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And the Final Question Is….

Academic study was not my priority during my years in school.  It was not until seminary that I began to apply myself for two reasons:  1) I was studying things I really did want to learn, and, 2) the demands of the course curriculum demanded my dedicated attention.  Even at the seminary level, I was not good on test questions.  Each of us reads and learns differently.  I loved to study and glean things I wanted to know.  However, what I learned was not always what the professor asked on the tests.  I was a victim of “interrogative ineptitude”. 

Questions are not just a problem for students.  Sometimes the way people ask for information is not clear to the hearer.  On occasion, the questions can be so simple that the one who is listening thinks that they are hearing a joke and wait patiently for the punch line.  Truly, there are those questions that are so profound or perplexing that it is pretty much impossible to answer.

In school, the one time that I did listen intently is when the teacher would tell us, “This material will be on the final exam”.  At that point, my daydreaming ceased, and my pen began to record copious notes. There will be a final exam in life to answer, “What did you do with Jesus?”

It is tragic that so many in this age have no concern or belief that there will be a “final” exam in life.  Each person will stand before God to give an account to God.  It is written: “As surely as I live,” says the Lord, “every knee will bow before Me; every tongue will confess to God.” So then, each of us will give an account of himself to God. (Romans 14:11-12).  What a moment that will be for all of us!  To stand in the presence of the God of the ages Who “knit us together in our mother’s womb” and knows “every day of our lives before we lived one of them” (Psalm 139:13,18) will be a very sobering moment.

For the children of God who were born again into His family, the fear will give way to the merciful voice of the Father inviting us to enter His kingdom.  However, for those that never yielded allegiance to Christ, the reality of knowing that “God does exist” and that their lives were totally devoid of ever acknowledging Him except in blasphemous verbiage, atheistic arrogance resulting in vile behavior, that moment will be the first of an eternity of their souls crying out “wishing I had” trusted Him.

In one of Gypsy Smith’s missions a young fellow came to him, a fine character who had been put in a most prominent place in that particular mission. He was delegated to take the hand of every inquirer during the week long meeting and give the last word of advice and counsel. He filled his position from Monday to Saturday, and on Saturday evening he said to Gypsy Smith he wanted to talk with him on Sunday. Gypsy asked him what he wanted to see him about, thinking he wanted to see him about some special case. He said, “About my own soul.” “Why,” Gypsy asked, “what is the trouble?” He said, “I am not converted; I have never been born again.” He said, “My parents supposed I was a Christian and urged me to join the church, and I did so. My pastor supposed I was a Christian and I was made a Sunday School teacher and an officer in the church. Because they supposed and kept on supposing, nobody has ever looked me in the eye and said: “Harry, are you right with God?”  (Gypsy Smith).