When Every Story Is Told Rightly
I long to hear the story of your life.
SHAKESPEARE, The Tempest
When J. R. R. Tolkien released his epic trilogy, C. S. Lewis was asked by a literary journal to write a review. He called the masterpiece “lightning from a clear sky . . . heroic romance, gorgeous, eloquent, and unashamed, has suddenly returned at a period almost pathological in its anti-romanticism.”1 Pathological is a strong word; I think Lewis would have chosen an even stronger one sixty years later. For we live in an age of staggering unbelief, a thoroughly deconstructed age where wonder has been stripped from everything. We no longer believe in the noble, the heroic, or the epic. The biggest part of our day is a latte from Starbucks or a funny YouTube video someone sends us.
For this reason I love the great stories and use them in my writing. They are the closest representation to the true nature of life in God’s kingdom and the Story we find ourselves in. They are the rescue we need in order to see things clearly. When we are exhorted in Scripture to take up sword and shield, to “be on the alert, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong,” it sounds quaint to our disenchanted ears.2 But earlier saints were stirred to the marrow; the call to courage would have roused the deepest longings in them. Their imaginations would have drawn strength from tales of the great warriors of old.
Tolkien was deeply influenced by the epic poem Beowulf, written, as many believe, by a monk in the Middle Ages. It tells the story of an ancient Danish kingdom ravaged by an evil monster and the valiant warrior who comes to deliver them. Tolkien’s kingdom of Rohan is practically a mirror image of the besieged realm in Beowulf, and to picture Heorot, the proud house of the shield-danes in which much of the story takes place, you only need to imagine Théoden’s Golden Hall Meduseld. The poem speaks of a warrior culture in a heroic age long past, but the legend is Christian through and through.3
Hrothgar is a good king of the Danes, their “mighty prince.” He builds his golden hall and peace reigns in the land. But terror finds a way to torment every age, in one form or another. “Then a powerful demon, a prowler of the dark” comes out of the swamps to terrorize the shield-danes and feast on the corpses of their best warriors. Night after night the monster Grendel attacks the fortress; the fear and trauma last more than a year:
All were endangered; young and old
were hunted down by that dark death-shadow
who lurked and swooped in the long nights
on the misty moors; nobody knows
where these reavers from hell roam on their errands.
So Grendel waged his lonely war,
inflicting constant cruelties on the people,
atrocious hurt.4
The tragic news reaches a mighty warrior across the waters to the north, in the kingdom of Geatland, now southern Sweden. Beowulf is the Christ figure in the story, a strong deliverer:
There was no one else like him alive.
In his day, he was the mightiest man on earth, high-born
and powerful.5
Beowulf takes thirteen companions, fierce warriors, and comes to offer his help to the king of the Danes, who gratefully accepts. They feast together, then leave the hall to Beowulf and his warriors, knowing the demon will come again in the night to slake his unending bloodlust. Hrothgar warns Beowulf and promises a great reward:
Be on your mettle now, keep in mind your fame,
beware the enemy. There’s nothing you wish for
that won’t be yours if you win through alive.6
The beast does come and guts one of Beowulf’s men before they even know he is upon them. What follows is one of the great battles in epic poetry, hand-to-hand combat between the foul demon and the Christ figure. Beowulf eventually delivers Grendel a mortal wound, and though the creature escapes to the moors, his doom is sealed. Then, in keeping with traditions that flow from ancient kingdoms right down to our own Medal of Honor, the hero is rewarded:
Then Halfdane’s son presented Beowulf
with a gold standard as a victory gift,
an embroidered banner; also breast-mail
and a helmet; and a sword carried high,
that was both precious object and token of honor.7
The king orders eight horses with gold bridles be given to the hero, including the king’s own horse and magnificent saddle.
The chieftain went on to reward the others:
each man on the bench who had sailed with Beowulf
and risked the voyage received a bounty,
some treasured possession.8
Of course the story does not end there. Grendel’s mother, an even larger and more heinous creature, a “monstrous hellbride,” comes for revenge in the night, murdering the king’s most beloved friend and counselor. Beowulf goes after her, and in a scene reminiscent of Christ descending into hell to wrench the keys from the Prince of Darkness, he descends into the swamp to slay Grendel’s mother. The grateful Danes again reward him “with lavish wealth coffers of coiled gold.”9
To the victor goes the spoils. The honor of scenes like this strikes some deep chord in the human heart, even those of us in an age that has lost all concept of honor and victory, of the high dignity of reward giving and receiving. Hrothgar is called “the grey-haired treasure-giver.” It was common for kings to promise reward to their faithful, who would sacrifice so much, bear the heavy load, shed their own blood advancing the kingdom. David—the greatest of all Israel’s kings—did so on many occasions.
REWARD
Now we are prepared to better understand Jesus. Let us return to that stunning passage with which we began our explorations of the palingenesia:
“Truly I tell you, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne . . . everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.” (Matthew 19:28–29)
Jesus was responding to a question when he declared these bold promises. The question came from Peter, though you get the feeling the other fellows put him up to it:
Then Peter said to him, “We’ve given up everything to follow you. What will we get?” (19:27 NLT)
Christ is neither alarmed nor offended by Peter’s question. He doesn’t tell him that service is enough, nor that virtue is its own reward. He quickly replies with the proclamation of the Great Renewal, and then—as though that were not enough (!)—goes on to assure the boys that they will be handsomely rewarded in the coming kingdom. A hundredfold. That’s a pretty staggering return; perhaps Jesus is simply using hyperbole. But then there is his teaching on the minas and the talents:
“A man of noble birth went to a distant country to have himself appointed king and then to return. So he called ten of his servants and gave them ten minas. ‘Put this money to work,’ he said, ‘until I come back.’
“But his subjects hated him and sent a delegation after him to say, ‘We don’t want this man to be our king.’
“He was made king, however, and returned home. Then he sent for the servants to whom he had given the money, in order to find out what they had gained with it.
“The first one came and said, ‘Sir, your mina has earned ten more.’
“‘Well done, my good servant!’ his master replied. ‘Because you have been trustworthy in a very small matter, take charge of ten cities.’
“The second came and said, ‘Sir, your mina has earned five more.’
“His master answered, ‘You take charge of five cities.’” (Luke 19:12–19)
The allegory is hardly veiled. Clearly, Jesus is the man of noble birth who left to have himself appointed king (which took place at his ascension) and will return. Upon his return, he rewards his faithful servants (that would be us, his followers). He repeats the promise but ups the ante in the tale of the sheep and goats: “Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world” (Matthew 25:31–36). We’ve gone from houses to cities to kingdoms. We are given kingdoms. Which helps to make sense of why we are said to reign with him. More on that in a moment. For now, can you see the theme here? The victorious king gladly rewards his faithful companions.
It is a mind-set almost entirely lost to our age. Who even talks about reward anymore? Who anticipates it? Expects it? Honestly, I have never had one private conversation with any follower of Christ who spoke of their hope of being handsomely rewarded. Not once. Ever. This isn’t virtue, friends; we have not exceeded the saints and Scripture itself in our humility. It is a sign of our complete and total bankruptcy.
REWARD IS A KINGDOM MIND-SET
Because our poverty is so great, it would do us good to let the repetition of Scripture open our eyes to how central reward is to a kingdom mind-set:
“Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven.” (Matthew 5:12)
“Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven . . . But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (Matthew 6:1–4)
“Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” (Matthew 6:20)
“Whoever welcomes a prophet as a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and whoever welcomes a righteous person as a righteous person will receive a righteous person’s reward.” (Matthew 10:41)
“For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.” (Matthew 16:27)
Serve wholeheartedly, as if you were serving the Lord, not people, because you know that the Lord will reward each one for whatever good they do, whether they are slave or free. (Ephesians 6:7–8)
Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. (Colossians 3:23–24)
So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. (Hebrews 10:35)
By faith Moses . . . chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward. (Hebrews 11:24–26)
The biblical canon ends with Jesus making this final statement:
“Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done.” (Revelation 22:12)
Reward, reward, reward—it fills the pages of both Testaments. Saint Paul expected to be rewarded for his service to Christ, as have the saints down through the ages. Patrick, that mighty missionary to the Irish, prayed daily, “In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward. . . . So that there may come to me an abundance of reward.”10 It is our barren age that is out of sync with the tradition. So C. S. Lewis could write,
If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.11
“The unblushing promises of reward” stopped me in my tracks the first time I read it many years ago. I’ve never heard a contemporary Christian use it. Unblushing means boldfaced, unashamed; it means brazen, outlandish, and thoroughly unapologetic. Did you know the promises of reward offered to you in Scripture are bold, unashamed, brazen? Did you even know that reward is a central theme in the teachings of Jesus, and in the Bible as a whole? I think a false humility has crept in; I think we somehow see ourselves above our forebears in the faith when we ignore the category entirely and set out to live the life given to us in Scripture. It is entirely untrue to the nature of God, and to human nature.
Who serves as a soldier at his own expense? Who plants a vineyard and does not eat its grapes? Who tends a flock and does not drink the milk? (1 Corinthians 9:7)
God seems to be of the opinion that no one should be expected to sustain the rigors of the Christian life without very robust and concrete hopes of being brazenly rewarded for it. Now, yes, yes—there is a place for altruism, no doubt about it. But we have in our pride or in our poverty let a false humility creep in.
That pastor who serves a rather small, petty, and thankless congregation for forty years, the man who works late hours visiting the sick and comforting the brokenhearted, the servant who is grossly underpaid and regularly berated by his own flock—what does he have to look forward to? Shouldn’t his reception into the kingdom be like that of a great prince returning to his father’s country, with lavish reward? Indeed, it will. Will not his kindness be rewarded? It will. Will not his longsuffering be rewarded? It will. In fact, every noble deed of his largely hidden faithfulness, every unsung and even misunderstood action of love will be individually and specifically rewarded (Matthew 10:41–42; 25:35–36). And so he shall be a rich nobleman in the kingdom of God. Everything he should have had but did not receive here will be his a hundredfold at the restoration of all things.
What about the believer who struggled under mental illness all her life, largely alone and almost completely misunderstood, clinging to her faith like a drowning woman clings to a rock while a broken mind tormented her daily? Should she not step into the kingdom like the queen of an entire country? Indeed, she will. She will probably be granted a position dispensing wisdom and insight that enriches the hearts and minds of her countrymen.
Oh yes, rewards will be given out in the kingdom with great honor and ceremony. And I believe one of our greatest joys will be to witness it happen.
When you think of all the stories of the saints through the ages, and all the beautiful, heroic, painful, utterly sacrificial choices made by those saints, the suffering, the persecution—how long will we enjoy hearing told the stories of those that ought to be rewarded, and then watch breathlessly as our King meets the specific situation with perfect generosity? The thought of it fills me with happiness even now. I have friends and loved ones for whom I want a front-row seat to witness this very moment.
In order for our lives to be rewarded, we need our stories to be told and told rightly.
YOUR STORY TOLD RIGHTLY
Victor Hugo’s epic Les Misérables has obviously touched something deep in our humanity; there have been three different film versions and one massively successful Broadway musical done in my lifetime. I believe the enduring appeal of the story is that the promise is the overarching theme. The close of the musical and most recent film is an incredibly moving scene where all those who have died are back, singing the great anthem about how we will all be free and live in God’s garden and every soul will receive their reward. It is a scene of the great palingenesia! No wonder the musical has been wildly popular.
But there is something else—the power of a story told rightly. Jean Valjean is such a good man, but fate has dealt him an unjust hand. He is a hunted man, misunderstood, maligned, having to flee one city to the next all his life. But we see his great heart, his sacrificial choices, and at the end we see he is finally vindicated—how he did the most loving and sacrificial thing, how his life was actually filled with beauty and dignity. The great cloud of witnesses shows up for his arrival into the kingdom of heaven and he deserves it.
Oh, how we ache for this moment, each one of us.
As we prepared for Craig’s memorial service this summer, I was struck by the gross inadequacy of an hour or ninety minutes to meet the need. How do you tell the story of a human life? How can you do justice to all the hidden sorrow, the valiant fighting, the millions of small, unseen choices, the impact of a great soul on thousands of other lives? How can you begin to say what a life means to the kingdom of God?
The answer is, only in the kingdom of God. Only once we are there.
Your story will be told rightly. I know the idea has usually been set within the context of judgment and justice that will be served. But the friends of God do not face judgment; for us, the celebration of our lives is clearly put in the context of reward:
But each one should build with care. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If anyone builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, their work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each person’s work. If what has been built survives, the builder will receive a reward. (1 Corinthians 3:10–14)
We know our every sin is forgiven; we know we live under mercy. We know there is no condemnation now for those who are in Christ (Romans 8:1). No condemnation, ever. We will be cloaked in righteousness, and it will emanate from our very being. So if we can remove all fear of exposure from our hearts, if we can set this safely within the context of our Father’s love, it helps us toward a great, great moment in the kingdom: the time for every story to be told rightly.
How wonderful it will be to see Jesus Christ vindicated, after so many eons of mockery, dismissal, and vilification. Our Beloved has endured such slander, such mistrust, and, worst of all, such grotesque distortion by the caricatures and religious counterfeits paraded in his name. All the world will see him as he is, see him crowned King. Every tongue will be silenced, and his vindication will bring tremendous joy to those who love him!
But friends—that vindication is also yours.
You probably have a number of stories you would love to have told rightly—to have your actions explained and defended by Jesus. I know I do.
I think we will be surprised by what Jesus noticed. The “sheep” certainly are when their story is told: “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?” (Matthew 25:37). What a lovely surprise—all our choices great and small have been seen, and each act will be rewarded.
All those decisions your family misinterpreted and the accusations you bore, the many ways you paid for it. The thousands of unseen choices to overlook a cutting remark, a failure, to be kind to that friend who failed you again. The things that you wish you had personally done better, but at the time no one knew what you were laboring under—the warfare, the depression, the chronic fatigue. The millions of ways you have been missed and terribly misunderstood. Your Defender will make it all perfectly clear; you will be vindicated.
THE SETTLING OF ACCOUNTS
A few years ago my sons and I, with a few friends, fulfilled a longtime dream by making an adventure film about the gospel as an epic story. The film was set within the backdrop of a motorcycle trip we took through the wild lands of Colorado. The project was costly on every level; several riders were seriously hurt, and the spiritual warfare we endured was simply staggering. We poured our heart and soul into that project, hoping to present a winsome gospel to a new audience.
The backlash took us entirely by surprise. A vicious minority of the motorcycle community felt betrayed into watching a faith-based film and lashed out online with the hatred I spoke of in chapter 1. Vicious stuff, defamation, full-on cursing. My sons were repeatedly mocked online. It broke our hearts. The Christian community took their own shots, which added to our heartbreak. No one knew the full story.
Because it was faith-based we intentionally previewed the film to the leaders of the adventure-riding community and our sponsors, bike equipment companies. Everyone loved it; there was no indication the backlash was coming. And when it did come, cursing with all the fury of hell, we could not tell them their own people had been the ones to approve it (because we did not want to throw them under the bus, nor violate their kind support of us). No one came to our side. If they only knew the story, they would have known we did it all for the sake of their souls. The cost, the heinous warfare, the near death of one member—it was all for them.
Now, this is a small story among all stories, but one I can tell without incriminating someone specifically, and the cut is recent. It does my heart good to know that one day that story will be told rightly, and the vindication will be part of our healing. I’m not asking for revenge; I do not want to retaliate. Jesus is our defender. And, friends—Jesus will come to our defense. Your story needs to be told rightly. He won’t let the injustices you have endured go unaddressed. That would be a violation of his nature and his kingdom. There are so many stories that need to be brought out into the light, and so much vindication that needs to take place if justice is real and healing true.
Frankly, there are a number of apologies I am looking forward to receiving.
And quite a few apologies I am looking forward to making myself.
There will be a day of reckoning. A settling of accounts. This was once central to the Christian view of the future, and absolutely critical to maintaining virtue in societies influenced by the church. Who even thinks like that anymore? How many transgressions large and small would be prevented if in that moment the perpetrator thought to himself, I’m going to have to stand naked before Almighty God and explain this. Fear of the Consuming Fire is perhaps the only thing the ungodly understand.
But for the friends of God, the settling of accounts is not meant to be negative at all; it is a great encouragement and sustaining hope! The vindication of our grievances, the honor given to our thousands of unseen choices, and the brazen promise of reward are intended to spur us on!
ENVISIONING YOUR HOMECOMING
So let me ask—what rewards are you looking forward to? I’m serious. Pause and think about it. What specific rewards are you banking everything on? Do you see how the entire concept lies empty in your soul, like an attic in an abandoned house? This place in your heart needs to be filled with rich images of real anticipation; this was meant to be the fuel that sustains your long journey here. Maybe the reason you have been losing heart is because you didn’t know the great rewards that are just around the corner for you.
What do you want your reception in the kingdom to look like? Have you even thought about it?
Do you want to slide in by the hair of your chinny chin chin? There’s a warning in Scripture about that. After Paul urges us to “build with care” in hopes of reward, he goes on to say that some people’s lifework will be so shoddy it will be “burned up, the builder will suffer loss but yet will be saved—even though only as one escaping through the flames” (1 Corinthians 3:15). Just barely making it out of the burning house is not something to aspire to. I understand the gratitude of, “Look—I’m just grateful to be here.” But we are urged on to so much more than that; to build carefully with a view of reward, to “run in such a way as to get the prize” (1 Corinthians 9:24).
Perhaps it is only a boyish desire (but remember, only the child-heart receives the kingdom), yet I love the stories where acts of courage are celebrated. Like Eustace’s moment of honor in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Eustace has been more than obnoxious and wearisome; when he is turned into a dragon due to his own petty greed and pride, you feel he deserves it. But Aslan comes for him, and his salvation brings about a marvelous change of heart. Shortly afterward the ship is attacked by a sea serpent:
Every man rushed to his weapon, but there was nothing to be done, the monster was out of reach. “Shoot! Shoot!” cried the Master Bowman, and several obeyed, but the arrows glanced off the Sea Serpent’s hide as if it was iron-plated. Then, for a dreadful minute, everyone was still, staring up at its eyes and mouth and wondering where it would pounce. But it didn’t pounce. It shot its head forward across the ship on a level with the yard of the mast. Now its head was just beside the fighting-top. Still it stretched and stretched till its head was over the starboard bulwark. Then down it began to come—not on to the crowded deck but into the water, so that the whole ship was under an arch of serpent. And almost at once that arch began to get smaller: indeed on the starboard the Sea Serpent was now almost touching the Dawn Treader’s side. Eustace . . . now did the first brave thing he had ever done. He was wearing a sword that Caspian had lent him. As soon as the serpent’s body was near enough on the starboard side he jumped up on the bulwark and began hacking at it with all his might. It is true that he accomplished nothing beyond breaking Caspian’s second best sword into bits, but it was a fine thing for a beginner to have done.12
The ship just barely escapes the serpent’s coils, and once they are free from danger Eustace is cheered for his bravery:
But the Dawn Treader was already well away, running before a fresh breeze, and the men lay and sat panting and groaning all about the deck, till presently they were able to talk about it, and then to laugh about it. And when some rum had been served out they even raised a cheer; and everyone praised the valour of Eustace.13
A simple enough scene, but far better than the moment in The Silver Chair when the Great Lion looks upon Jill: “She knew at once that it had seen her, for its eyes looked straight into hers for a moment and then turned away—as if it knew her quite well and didn’t think much of her.”14 Heavens no. Don’t you want to be cheered at some point during the feast? “And everyone praised the valor of Nancy . . . of Brian . . . of Jennifer. Everyone raised their glass and cheered as their story was told rightly for the very first time.” Of course you do.
Even better still is a scene toward the end of The Return of the King, when dear Sam and Frodo—rescued from the fires of Mount Doom—have awakened to find themselves in the forest of Ithilien. Gandalf leads them through the beautiful woods toward the camp of Aragorn, now the king of Gondor:
As they came to the opening in the wood, they were surprised to see knights in bright mail and tall guards in silver and black standing there, who greeted them with honour and bowed before them. And then one blew a long trumpet, and they went on through the aisle of trees beside the singing stream. So they came to a wide green land, and beyond it was a broad river in a silver haze, out of which rose a long wooded isle, and many ships lay by its shores. But on the field where they now stood a great host was drawn up, in ranks and companies glittering in the sun. And as the Hobbits approached swords were unsheathed, and spears were shaken, and horns and trumpets sang.15
Doesn’t it bring tears to your eyes, knowing how much they have been through to deserve that moment? They more than deserve that moment, and it fills my own heart with longing for such a reception into the kingdom.
What would you love your reception into the kingdom to be? You should put some words to that, given how important it is.
A friend of mine who has labored long in the Great War with evil shared his vision with me in a moment of tender vulnerability:
I want to finish well. I want to return as a hero, a warrior worthy of the kingdom. I had this vision—I don’t know if it was an actual vision or just my heart’s expression. I saw myself, sword at my side, shield slung over my back, making my way up the main street of the City. I wore the battle gear of war, soiled by long years at the front. People lined both sides of the street to welcome me, the great cloud, I guess; I recognized hundreds of faces, the faces of those whose freedom I fought for. Their smiles and tears filled my heart with profound joy. As I made my way up the street toward Jesus and our Father, my friends and fellow warriors stepped into the street with me, and we moved forward as a band. I saw angels there, maybe the angels who fought for us and with us, walking alongside. I saw flower petals on the pavement; I saw banners flapping in the breeze. We reached the throne and knelt. Jesus came forward and kissed my forehead, and we embraced deeply, freely, like I always knew we would. Then my Father stepped forward and took me by the shoulders and said, “Well done, my son. Very well done indeed. Welcome home.” As we embraced, a great cheer went up from the crowd.
Now, that would be a reception worth living for. The reality that every story will be told rightly should affect your choices today. If there is no cost to our Christian faith, how then shall we be rewarded? And may I point out that if we, too, would love to receive a hero’s welcome, it helps to keep in mind that valiant deeds require desperate times. The desperate times are all around us, friends; now for the valiant deeds.