My friend Chris and I used to joke about our desire to not be “that guy”. You don’t want to be “that guy”. You know, “that guy” that you point at with the comb-over that fools nobody, you don’t want to be him. Or “that guy” decked out in eye black, pinstripes, $125 cleats, and wrist bands playing church-league softball. You don’t want to be “that guy”. Or “that guy” that still sports a mullet, drives a 1980’s Camaro, smoke’s Camel cigarettes, and drives through town waving a 12 foot Old Dixie. Nobody really likes “that guy”. Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite is “that guy”. Nobody wants to be him.
There is one “that guy” that I definitely do not want to be. It’s “that guy” that struts up to Jesus confident of his acceptance; like the confident batter that begins walking to first in the certainty that the umpire will call “ball four”. I do not want to be “that guy” because it doesn’t end well for “that guy”:
21 “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. 22 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?’ 23 And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’
I have to be honest; Matthew 7 has always left me a little uncomfortable. I always get a little afraid that maybe I will be “that guy”: you know, the guy that stands before Jesus full of confidence, only to get thrown into the fires of hell. Please do not misunderstand me. I do have confidence that I will be with Christ for eternity. But I think the poor saps in Matthew 7 had that same confidence. And if I am being honest, that scares me a little bit.