When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on the throne. Not a folding chair. Not a seat at the head of the table.
The throne.
Judgment won’t be a committee meeting. It won’t be a conversation. No deliberation or discussion. There will be a king, and there will be a verdict. There will be no middle ground. It won’t be consensus arrived at by everyone present.
Now I don’t know what kind of Jesus you’ve been trained to expect—but if you’re waiting for one who only ever smiles, who talks in a whisper and tiptoes around sin, I need you to open your ears today. Because the Jesus in this gospel—he’s not knocking. He’s not asking. He’s returning with fire in his eyes and angels at his back, and he’s drawing a line in the dirt. Left and right. Sheep and goats. No one gets to stand in the middle. And I need you to know this too: that dividing line has nothing to do with your politics, your playlist, or your personality. It doesn’t rest on your opinions or your intentions or how many Christian podcasts you’ve got saved on your phone. It doesn’t even rest on whether you call him Lord. No—according to him, it rests on this: did you feed the hungry? Did you visit the prisoner? Did you see the wounded, the wandering, the worn out—and love them like he mattered? This is what he says.
And he will say it.
The prophet Daniel saw a time of anguish. Not discomfort—anguish. He saw a people under pressure, their names trembling on the edge of being forgotten. But one stood for them. One who shines like fire and moves like lightning. His name was Michael. Michael doesn’t comfort. He doesn’t coddle. He fights. And in the Revelation given to John, Michael fights again. The devil rises up in heaven, and war breaks out. You think heaven is peaceful? Not then. Not yet. There’s war in heaven, and Michael casts the dragon down—not gently, not symbolically, but with the violence of truth. The dragon, Scripture says, is the accuser of our brothers and sisters. He is the one who slanders. Who lies. Who whispers. And though he’s thrown down, he doesn’t disappear. Oh no, he just changes tactics. He stops roaring—and starts honeyfuggling.
You’ve heard him. You know you have. He doesn’t need you to curse the name of God. He just needs you to look away when the world bleeds. He just needs you to be tired. To be busy. To be reasonable. He doesn’t want a scene. Just your silence.
He says, “That problem’s too big.” He says, “You’ve done enough.” He says, “Someone else will help.” He says, “They probably deserve it.” He doesn’t breathe fire—he whispers. And if you believe that whisper long enough, you’ll stop following the Lamb. You won’t even notice when you fall behind. You’ll still sing the songs, still kneel at the rail, still sign the check—but you won’t hear his voice anymore. Because the whisper will have become your truth.
Now hear this: the sheep and the goats in Jesus’ parable all looked the same from the outside. They all waited. They all listened. And they were all surprised. But only one group had served him. And they didn’t even know it. They weren’t keeping track. They weren’t racking up points. They weren’t performing. They were living mercy, not measuring it. And the other group? They hadn’t rejected Jesus. They just hadn’t recognized him. They had looked into the eyes of a hungry man, a homeless woman, a refugee child—and they hadn’t seen the king. They didn’t see him because they weren’t looking. They weren’t listening. They were too proud, too busy, too safe.
That’s what the dragon wants. He doesn’t need you to storm the gates of heaven in protest. He just wants you to sit down and let someone else carry the cross. And Jesus warns us plainly: those who do not love him in the bodies of the broken, the hurting, the forgotten—those who serve only when it’s convenient—will not be counted among the sheep. They’ll be sent away. Not because they didn’t try hard enough, but because they never followed the voice of the Lamb.
Do you hear it?
And listen—don’t you dare leave here thinking this is about earning heaven. This isn’t a ladder you can climb. This isn’t a race you can win. The sheep didn’t earn anything. They didn’t even know they were doing it right. But their hearts had been tuned to mercy. Their hands were already reaching when the moment came. They didn’t know they were feeding Christ. They just fed the hungry. They just visited the prisoner. They just made room. Because that’s what disciples do when they’re listening. So I’ll ask you plainly: are you listening? Have you let the devilish whisper shape your habits, your schedule, your bank account, your patience? Or are you still following the Shepherd?
And here—here’s where we need comfort, not just warning. Because some of you are tired. Some of you are ashamed. Some of you are haunted by the times you didn’t act, didn’t help, didn’t speak. Some of you have believed the whisper far too long. But grace has a voice louder than guilt. So hear this: if your heart aches for the hurting, if you’ve ever reached out even when you weren’t sure it would help, if you’ve ever dropped off groceries or wept in someone’s hospital room, if you’ve ever forgiven when no one said thank you—then take heart. The Lamb is speaking through you already. That wasn’t weakness. That wasn’t wasted. That was grace. That was proof that you belong to him.
So don’t despair—but don’t delay either. The king is coming. The angels are watching. And the judgment will be swift, not because God is cruel, but because Christ has already told us what matters. He has made it plain. You don’t need to wait for another sign. You don’t need to build another theology. You don’t need to take a vote. You need to act like mercy is the law of the land. You need to follow the Lamb like he means what he says. You need to live as if your king is watching—because he is.
Let me tell you what’s coming. The skies will part. The throne will shine. And the angels who fought the dragon will march in perfect obedience. There will be no trial—just truth. No jury—just judgment. And you won’t be asked what you believed. You’ll be shown what you did.
So what do we do now? We follow. We feed. We visit. We open our doors. We shut down the whisper. We walk in mercy like it’s the only road left—because it is.
And on that final day, when all nations are gathered, and all eyes look up to the throne, we will hear a voice that knows us. And we’ll see clearly—what the whisper tried to hide. We’ll know, at last, the true weight of every choice.
Because—
The dragon whispers, “It doesn’t matter.”
The king declares, “It matters more than you could ever know.”
The Rev'd Daniel W. Spigelmyer, Jr. 