.

But still we wonder, is the punishment fair? Such a penalty seems inconsistent with a God of love — overkill you might say. A sinner’s rebellion doesn’t warrant an eternity of suffering, does it? Isn’t God overreacting? But only he knows the full story – the number of invitations the stubborn-hearted have refused, and the slander they’ve spewed.  Have you ever accused God of unfairness? But then again, hasn’t he wrapped caution tape on hell’s porch and posted a million and one red flags outside the entrance? To descend its stairs, you’d have to cover your ears, blindfold your eyes and, most of all, ignore the epic sacrifice of history: Christ, in God’s hell on humanity’s cross, crying out to the blackened sky, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46)

It’d be easier to capture the Pacific Ocean in a jar than describe that sacrifice in words. But a description might read like this: God, who hates sin, unleashed his wrath on his sin-filled son. Christ, who never sinned, endured the awful forsakenness of hell. The supreme surprise of hell is this: Christ went there so you won’t have to. Yet hell could not contain him. He arose, not just from the dead, but from the depths. “Through death He [destroyed] him who had the power of death, that is, the devil.” (Heb. 2:14) Christ emerged from Satan’s domain with this declaration: “I have the keys of Hades and of Death.” (Rev. 1:18) In other words, he’s the warden of eternity and the door he shuts, no one opens, and the door he opens, no one shuts. (Rev. 3:7) Thanks to Christ, this earth can be the nearest you come to hell. But apart from Christ, this earth is the nearest you’ll ever come to heaven.

Grace,

Randy