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Shopworn (and more than a little
shaggy) is the story about the Methodist, newly arrived in
heaven, being given a tour of the premises by St. Peter.
Down the hallway they walked, Peter pointing out the doors.
“Behind this door, the Catholics. Behind that one, the
Presbyterians. And that door over there opens on the
Lutherans. But when we pass this next door, we need to
tiptoe very quietly.” “Why is that?” the Methodist inquired.
“Well,” said St. Peter, “that’s where the Baptists are. And
they think they’re the only ones here.”
Like I said, the story is as old
as it is apocryphal. You could change the names and no one
would be the wiser. The only reason the story survives is
because there are groups who believe they will be the only
ones there….ought to be the only ones there…..and have a
God-given right to be the only ones there.
Among those certain that God is
going to cap heaven’s population, there seems to be a
division between those who are delighted by the idea of
limits and those who are worried by the idea of limits. With
the greatest worry of the worriers being: “What if I’m there
and my loved ones aren’t?”
Several times in my ministry
(including here, recently) retired individuals in their
seventies and eighties have come to me about a concern,
raised by one of their children or grandchildren, that they
won’t be going to heaven. Now mind you, these retirees have
(in every instance) been lifelong members of the
church….workers in the church….and givers to the church. And
once upon a time….seventy years ago when they were
confirmed….some pastor asked them: “Do you accept Jesus
Christ as Lord and Savior?” To which they said: “Yes, I do.”
But now, someone in their family
is saying to them:
That may be true, Grandma and
Grandpa, but there’s something about that that wasn’t right.
Either the words weren’t right, the mood wasn’t right, the
means weren’t right, or the church (especially the church)
wasn’t right. Because it wasn’t our church. It wasn’t the
right church. It wasn’t the true church. So give us some
assurance by doing it our way. Which we believe to be the
only way. Because heaven won’t be the same without you.
Even clergy families are not
immune. Steve Swecker is a fellow Methodist minister
(ordained in West Virginia but now living and serving in
Maine). While we have never met, we both have essays in a
newly-published collection entitled Wells of Wisdom:
Grandparents and Spiritual Journeys. In Steve’s essay,
he describes the day he became a great disappointment to his
grandmother, creating a wedge in their relationship that
never healed. It was the day he was ordained as a United
Methodist minister. But he can tell it better than I can.
Not once did it occur to me as a
young man in my twenties that my decision to seek ordination
to the Methodist ministry would distress a family member,
much less Grandma. As far as I was aware, she was proud of
me and her blessing seemed secure.
It stunned me, therefore, to
learn through my mother that not only was Grandma not proud
of my decision to enter the ministry, but she believed my
doing so would effectively cut me off from any possibility
of salvation. Until my vocational decision was made, she
could hope that someday I would see the light and embrace
the rock-ribbed Church of Christ that had shaped her
spiritual understanding since childhood. According to her
church’s belief, it alone possessed the gospel truth and
keys to heaven. Hence, the prospect of her grandchild—her
Stephen—becoming an “unsaved” United Methodist preacher
erected a barrier that stood between us for the rest of her
life.
One of the last times I saw
Grandma after crossing the spiritual Rubicon of ordination
was on the front porch of my aunt’s house, where Grandma was
visiting at the time. Although I greeted her warmly as
always, she scarcely acknowledged my presence, never looking
me in the eye. It was a moment of profound sadness for me,
one that some thirty-five years later echoes in my heart.
Well, I don’t know about you,
but I feel the pain in that. I feel the pain in Grandma’s
fear. I also feel the pain in Stephen’s loss (if not of
heaven, then of Grandma). But I feel even greater pain when
the promises of God….which are offered, I think, to bridge
us together….keep wedging us apart.
Let me be both forthright and
honest with you. In all my years of preaching, nothing I
have said about any social issue….even the most
controversial and volatile social issue….has generated as
much feedback (some of a questioning nature, some of a
critical nature) as my occasional claim that God’s desire is
to heal all of his creation, redeem all of his children,
restore all of his family, and re-gather all of his people.
Meaning that heaven’s population may turn out to be more
numerous than many think…more diverse than many think….more
inclusive than many think….and hence, more surprising than
many think. Making the “church triumphant” grander and
greater than many think…..or want, if the truth be known.
I realize that every time I say
that, it sounds like fingernails on the blackboard to some
of you. For which I profoundly and humbly apologize.
Profoundly, because I really don’t want to hurt you. Humbly,
because I could be wrong.
Some years ago….though not that
many, really….Robert Schuller addressed several thousand
pastors in Orlando, Florida. The group included mainline and
Pentecostal pastors, fundamental and charismatic pastors.
After his presentation, he agreed to field questions from
the congregants. I wasn’t there, but my friend and colleague
Rod Wilmoth was. He describes the scene thusly:
At that point, one of the clergy
said, “Dr. Schuller, I read recently that you gave an
address to a national gathering of Muslims. Why did you
speak to them and what did you say?” There was something
about the question that implied that a Christian would have
no reason to speak to such a group.
Robert Schuller, in his usual
open and direct manner, said: “I was honored to speak at
their national gathering. I talked about what Muslims and
Christians have in common. That, in many ways, we both come
from the same roots and that we could accomplish much by
working together, focusing not on our differences but on our
similarities.” And then, sensing the uneasiness with the
question, Dr. Schuller said: “Let me tell you about a book
I’m reading now. The author said, ‘Don’t be surprised if,
when you die and go to heaven, you will meet people there
who have never heard of Jesus Christ.’”
I doubt if everyone present
especially liked what Dr. Schuller said, but it was the
right thing to say, given where we are in our world today.
Christians who feel that they have exclusive membership in
heaven may be in for a real surprise. My congregation has
often heard me say, “If you have Jewish neighbors and you’re
not getting along, you had better work on improving the
relationship because, in all reality, they will be with you
in heaven!”
I believe that. As does Father
Richard John Neuhaus (currently the most influential
Catholic scholar in America). I read Father Neuhaus because
he is a most eloquent spokesperson for what might be called
Christian conservatism in America. I also read him because I
need to give people access to me who, on many issues, think
differently from me. But concerning my broader understanding
of salvation, I was surprised to discover he stands with me.
His recollection of how that line of thinking began is one
of the best biographical memories I have read in years.
When I was a boy, no more than
seven years old, I attended a “mission festival” in the
Canadian hamlet of Petawawa, Ontario. The annual mission
festival was a very big event among the people of that time
and place. Each parish would take its turn in hosting the
mission festival, and since individual churches could not
hold the crowds that came from surrounding parishes, the day
of preaching, prayer, hymns and picnicking was held
outdoors. For such a special occasion, a guest preacher was
required, and this year he came all the way from “the
States,” which meant two hundred miles away in upstate New
York. This preacher had a most dramatic flair in making the
case for the urgency of world missions. Well into a sermon
that lasted an hour or more, the preacher suddenly stopped.
For a full minute there was complete silence as he looked
intently at his wristwatch. Then he tossed his head, threw
out his arm and, pointing directly at me in the third row,
announced: “In the last minute, thirty-seven thousand lost
souls have gone to eternal damnation without a saving
knowledge of their Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!”
It was, I believe, the first
theological crisis of my life. This seven-year-old boy was
electrified. I immediately put my mind to work figuring out
how many minutes we had been sitting there while
thirty-seven thousand people per minute were going to hell.
I looked around and was puzzled to see everybody else taking
the news so calmly. Mrs. Appler was straightening the bow in
her daughter’s hair, and Mr. Radke was actually smiling as
he nodded approval at the preacher’s words. Hadn’t they
heard what he said? In my agitated state, I wanted to jump
up and shout that we had better get going right now to tell
all those hell-bent people about Jesus. The real crisis came
later, however. I was excited all day and had spent a
restless night contending with dreams about all those people
in hell. The next morning I discovered that the visiting
preacher and my dad (who was the pastor of the host church)
were taking three days off to go fishing.
Thirty-seven thousand people
going to hell every minute and they were going fishing! I
knew there was something very wrong here and wrestled with
the possible explanations. Maybe they didn’t care about all
those people. It was not only my dad and the other preacher,
but my mom, my brothers and sisters and the entire parish
who seemed to be taking very much in stride yesterday’s
announcement of cosmic catastrophe. This said something not
at all nice about the people who were dearest to me. Slowly,
another explanation began to recommend itself. The mission
festival preacher didn’t really mean what he said. Not
really. And everybody understood that, except me. After a
time, my initial alarm subsided as I came to think that he
and they did not mean it at all, that it was just “church
talk” and not to be taken too seriously.
I think the question of
salvation must always be taken seriously. But I have fought
for forty years against its being taken narrowly. There is
much in the Bible suggesting that God’s desire is that all
be saved. Let me illustrate with a few examples.
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Colossians 1:15-20 suggests
that the purpose of God, through the cross of Christ, is
“to reconcile all things to him,” whether in heaven or
on earth (suggesting that heaven may also include some
who still need reconciling).
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Philippians 2:5-11 suggests
that it is the goal and vision that, in time, “every
knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus
Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
Clearly, the question of your
destiny (or mine) is both very personal and very important.
Will I be saved?
Will you be saved?
Will either of us go to heaven?
Or neither of us?
But the focus of such questions
is surprisingly and shockingly individualistic….even
self-centered. The question of the gospel is not simply:
“Where will I spend eternity?” The question of the gospel
is: “Will God accomplish his eternal destiny?” And what is
God’s destiny? “That we might all be one” (the gospel of
John). “And that we might dwell in fellowship one with
another” (the first letter of John). Why? So that God’s joy
(and ours, for that matter) might be complete. And having
seen what God desires, it should be axiomatic that God’s
desire be our desire.
Quoting Father Neuhaus again:
Not only Catholics, but probably
most Christians, suspect it cannot be right that the
overwhelming majority of people who have ever lived will be
eternally lost to the love of God. I mean, if all the
Christians in the world marshaled all the evangelistic
resources in the world, and devoted twenty hours of every
day to nothing but relentless proclamation of the gospel
around the world, how many millions of people would still be
going to hell? If this is God’s plan of salvation for a
world we are told he loves so much, it would seem to be
seriously flawed.
Which is why the second Vatican
Council in its “Gaudiam Et Spes (The Pastoral Constitution
on the Church in the Modern World)” says:
We are obliged to hold that the
Holy Spirit offers everyone the possibility of sharing in
the cross of Christ….in a manner known to God.
Which allows that Jesus is still
“the way, the truth and the life” (John 14). But, by the
working of the Holy Spirit (in ways known only to the
Spirit), others who have not known Christ….who have never
been introduced to Christ….or who may have chosen other than
Christ….might yet have their ways and truths be brought into
harmony with Christ. “Why?” asks Father Neuhaus. “That none
may be lost.” And with that statement, I am quite
comfortably and fraternally Catholic.
I will be sad if many are
damned. I will be sad if any are damned. Sad for them. Sad
for me. But sadder still for God….who will not get, at the
end of the day, what God has desired from the beginning of
the day.
Hell may exist. But I pray that
hell is continually in the process of being emptied. As for
heaven, if granted access, I won’t so much mind the company
of those who behaved badly (in this life) as those who
believed smugly (in this life). But if Jesus really is the
Great Physician, then even spiritual arrogance can be
healed.
Hearing me preach a similar
sermon 28 years ago, an angry young mother (why is it always
the young?) scalded me at the door: “If you mean I may have
to spend eternity with the likes of Charles Manson, then I
don’t want to go.” Not quite knowing what came over me….or
who came into me….all I could think of to say was: “Gail,
beggars can’t be choosers.”
* * * * *
But just in case you are
wondering, I am so glad I gave my life to Jesus Christ early
in my teenage years. Not because I might have died. But
because I didn’t.
Note: I am aware that other New
Testament passages can be cited that would appear to
contradict the universality of God’s desire “that all be
saved.” I have wrestled with those passages in previous
sermons and chose not to read them into the record here. If
the Bible spoke with the clarity of “one voice” on this
matter, we would have less conflict in theology classes and
fewer arguments in the church.
For purposes of this sermon, I
am heavily indebted to Richard John Neuhaus and his
penetrating book, Death on a Friday Afternoon:
Meditations on the Last Words of Jesus From the Cross.
Those of a more conservative bent will find Father Neuhaus
interesting, given his attempts to reconcile John 14:6 with
a more universal understanding of salvation. For persons not
wishing to read the entire book, a careful study of chapters
two and five will unwrap the main argument.
Steve Swecker’s reminiscence of
his grandmother can be found in a new book entitled Wells
of Wisdom:Grandparents and Spiritual Journeys (edited by
Andrew Weaver and Carolyn Stapleton). Rodney Wilmoth’s
remembrance of Robert Schuller can be found in his book,
How United Methodists Share Their Faith. And I am
grateful to my friend, Jim Standiford of First United
Methodist Church, San Diego, for recalling the old joke
about St. Peter and the doors in heaven. Ironically, the
sermon in which Jim shared this story was entitled “Full
House.”
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