The Text
Now let's read our text again. Matthew 7 — and remember while I read this that this is not some radical narrow-minded sectarian preacher talking. This is the Lord of glory. This is the one who knows men's hearts and their professions. This is our Lord and Saviour. This is the one of whom the Father said: This is my beloved Son, hear him.
Just a moment ago he said the way of life is narrow and straight, and few there be that find it. He said many are called but few are chosen. And here he uses the word many again — a vast number. Many will say to me in that day, in that great day of judgment. And then will I — the final voice, the only voice, the judge of all the universe, for the Father judges no man but has committed all judgment to the Son — then will I profess unto them: I never knew you. Depart from me, ye that work iniquity.
This passage of Scripture is one of the most solemn, sobering, frightening scriptures in all the Word of God. I see here the picture that our Lord has drawn. It is the last day — the day of judgment. The sea has given up the dead which were in it. Death and hell have delivered up the dead in them. All — small and great, rich and poor — stand before God. And these people make one last appeal. They begin to talk about all that they did on earth in the name of Christ — all that they gave, and all that they did, and all that they served. And then at the end of that plea, our Lord just looks upon them and says: I never knew you.
And we are not talking here about the rabble and the profane — the drunkards and the people of the gutter. The people assembled here are not warmongers and the greedy. The people he is talking about are preachers and elders and deacons and church members and choir members and soul winners and missionaries and community leaders. These are people who profess to know Christ. They said: Lord, we preached in your name, we did many wonderful works in your name, we cast out devils in your name. These are so-called good, moral Bible readers who hear the Lord of glory say to them: I never knew you.
I Never Knew You
The church knew you — recognized you and put your name on their books. The world knew you — recognized and called you Reverend or Doctor or Rabbi or Bishop or Missionary. The people of the neighbourhood knew you and called your name. But I never knew you. He did not say, “I once knew you but I don't own you now.” He said — I never knew you.
Back yonder in the council halls of eternity when I chose my people — God hath from the beginning chosen you to salvation through sanctification of the Spirit and belief of the truth — when I made up my jewels, when I made up my flock, when I made up my sheep and my people — I never knew you.
And when I walked this earth incarnate in human flesh — tried and tempted in all points yet without sin, working out a perfect righteousness, fulfilling all righteousness, imputing to my people a holiness so that they might stand before the Father in me — I never knew you.
And when I went into Gethsemane and prayed that high priestly prayer — Father, I pray for them, keep through thine own name those whom thou hast given to me, I pray not for the world but for them which thou hast given me — I never knew you.
And when I went to the cross of Calvary and was wounded for somebody's transgressions and bruised for somebody's iniquities, and the chastisement of somebody's peace was laid upon me, and through my stripes they shall be healed — I never knew you.
And when I ascended to glory and took the precious blood and put it on the mercy seat of glory, and I bore in my breastplate the names of my people and interceded for my own and was an advocate and mediator for my own — I never knew you.
He is not saying: I once knew you, we once had fellowship, we once had a relationship. He is saying to these religious people — these preachers and missionaries and deacons and choir leaders — I never knew you. Depart from me.
What a terrible sentence. Depart from the only light — into everlasting darkness. Depart from the only source of love — into everlasting hate. Depart from the only way — into eternal wandering. Depart from the only physician — into eternal pain. Depart from the only joy — from his friendship, from his grace, from his fellowship, from his paradise, from his presence, from his heaven. Depart from me.
If the thought of it is so terrible — if just the thought of it makes me tremble — what will it be like to experience it? What would it be like to have come to the pulpit every Sunday, opened the Bible, led the singing — and then to die, and people say all those nice things about you, and put flowers all over your casket and give you a good send-off — and then to stand at the great day of judgment and hear the Master say: the world knew you and the church knew you and the advertisement page in the daily paper knew you and people around the world knew you — but I never knew you.
A Story
I was reading this week about two young men — their names were John and Charles — who went west before the turn of the century with a railroad crew. They put the railroad through the West. John and Charles — wicked, careless sinners. One day out on the job, a piece of heavy equipment fell on Charles and crushed him badly. He was still living and they got him onto a stretcher and into a tent. Somewhere they found a doctor who came in, pulled a blanket down, looked at him, and said: I can't do anything for you, son. You're just not going to make it.
He's lying there in pain, in agony, dying — and he called his buddy. John came over and stood by him. Charles took John by the hand and said: John, pray for me. Pray for me. John looked down and said: Charles, I've never prayed in my life. I don't know how to pray. Well, he said — John, sing a religious song. John said: the songs I know I couldn't sing now — I don't know any religious songs. Charlie said: John, get a Bible and read some scripture. They scurried around and went to every tent in that camp and looked everywhere — and they couldn't find a Bible or a Testament anywhere. John came back and said: Charles, we ain't got no Bible and nobody here knows any Bible. And the writer said that young man turned his face to the wall and cried and cried and sighed: Oh my poor lost soul. I'm going out to meet God without a prayer, without a song, without a verse of scripture. And he died.
That is what we are talking about here. Our Lord says to these people in that great day: depart from me — where there are no prayers, where there are no songs, and where there is no scripture.
The Refuge of Lies
I believe the greatest mission field in the world today is our churches. Through our Hollywood high-pressure evangelism we have filled our church rolls and church pews with people who made professions of religion and are trying to live the Christian life without Christ — trying to serve God not knowing God — resting on a profession they made twenty, thirty, forty years ago to get them to heaven. The reality of Christ is not in their heart. They do not know him. They know about him. They know a few verses of Scripture and they made a profession of religion — but the life of Christ, the joy of Christ, the peace of the Son of God — they do not know it.
These religious leaders said: we are not afraid to die. We are not afraid of hell. We have our profession. When the flood of God's judgment sweeps through — it won't touch us. I made my profession when I was ten years old. I joined the church. I've been a faithful member, a deacon, an officer. I've done all these things. I'm not afraid to die. That is the very people that stood before Christ and said: we did this, we did that, we did the other — and he said: I never knew you.
God says: it is a refuge of lies. It will protect you from suspicion by men — but it will not protect you from the full revelation and full exposure of God. But here is what God says: Behold, I lay in Zion for a foundation a stone — a tried stone, a precious cornerstone, a sure foundation. That rock is Christ. Tried by God yet without sin. Tried by the devil on the mountain. A tried stone — tried by the Old Testament saints, tried by the martyrs. And he is a sure foundation — a certain, uncrumbling foundation. He that believeth shall not be ashamed.
What Their Profession Had — and What It Lacked
Let us look at these people for a moment. They had a religious profession. They made an open profession — Lord, Lord — and they even preached in the name of Christ. They undertook Christian service and did many wonderful works. They had some success — we cast out devils, we did many wonderful works. They were evidently recognized by others because they said wonderful works — people praised what they did. And they were quite orthodox — three times they said: in thy name, in thy name, in thy name. They kept it up a long time. Nobody detected that they didn't know Christ — not even they themselves. They held onto that profession, that experience, those works, that assurance — clear to the judgment. And he said: even in that day they will say to me, Lord, we did this, we did this.
But here is the key to the whole thing. They attended to works and to marvels — but they forgot essentials. They said: Lord, we preached. We cast out devils. We did many wonderful works. We did this and that and the other. Not one time did they say: Lord, you died for me. You bore my sins. You are my confidence and my hope and my trust. They kept saying what they had done, what they had given, what they had accomplished for him. They never said anything about what he did for them.
Paul's Experience — Philippians 3
That is where God will bring you. He will bring you to the place where you take all your ancestry, all your heritage, all your little doings and professions, all your giving and going, all your sayings — and you let God pile it all up in one big pile and put it in the garbage can — that you might win Christ and be found in him. Not having your own experience. Not having your own profession. Not having your own righteousness. Not having your own religion. But having the righteousness of God by faith. That I may know him.
Closing Appeal
He said: can a man know Christ? I believe he can. I believe a man can know Christ. Salvation is not down here — it is not in a bench, it is not in my hands. Life is in Christ. If you can go home tonight and get alone before God — fall on your knees in your den or closet or bedroom — and open the Word of God and say: Lord, I don't want to miss salvation. I don't want to miss Christ. I'm not so proud that I will defend a religious tradition all the way to the judgment. I'm not so proud that I will defend a religious profession all the way to the judgment. I don't want to miss Christ.
Lord, be merciful to me a sinner. I am looking to Christ. I am trusting his blood — and his blood alone — to save me. I want to know Christ. Give me saving faith in the Son of God. Give me a love for the word. Give me a love for you. Give me a love for your people. Do for me what I have never been able to do for myself. Save me. Give me grace.
That old thief on the cross — he couldn't work, he couldn't be baptized, he couldn't wash, he couldn't witness, and he couldn't wait. And he cried out to Christ — and our Lord said: Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.
God loves to show mercy. He delights to show mercy. All the way through the New Testament — people who were weak and weary and laboring and heavy laden and thirsty and hungry and hopeless and helpless cried for mercy — and he saved them. But all the way through the New Testament he turned his back on the religious, the self-righteous, the religious leaders. Leave them alone — but these sinners he saved.
There is one way to salvation — Jesus Christ. There is one way to be cleansed from sin — his blood. There is one way to the glory of God — by faith. You miss that, you perish. Religion won't do it.