Who Will Escort You Home?

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June 2017

Of David. A psalm. The LORD says to my lord:
“Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.”
-Psalm 110:1

Those who were with my grandfather, Thornton, when he passed some years ago told me a fascinating thing: At the moment of his death, he sat up quickly in bed and looked at someone coming to get him and said, “Oh, it’s you!” From his tone, it was clear it was someone he knew well, but clearly not Jesus or an angel. The moment I heard the story, it immediately had the ring of authenticity and witnessed with my spirit.

I need to say that years ago I gave up wanting or expecting Jesus to personally escort me out of here when I pass. No indeed. I want Jesus, and Jesus alone, to stay on His throne. That place is far, far too important to be empty on my behalf. Indeed, it takes an interesting egocentricity to expect the God of heaven and earth who is solely managing all things and holding all things together by the Word of His power (Hebrews 1:3) to leave all that to come and get me. Really, I am not that special or important. Are you? Besides, as the Scripture says, He is commanded to stay there until His enemies have become His footstool. That has not yet happened or He would have come for us all.

I have had the solemn yet wonderful experience of seeing a number of people die. It is a quiet miracle as it unfolds. In several cases, the persons came out of a coma and spent several minutes saying goodbye and sharing their precious love with their wives and children, and then gently lain down and died.

These are moments in life where one feels acutely unworthy of seeing such an indescribable, intimate, and final exchange of life, while at the same time stunned at the reality of such a privilege. I have often said that the world would be in a lot more reality if we all saw someone born and someone die at least once a year. Both events are as real as those of you who have experienced either, well know. They put things in perspective and become a permanent memory in the sea of speed and motion in which we live and which seems determined to keep things superficial.

In all of this musing, there is no intention of taking away from anyone their conviction that Jesus Himself will lay aside the management of reality to personally greet and guide you home. As current slang says, “I’m just saying.” Praise God for whatever He does, but as for me, Jesus please stay on your throne! Yet, I do wonder who will greet me at my death? I have my parents, Jan’s parents, and a bunch of beloved brethren there already. Come as you will, and that’s…

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