Knowing

“Not everyone who says to me, 
"Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, 
but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. 
On that day many will say to me, 
‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, 
and cast out demons in your name, 
and do many mighty works in your name?’ 
And then will I declare to them, 
‘I never knew you; 
depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’ 

 I’m a part of an online group for dads. It’s not a religious group; it can be raw, vent-ful, unedited. The dads are single, divorced, married, newly so, young, middle-aged. It’s mostly a group of struggles—dads trying to be a decent dad in the middle of demands, responsibilities, complex relationships, second guessing parental choices amidst personal (de)faults and collective wisdom.  

Occasionally, there are celebrations for a hard-won dad-win. And, incredibly, in a sea of trolls and gadflies, the dads rally for virtual high-fives, savoring a skipped workday for an awards ceremony or a gift well-received by a sullen teenager suddenly effusive, bright-eyed, and huggy. 

There was a post that grabbed me last week—a post that stayed with me— which in a day where clicks and finger flicks have a memory cycle of a solar calculator, meant that it had some weight, some profundity. 

The dad described a day whereupon he was beat down by the sheer persistence of a 3-year-old that assumes that his whims are the gravitational glue for all of existence. 3-yr-olds are the Main Character, and any divergence from this plot line results in quarrels that intend to re-align the cosmos.  

The eggs were too squishy. The milk drop on the table meant a new cup had to be poured. Also, he wanted orange juice, not milk. The sun was too bright, but also the clouds were not “the nice ones.” The shirt he wanted to wear suddenly was not the shirt he wanted to wear. His poop was supposed to be in one piece; it was not. A shoebox was too small for him to “take a nap there.” After scrolling through every known episode of Bluey on two separate streaming services, “the one with the bird” was not located. He was “too tired” to take a nap. After selecting the purple popsicle, he raged about receiving the purple popsicle because it was stickier than the yellow one. All day: arguing, rebutting, explaining, disagreeing, dictating, compromising. The exhaustion was real. 

As he was putting his lil’ dude to bed, the fed-up dad said he was hit with an unexpected low-blow. “Dad, you’re my best friend. Good night; see you tomorrow!” The dad said he went and poured himself three fingers of something brown and savored both ambrosias. 

When Jesus ends the best sermon ever preached (Mountain Sermon, Matthew 5-7), he says that on the Last Day there will be many people who come to Him and say, “Lord, Lord, hey it’s me; let me slip to the VIP line.” (paraphrased)  

And He will say, “I don’t know you.”  

And the people will throw in their coach’s challenge flag and request a play review for the (Line)Judge-Who-Will-Do-Right. 

And in 8K slow-motion, the people will say, “Look, you missed this. We doubled up the ‘Lord’”. 

This meant that they were emotionally engaged in proclaiming Him the true King, not Ceasar, or anyone else. They were for real, for real. 

“And look here, the monitors clearly show us saying hard truths(prophesying) ABOUT YOU. We were dedicated to a careful theology and unafraid to stand by it! Look at that, would you?!” 

“Rewind a bit; ah, yes, there: you should tabulate all money we gave to your church, needy folks, jogathons, awkward missionaries, and all sorts of non-profit initiatives. Look at those numbers!” 

“I’m so glad we got a chance to review the plays, because LOOK, we actually did real good, we fought back the brokenness (cast out demons) and provided real relief and flourishing for all kinds of people. And, LORD, LORD, we literally wouldn’t stop saying Jesus as we stacked up these records. IN YOUR NAME.” 

“The video evidence is clear and unambiguous, Lord, Lord. Now, where’s that VIP area? I am thirrrs-ty!” 

“I don’t know you,” says Jesus. 

Why? 

Two brief things here: 

It’s by Grace 

Notice the appeal of the broad and wide way? It includes a massive swath of Christian church-people and the rest of secular humanity: they will appeal to a good record (video replay, please), not to a Person. They want their record to necessitate a reward. That’s not Grace. 

Knowing the Person > Doing; Knowing IS the Doing 

The Sermon on the Mount completely dismantles any notion that anyone can have a good record. It completely suffocates a person who is convinced that Doing is spiritual maturity. (Blessed are the poor in Spirit?) But then the son of Man is introduced as the Only Doer Ever. In Him is VIP. His work matters; yours, not-so-much. Knowing Him becomes the greater pursuit than slavishly doing, doing, doing. You can do all sorts of beautiful, praiseworthy things and not know Him. 

Knowing is a tricky thing, though.  

Reciting stats and facts about your favorite athlete hardly means you know them. Activism and organizing for your favorite politician doesn’t mean they know you. 

Knowing is so daily, domestic, popsicle sticky. Forged intimacy between couples happens after the difficult conversations, the arguing. Knowing means that there is a with-ness—in sweatpants and no makeup, when you come upon your partner sitting in the tub with a glass of wine, but there is no water in the tub and everyone is clothed and so you decide to sit on the closed toilet listening to sobs from someplace foreign, new, frightening.  

Knowing wrestles. Knowing wrestles with the Friend who has ended your job. Knowing wrestles with the Lord who allowed your daughter bullied and anxious—shriveled from the bubbling sprite you once knew. Knowing wrestles with the Father who gave you exactly what you wanted but now it’s too much and it’s killing you. Knowing is confused with the Master who doesn’t seem to see you sleeping all day, incapacitated to follow every well-meaning friend’s advice. Knowing is petitioning Him to remove the cancer, being grateful to Him for the cancer, and being angry at Him for the cancer. Knowing is finally coming to the conclusion that all you have is Christ—the Person. Knowing. Knowing is questioning His moves, while before His face (coram Deo). Knowing is praising Him, marveling in Him, wrestling with Him, arguing with Him, contending with Him. But it is with Him. On the daily, until you are too exhausted, too wrung out. 

“Hey, there, you,” He’ll say on that Day.  

Your best friend.  

Not in formal proclamation as much as familiarity. “You know where the fridge is.”