This article is part of the series: The Chapters That Changed My Life
The Chapters That Changed My Life (6)
The reality of death presses home the need for redemption, turning attention from human strength to the hope God has provided in Christ.
Read Time: 6 minutes
We have a problem. We are dying.
“What do you mean, we are dying?”, you say.
I often speak to young people. They’re vivacious. They’re healthy. They can run and jump and skip, and yet they’re still dying. When speaking, I will ask the audience, “Who here has lost a family member this year? It could be an uncle, an aunt, a grandparent.”
Almost everyone in the audience knows someone right now who’s struggling with a life-threatening illness.
When I was a freshman in college, a brother from my ecclesia was struggling with cancer. He was about twenty-five, as I recall, and he fought courageously. This brother was athletic. I’d wager that, in his day, he could jump higher than any of the young people I teach at camps. He was an accomplished volleyball player. But much more important than that, he loved the meeting. In CYC, he would request that we sing “Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem,” pretty much every week.
One weekend, we all gathered at the hospital. The end was near. Everyone was saying goodbye. The brother couldn’t say much between groans of pain. I recollect he refused to take strong medication at the end. He wanted to be in his right mind.
Not being family, I felt better just being with everyone in the waiting room. I remember Brother Max, his uncle, coming back into the waiting room after visiting Alan. “What did you say, Max?” someone in the room asked. “I said, I love you, and I’ll see you in the Kingdom.”
The next morning, Sunday morning, as I was getting ready for memorial service, the phone rang. It was Uncle Bob letting me know Alan had fallen asleep in Christ.
By coincidence, while I was originally preparing this material many years ago, I received an email titled “Sad News.” My first employer, after I graduated from university, had passed away. Dr. Halbert White was an accomplished economist. In academics, the most important thing is to publish in peer-reviewed journals. Based on a few good publications, you can secure your career. Hal had over 150 journal publications. But it’s not enough to simply write in journals. You know you’re important when other people cite your papers in their research. Hal authored the most-cited paper in economics since 1970, at least until I finished working with him. Each year, he was considered for a Nobel Prize in Economics, and he probably deserved it.
More personally, Hal had founded a successful consulting business, where I worked. The business employed over 150 people, and I’m sure he earned a very significant salary for his consulting work. But beyond that, he was humble and kind. I really liked him. But he has been dead for many years now. Intelligent as he was, it is of no further use to him. Hal is not asleep in Christ. Hal has perished.
Why does it take losing someone for us to realize that we are dying? You see, we have a problem. In the Garden of Eden, God passed a sentence on humankind that we are mortal. And from Adam forward, we die. Some die after many years, some die in their youth.
And our death is just. We have sinned, and death is the sentence, as pronounced against our first father, so also against us.
But what if I said to Alan in the hospital days before his death (and to be clear, I didn’t say this), “Take comfort, my dear friend and brother in Christ Jesus, for you there is no condemnation. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the Kingdom.” Do those words suddenly have more meaning? But what makes us so different from Alan?
What does the word “condemnation” mean? It’s one of those Bible words that we use, just sort of hoping people understand what we mean. But let us explore the word.
To get our heads around the word “condemnation,” we need to imagine a courtroom. You come before a judge, and the clerk reads the charge, “sinner.” As the evidence is unfolded, you begin to see, for the first time, your life from God’s perspective. You see all the times God was trying to use you to bring others to the truth, and you refused. You see all the people you offended and caused to stumble. You see those brothers and sisters that you have slandered and hurt. You see all the times the “least of Christ’s brethren” needed your help, and you turned the other way. You see how yielding to your sinful nature kept you enslaved to fear and resentment, and stopped you from honoring God.
As the evidence is read, it becomes totally clear in your mind. God is righteous. Sin is horrible. It hurts, destroys, and dishonors God. You come to fully understand that you deserve the pending sentence.
Why don’t we understand mercy, young people, brothers, and sisters? Yes, we talk about mercy, we read it in Scripture, we know what it means. But it’s all very intellectual. Do we really understand what it means? How can we understand mercy until it is the only thing that separates us from perishing?
I tell you: no one will enter the Kingdom of God thinking they deserve to be there. No one will enter the Kingdom of God having worked the system, without humility, having not understood that God is righteous, without a clear understanding that sin is evil and must be destroyed. All who enter will understand mercy, the free gift they did not deserve.
In California, where I grew up, executions are currently under moratorium, but the death chamber at San Quentin still carries its history. In the next room opposite the gurney, a phone hangs on the wall. That phone exists for one reason: it connects directly to the Governor. At that final moment, when every appeal has failed, only the Governor can stop what is about to happen. And so, you wait. Will the Governor call? Almost never. The line stays silent. But if it did ring, in that instant you would understand mercy, not as an abstract idea but as life itself, because you understand the implication of mercy withheld.
But even if we don’t understand mercy now, it seems as though Paul did. We can see how grateful Paul is when he says, “Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Romans 7:24 ESV). And the answer proceeds from his lips, “Thanks be to God.” (Romans 7:25 ESV).
And so, back in the courtroom, the evidence is read, and you and everyone around you know that you are guilty. And now you await the sentence of punishment. It’s that idea, the sentence of punishment, which is the exact meaning of the word “condemnation.” Notice that the sentence of punishment is different from the evidence of sin or even the judgment.
See how Paul separates the three concepts in Romans 5:18, “Therefore, as through one man’s (1) offense (2) judgment came to all men, resulting in (3) condemnation.” (Romans 5:18 NKJV).
The order Paul provides in Romans is:
- First offense (the charge)
- Then judgment (guilt or innocence)
- Then condemnation (the sentence for guilt)
Logically, that’s the appropriate order. And so, in our imaginary courtroom, now that it is clearly manifest that you have offended and are guilty, the sentence is about to be read. You feel a chill at the horror of the moment. As you look up at the judge, he begins to speak. Your mortality is destroyed, your sinfulness condemned. You are free.
Why?
You’re in Christ Jesus. And there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. It’s not that there is no offense, and it’s not that there is no guilt. We’ve certainly sinned, and sin deserves death. There’s no disputing that. It’s that, in Christ, there is no condemnation.
In case you think that this court drama is overplayed, let’s see the overtones of the judgment hall coming through later in Romans 8:33-34, specifically the legal words “charge” and “condemn.”
Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies; who is to condemn? Is it Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised from the dead, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us? (Romans 8:33-34 RSV).
Who will lay charges? God? It’s He who justifies. Who will condemn? Jesus? He intercedes for you. Imagine for a moment your defense attorney, your advocate, your parakletos, your intercessor, looks at you the moment before the sentence is read, reaches up and touches your slumping shoulder, stands, walks around the table, up to the judgment seat, and sits down in the place of the judge and proceeds to read out the sentence granting you release.
When you’re in Christ, you find that your defense attorney is also the judge. Your accuser creates the conditions for your release.
What sort of court is this? This is not a fair trial.
It is not meant to be a fair trial.
Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.
So, Romans 8 begins, “There is, therefore, now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (RSV).
I hope now we better appreciate what that means.
Ben Brinkerhoff,
Christchurch North Ecclesia, NZ
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