The Last Man Alive

"How would you know if you were the last man on earth? he said.
I don’t guess you would know it. You’d just be it.
It wouldn’t make any difference. When you die it’s the same as if everybody else did too.
I guess God would know it. Is that it?" (McCarthy 169-170)


I pose a question:

What if I was the last man alive?

I struggle to answer:

I don’t know what my faith would look like if I were the last man alive. So much of Christianity is based on community and relationship. There are individual aspects of Christianity, but there are also communal aspects of Christianity. Is a Christian life complete when only the individual disciplines are exercised? How do I live like Jesus when there is no one to express Christlike character towards? The mission of the Church is to make disciples of all people. How could I make disciples without people to disciple? The Church is made up of many members. I would be the only member left. Is that Church? Scripture tells us that where two or more are gathered God is in the midst of them. Would He still be there the same if He had only to be in the midst of one? The great commandment of the Church is to love God and love people. But there are no people. Is it possible to love God without any people to love? How can I exercise my faith? How can I feed Jesus when He’s hungry, clothe Him when He’s naked, and visit Him in prison without other people alive?

The Westminster Shorter Catechism says that, “Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.” Maybe I can do this alone. Maybe I don’t need people around me with whom I can exercise my faith, but I don’t know. Maybe I do. There would be struggle involved. How would I relate to God in a world that is all dead except me and Him, and He not even physically manifested or fully revealed to me yet until I die too?

These questions find no rest.




McCarthy, Cormac. The Road. New York: Vintage International, 2006. Print.

The Living Dead

“How do we treat the living dead?”
Most of us would probably laugh at this question because zombies are not real, but there are many people on earth who can be categorized as “the living dead.” They are the spiritually, and eternally dead. How do we treat them?

On pages 110-111 of The Road, the father and son find some people who are living dead men. Their fate is sealed. They will die soon, and no mercy awaits them. The cannibals who have them as prisoners will show no sympathy, but how do the father and son treat these “living dead?” The father’s natural instinct is to take his son and run as fast as they can. His and his son’s survival are his first priority. He sees these living dead and views their condition as a warning and he does not want to stick around long enough to even think about the depth of their pain.

Do we Christians do the same thing? Do we many times look at unsaved people – the living dead – and think that we just need to run away as fast as possible, or that we need not stick around long enough to see the depth of their need for God? We tend to be very earthly-minded. We worry about what people might think of us or about the sacrifices involved in spending time discipling a baby Christian and convince ourselves that they are too dangerous to be around and we should run away.

But shouldn’t the “living dead” be the people who stir up our deepest compassion? While we worry about our image or our time and want to do with it what we will. We may even be afraid of trying to help those in spiritual chains to break free. But as we focus on these earthly things, our God in heaven is looking at the soul of the people who live without him. He is looking with deep compassion at those who are destined to live eternity without him. Philippians 3:19 informs us that we should have our minds set on heavenly things. We should strive to set our minds on the things that God sets His mind on. When we do, we will no longer look at the “living dead” that live around us and run, but we will instead risk even our earthly lives for the sake of their heavenly ones.

iSin

My inspiration for this piece came from pg. 247-248 of Peace Like a River: “You can embark on new and steeper versions of your old sins, you know, and cry tears while doing it that are genuine as any.”


Why do I keep returning to my own vomit?
Why am I not repulsed by the growing stench of myself?
A creature stupid enough to wallow in my own feces.

Shouldn't I be more afraid of this thirst?
Shouldn't I be more afraid of this darkness?
Shouldn't I be more afraid of this avalanche?

Tears are ever-shackled to my face
So long as I refuse to submit to a cure .