Trust in the Common
Today, will be routine for me just as any other, for I do what I determine what’s best. But that determining may see things differently till there is no routine left. For I still determine what’s best within the scope of the rising and setting of the sun, a day just like any other.
And then, as I recall, without warning, the commonness of the day was shattered by a prophesy from the ancients. I now find myself thinking clearly, seeing the sights of the Throne of Christ and spirit beings everywhere but, had I only known, the very best my routine could produce was now searching for something desperately better, mercy.
Up to now, there had been nothing outwardly sufficient to persuade my unrepentant mechanism that this day differed from any other as I always thought best what to avoid. Yet I knew, men continued their affairs and endless pursuits of gain; earthly concerns retained their familiar weight. But nothing appeared to announce that eternity now stood immediately before the door.
Yet, in an instant, the ordinary day was revealed for what it had always been: a day that lived beneath the certainty of divine judgment.
The transition was not merely from one hour to another, nor simply from life to death. It was the sudden unveiling of what earthly existence had concealed. The temporal world—with its distractions, securities, excuses, ambitions, and postponements—gave way to the presence of the One before whom no human life can remain hidden. And I, who had presumed upon another day, now stood before Christ.
There was no tomorrow to which repentance could be deferred. No further opportunity to conceal, rationalize, or excuse sin. No familiar world remained in which I could appeal to my own estimation of righteousness.
The Judge before whom I stood is the very Christ whose name I had heard, whose authority I had encountered, whose warnings I had knowingly dismissed, and whose mercy I had presumed would remain indefinitely available.
Now that same Christ stood revealed as Judge.
Somewhere, I knew scripture declares that “we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ,” that each may receive according to what he has done in the body, whether good or evil. The apostolic language is more searching than mere inspection: we shall be made manifest before Christ—the reality of the life we actually lived brought into the open.
The religious profession without repentance cannot conceal itself.
The outward morality that concealed inward rebellion cannot defend itself.
The secret I maintained is no longer secret.
The neglected mercy cannot be reclaimed.
The opportunity to repent cannot be restored.
The account must be rendered.
And suddenly I understand what the passing of ordinary days had concealed:
Suddenly realizing, I had never been moving merely toward another tomorrow.
I had been moving toward this day.
The real terror lies not only in its suddenness, but in it’s authority.
There had been a thousand ordinary mornings, and I had survived them all. I therefore assumed, without saying so, that another morning belonged to me.
But the final day does not ask permission to arrive.
It comes upon humanity with the abruptness of reality. What appeared to be the uninterrupted continuation of earthly life is suddenly overtaken by eternity.
The Lord's warnings concerning His coming possess precisely this character. Men are not necessarily ignorant that judgment exists; they live as though it were indefinitely postponed.
Thus the most terrible sentence upon the unrepentant sinner may not be:
“You did not know.”
It may be:
“You knew enough to repent, but presumed upon another day.”
And now there is no other day.
Before Christ, humanity is no longer divided according to its own estimates of righteousness. His judgment exposes what is true. His authority is final. His verdict cannot be appealed to a higher tribunal, because there is none.
Some stand as those reconciled to God through Christ—redeemed, justified, and received by grace.
Others stand bearing the guilt of sin from which they would not repent.
The distinction that had seemed so distant during earthly life is now absolute.
The day that began like every other day has become the Day.
The moment that seemed merely another moment has become the threshold of eternity.
And the sinner who thought himself merely continuing to live discovers, too late, that he had been living beneath an appointment already fixed by God.
For every human being, the ultimate question was never whether judgment would come. Scripture treats that as settled.
The question was whether, before that day arrived, one had been reconciled to God through Christ.
For when that final unveiling comes, the world will no longer be asking whether Christ is truly Lord.
The world will know.
Every knee will bow, every tongue will acknowledge Him, and every person will give account.
And for the unrepentant soul, perhaps the most dreadful discovery of all will be this:
The apparently ordinary day from which he expected nothing extraordinary was the last day on which he might have answered the summons of divine mercy.
The day did not become extraordinary when judgment appeared.
Judgment reveals what I wasn’t willing to accept, a terror that had always been.
Thoughts? Corrections?
