Off the coast of Nova Scotia wild horses roam this "Island of Lost Ships", where hundreds of shipwrecks claimed thousands of lives. Breathtaking ridgelines and lung-gasping sunsets mask Sable Island's terrible traps: Shoals and reefs so deceptively shallow a ship is trapped before it knows it's in danger; and breakers so deadly mariners have long called this place the "graveyard of the Atlantic". As each storm gathers, wild ponies-remnants of a herd left or lost by John Hancock's brother-lift their mighty manes, stamping their hooves as they cut the herd into the lee behind a dune. There, frail and feeble ponies are packed tightly in the middle of a circle as the stallions and the strong use their own bodies to shield the weak from the storm's relentless pummeling. It is the clearest picture one can imagine of how God expects His children to behave.

 

     Time literally stood still as we waited together for a final evaluation of our lives on Earth and the place those lives had earned us in eternity.  Listening to the whir of the conversations around me, three strands seemed most prevalent:

 

     "I can't believe I'm here." was the most common lead-in, as person after person reacted in disbelief or relief as they finally realized Judgment Day had arrived and they were among those being processed for eternity in the presence of God.  It wasn't hard to understand why this was the major expression.

 

     Second in frequency was the surprised chatter about others. "I'm really, really surprised to see xxxxxxxx in this group."  Given Scripture's promise that heaven erases all sin forever, I knew these weren't gossipy conversations. The folks having them were genuinely puzzled by who they saw there, a collection of people whose public sins and wrongs had played out in the press, but whose private conversions to Christianity weren't generally known.  One of the angels answered the chatter by reminding everybody that no one seeking God's forgiveness was turned away.  Nodding to a partition beyond which none of us could see, the angel sadly noted there were many "over there" pleading now, much too late.   

 

     Still, this was the "made it" line, and I know we were all puzzled when a long line of people circled us, each one poring over the crowd as if searching for someone in particular.  "Who's that?" someone asked in what became the third strand of conversations.  Again the angel answered: "Those are the poor, here to offer testimony as God reviews each of your contributions to His Kingdom during your time on Earth."

 

     "So," I thought to myself, "this is why Jesus and James and Paul and Isaiah and the Psalmist, not to mention Proverbs and most of the other Old Testament prophets kept telling us to make friends with the poor."  True to His Word, God would be listening to the poor as they pointed out which of us paid attention to their needs when we had the chance.  The angel caught the worried look on the face of the person standing next to me. "Oh, don't worry," the angel said, "they aren't testifying against anyone here."  I remembered then, the promises God made to forgive and forget our sins; to "move them as far as the east is from the west." The angel continued: "They're here to help God sort out who has crowns (special rewards for faithful acts done on earth) and whose crowns are to be passed to others. 

 

     I'd be embarrassed in some cases; bragging in others, if I told you which of the poor, and how many, pointed to me or looked at me and shook their heads. But I will say this: All of us were embarrassed by the fact most of the poor couldn't find one Christian who'd responded to them in time of need.

 

     When the sorting process seemed to be nearing its close, God stepped in.  It was our first glimpse and we stood in stunned silence.

 

     A grand comfort settled over the crowd at this point as we realized God was no longer meting out justice in our lives.  We were with Him for good, and not because we were better or smarter or holier or more valuable than the ones who weren't, but because we were broken enough to realize we needed Jesus Christ to stand for us.  Because He did, and because we acknowledged it, the comfort and relief sweeping over us was a permanent thing.  A slow cheer started to erupt on the far side of the crowd, but before it swept through, an angel next to God held up a hand signaling for silence.  The angels next words were most puzzling because they were among the hardest words I'd ever heard, yet their sting had been removed by the certainty of eternity and forgiveness.

 

     "Look to the outer circle," the angel began "for Christianity's greatest failure is represented in their faces.  How many went hungry, or thirsty, or were homeless, even as you basked in the glories of plenty.  How many times they watched you watch them without reaching out.  'Let the government care for them' you said, until taxes got too high or times were tough; then you protested even that. 'Nobody helped me so why should they get help.'"  Many faces turned red at hearing these words, but the angel wasn't finished.  "When Jesus said 'the poor will always be with you', He wasn't saying nothing could be done to change it. He was acknowledging how little His people would be willing to give up making it change. Most of you did much less than God expected; some of you did nothing at all.  As you live and work and walk in this new heaven and new earth, where the poor no longer reside, let the memory of this moment help you savor just how unworthy your residency truly is, and what majestic grace makes it possible you're here today."

 

     Then the angel motioned for us to step aside as the poor, those whom God pled with us to befriend, started through the doors behind which sorrow and pain and hunger would never again be known.  We watched as the first evidence of "the last shall be first and the first shall be last" played itself out for what wouldn't be the last time in the eternal story.