Will You Be Saved?

It was the early 1960's and I was the pastor of a church in Oklahoma City. I had just finished visiting the last person on my hospital visitation list and was making my way to the elevator for a quick exit for home. The day had been long and I was looking forward to an evening with my family.

As I approached the elevator I noticed a woman standing with her head bowed as though she was praying. She had not pushed either of the buttons for up or down. I pushed the down button and glanced toward her. It was then that I saw she was crying softly. I felt a little awkward as I decided whether or not to invade her world.

Before I could decide, she looked at me and spoke very softly, "I'm sorry." I managed to respond with "That's alright. May I be of help? I am a pastor."

"I don't think so," she replied. "I don't think anyone can help." Then she opened up a bit, "I am so burdened for my father," she said. "He is 85 years old and is seriously ill. The doctor said he only has a few days to live."

I asked if she had a pastor. She did. Then I asked if her father had a pastor. He did not. I offered to go see him, and waited for her response.

"Oh, I just don't know if you should or not," she responded. "Dad has run off my pastor and the hospital chaplain and forbidden them to return." She hesitated briefly, but then spoke with a new resolve, "Pastor, Dad is dying and he will go to hell unless he repents and receives Jesus Christ as Savior. I just can't give up on him. If you will go see him, knowing he has already run two ministers off, I would appreciate it." I assured her I would go.

The relaxing evening I had looked forward to was not so relaxing after all. My mind kept going back to the conversation with a stranger burdened for her father⎯an old man dying lost. Would he be one saved as a firebrand plucked from the eternal fire? (Amos 4:11; Jude 23). I knew I had to join the team of Christians trying to reach the old man for Christ. Tomorrow I would take my turn.

Arriving at University Hospital around 2 p.m., I went immediately to room six where the elderly man lay inching his way toward death and judgment. He was alert and alone in the room. I approached his bedside and greeted him. "Hi, Bill," I said, not giving him my name. (He didn't ask for it, either.)

Bill and I chatted about the weather⎯a pretty, bright day outside. I commented on the brightness of his room and the flowers and cards he had received. Eventually, I ventured beyond the small talk.

"Bill, what brings you to the hospital?"

"I came here to die," he replied. "Just found out about it a little while ago. That's what the doctors say. Yup, came here to die."

Bill drifted off into his own thoughts, but my question brought him back to the moment.

"What then?" I asked.

"Don't know," he said, "I guess somebody will put me in a hole and shovel dirt on me. That's about all there is to it, ain't it?"

"Well, Bill, I wouldn't be too sure of that," I answered. "I've heard others say there was much more to dying than just being buried. I've heard that we have a spirit and a soul that lives on somewhere. I've heard that part of us never dies. Have you ever heard anything like that?"

"Yup. Heard that. Don't believe it. I think when you die, that's it. You're done for. You're through."

"Bill," I continued, "where did you hear about a man having a soul and a spirit that will live on somewhere?"

"At church."

"Tell me about it," I prompted.

"I used to go the church," he began, "even went down to the front to the altar. But it didn't take me long to find out they were all a bunch of hypocrites and crooks. The preacher was the worst one. My wife died believing that junk. She never gave up trying to get me to go back, and she even tried to get me to promise to come to her someday."
"Did you make her a promise?"

"No!" he replied with an expletive.

"Why?"

Bill never answered my question. Instead, he grew quiet, then his whole outward expression changed. His face grew flushed and a wild look came to his eyes. His hands began to shake and suddenly he exploded in an emotional rage.

"You're a damn preacher!" he shouted. "Get out of my room and take your [expletive] God with you!"

I left his room weeping, not for myself, but for him and his family. In a small way I felt the pain his daughter did, knowing he would probably die and go to hell. But, like his daughter, I just couldn't give up on him. I had to try again.

The following day I returned to Bill's room. A notice to visitors hung on the door⎯"Family Members Only". What was I to do? I knocked lightly on the door and one of the daughters opened the door just a crack. She was the same woman I had met at the elevator and she was glad to see me.

Stepping out into the hallway she said, "Dad is weaker and restless. He is not doing well and the doctor says it is only a matter of hours before he goes." She began to cry. "We found your card on the stand. Thank you for coming to see him. He told us he ran you off when he realized you were a preacher. He said you were a nice guy, but sneaky⎯that you never admitted or denied you were a preacher."

We laughed together, seeing a little light of humor in a dark hour.

The other sisters joined us in the hospital hallway. The four of us talked and prayed together. We discussed if I should go in to see him. All agreed that I should, knowing I would probably be rejected. So the four of us went in together.

Bill turned his head to see who came in. He spotted me and said in the coldest way a man could possibly speak, "I told you to get out of my room and to take your [expletive] God with you! Now get out!"

I left as Bill mumbled more curse words with what strength he had left.

Bill's daughters followed me into the hallway where we prayed together. They expressed appreciation for my efforts. We said our goodbyes and I left.

Bill died the next day, without a Savior as far as I know. Still, I'm glad I tried.
I do not know what you think about God, but I do know what God thinks about you. He loves you and gave His only begotten Son to die for your sins so that you may have eternal life instead of perishing in a hell prepared for the devil and his "angels" or demons (John 3:16; Matthew 25:41).

Will you be saved? I sincerely hope so. But the longer you wait the more likely it is that you will not. Consider this: researchers report that 19 out of every 20 people who become Christians do so before they reach age 25. After 25 years of age, only one in 10,000 come to Christ. After 35 years of age, only one in 50,000. After 45, only one in 200,000. After 55, only one in 300,000. After age 65, only one in 500,000. And after 75 years of age, only one in 700,000 ever come to know Christ as Savior.
Will you be saved? Only if you respond to God's love with faith in Jesus Christ. We are saved by grace (God's love) through faith (in Jesus Christ). God will save all who come to Him in this manner regardless of their age. There no better time than the present for you to invite Him into your life.

Jesus, they may someday say, "I wish I had listened," but may our friends never say, "I wish they had told me."