Just One More Hour to Live
by Pastor Jim May
All alone, in a dark, quiet room of a hospital a patient laid upon the bed from which he would never arise again. He was dying of a dreaded disease that had wracked his body with pain and sapped his energy so that he had not even the strength to lift a finger. All hope for the future was gone now. The doctors, nurses and hospital personnel had done all they could do. Now it was only a matter of time.
Time – the one commodity of life that we all take so much for granted when we have it. But time was not this man’s friend anymore. Time had become his enemy.
Time had passed so quickly in years gone by. He often tried to remember many of the days that he had spent so frivolously, but the medication and the suffering of recent weeks had erased those memories. He could only bring himself to remember just a few of the good days and some of the bad days as well.
Now all that remained of time for this poor soul was one more hour. That was all the doctors had given him to live.
There, on the wall, hung his enemy; and at the same time, his greatest friend. It was a clock that just hung there in almost mute silence, glaring down upon him, gloating over its power to end his life.
Tic-Toc; Tic-Toc was the only sound it made as it hung there doing what it had always done before. The old man could hardly see it anymore, but he was keenly aware that it was there, steadily moving to the end of the hour and the end of his life.
He could see that second hand as it so quickly made its journey around the circle, one second at a time.
As he looked at that second hand moving along, he was reminded of the swiftness of the passing of time when we are busy, active and carefree. How many seconds, minutes, hours and days had he wasted in riotous living? How much of his life counted for nothing. His wife and children were gone. His riotous living had driven them far from him and there was no one left to care whether he lived or died, no one at all.
He knew that the second hand on that clock was going on, and would continue to go on, long after his time on earth had ended. He stared at it, concentrating as hard as he could, hoping that somehow, through wishful thinking and the power of his mind, that he could just slow that second hand just a little to gain a few extra seconds, but it was to no avail. The seconds just steadily ticked away. Around and around it went, and with each trip around he knew that there was one minute less for life to be his.
Those minutes were passing all too quickly. He began to remember the wasted minutes around the water cooler at work. Those wasted minutes when he sat at his desk just waiting impatiently for the quitting bell to ring so he could rush off to continue doing what he wanted to do. Oh, if only he could redeem those minutes now! How much more could he make of his life if he could only bring back those wasted minutes. But it was impossible to do. He knew first hand what that old saying meant, “Time waits for no man.” His minutes and seconds were passing away one by one, by one - the clock kept on ticking.
He had been given only one more hour, and now it was half over. He could feel the cold hand of death as it began to grip his body. His limbs were as heavy as lead weights and he could move them no more. He could barely have the strength to gasp for one more breath, and yet his mind remained fixed upon that clock, watching as his time drew nearer and nearer.
As he watched the second hand go around, and the minute hand slowly, but surely moved around the face of the clock, he noticed that, in the background, that hour hand was ever so slowly moving onward. That was the one he feared the most, for it was that hour hand that would show the final hour of his life as it came to an end.
He thought about that hour hand and it reminded him of the fact that we often forget that the seconds and minutes are the building blocks of the hours of our life. We are caught up in the rat race of life, like the fast moving of the second hand. Then we see the days go by one by one, like the minutes that are driven and burned away one at a time. We often forget of the passing hour hand because it moves so slowly that sometimes it’s almost imperceptible. Yet it is moving.
He remembered those few times when he would walk into the doors of the church and listen for a few seconds as the preacher brought forth the message. All of that had seemed so unimportant at the time. Now, if only he could go back and give much more of his life in pursuit of knowing the Bible and knowing the Jesus that had been mentioned. But, it was too late now and even though he knew it was important to remember, he could not remember what those sermons had tried to tell him.
He did remember one line. He didn’t remember where it was found, but he remembered what it said, “James 4:14, "… For what is your life? It is even a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away." Now, he could understand what it said, but he hadn’t paid much attention when he had heard it before. How fleeting his life had passed and how close that hour hand drew to the moment of his death.
Once more he concentrated upon the clock on the wall and to his horror he saw that the seconds had kept going, and the minutes had passed while he tried to think of those days in church. Now there were only 5 more minutes to go. That hour hand, that dreaded hour hand was already touching and over-shadowing the hour that would mark his last on earth.
He knew the end was here. His body was no longer movable. His lips were as a heavy weight upon his face that he could not move. It took every ounce of strength he could muster just to open his eyes long enough to see the second hand continuing its steady march to the end of the hour.
Fear began to well up within him, and awful unexplainable dread began to grip his heart. Something terrible, cold and painful, even more painful than the sting of physical pain that the disease had caused him, began to move over him. He wanted to run, he wanted to scream, he wanted to beg for help, he wanted to get away, but he was unable to do any of those things. The feeling hopelessness, fear, dread and pain continued to increase as the seconds ticked away and now there was only a few minutes to go.
The doctors came in to check on him, but they could only wag their heads, shrug their shoulders and turn and walk away. He was far beyond the help of human hands now. They could not stay the hands of that clock anymore than he could. The nurses would only look down in sadness as if to say, “just give up, don’t suffer anymore.”
They each walked out the door and he was alone again – alone to face the final 2 minutes of his life as he began to feel it slip away. He could feel the cold hands of unseen creatures take hold of his spirit and begin to tug at him with their icy grip. Oh how he dreaded that touch and the horrible feeling of pain and agony that they would transfer to his soul.
In desperation, even though he could not move his lips, he cried out in his heart – “Oh God, if you are really there, help me!”
What a strange thing it was to hear himself cry out in such a manner! How many times had he spurned God before? How many times had he forgotten God?
The second hand continued to tick away and now there was only one more minute to go. The dread and fear was continuing to build and he had resigned himself to the eternity of pain suffering that lay ahead. If only he could change it somehow!
Then, out of nowhere, he sensed a figure walk into the door of his room. He could not see who it was but he knew someone was there.
He was fighting to keep control his mind and his thoughts; he could not give up so close to the end. Was this man able to help? Could there be an answer for him? Would God have mercy?
Somehow he heard the words as the man called his name, “Mr. Simpson, will you give your life to Jesus? Will you accept him as your savior? He died for you and Jesus wants to save you right now.”
Mr. Simpson was having trouble concentrating long enough to allow the words to sink in but somehow he did.
Could it be true? Could Jesus forgive me now, when I have nothing left to give, not even a full minute of life to serve him? What kind of Savior is this Jesus who could love me that much?
With only 30 seconds to go, Mr. Simpson, prayed within himself, “Lord, forgive me. I want the salvation that you have to offer. If you will have me, please come into my life.”
Suddenly, it was as though the room literally exploded in light. The cold icy hands of the demonic spirits were gone and he sensed that they were fleeing from his room with all the speed they could muster. He felt a warm, loving hand reach out and touch him and he could hear a choir singing with praises going forth as though the heavens above were completely filled with angels.
The last glimpse that he had of the clock as his spirit rose from the body of death showed him that the hour had come and it was all over now.
He saw the door swing open and the medical staff come rushing in as the heart rate monitor began to a flat-line on the screen. The man who he had not seen before was pushed to the side of the room and stood there in shock. It was the preacher that he had ignored so many times before. That was the last glimpse of earth that he saw and the next moment he was instantly transported into the presence of Jesus, his newfound Lord and Savior.
Oh how close had he come! What if the preacher had delayed only 5 minutes? What if he had not chosen to come at all? Where would that man be today?
The amazing part of this story is that the preacher didn’t know if anything had happened as a result of his visit. He had simply delivered the message. There had been no visible response, no physical reaction, no tear was shed, and no words were voiced from the lips of the body of Mr. Simpson. He could only hope that the message had made it through and that somehow Mr. Simpson had been able to hear.
The preacher walked away and it was over. Now it was time to go to the next visit. It was another visit to another patient in a nearby room who was in the same shape as Mr. Simpson. In his mind, as he walked away, the thought came to him, “If only I could have been here sooner. I feel as though this was a wasted trip.”
I know that this may seem to be such a dramatic story. It may seem to be fictitious and, in some ways, it really is. But there have been times when I have been to the bedside of a dying patient like Mr. Simpson. I’ve done my best to bring the same gospel message to each of them, but I don’t really know the outcome. I’ve walked away wondering if it was a wasted trip. I can only pray that those to whom I have ministered have had the same experience that Mr. Simpson did in this story, but I fear that some have not.
My friends, our job is not to question the results, just to deliver the message. We may never know, this side of Heaven, what our work has accomplished, but one day we will.
I want us to remember what James 4:14 says, just as Mr. Simpson remembered, "Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away."
We don’t know what time we have left in this life. Most of us will not have the time down to the minute like Mr. Simpson did. Life has a way of ending unexpectedly for so many.
When that time comes, will we feel the dread and fear of the cold icy hands of demons? If we have lived in disobedience, that’s exactly what will happen.
My job, as your Pastor, is comfort you, pray with you, and teach you the Word of God in this life, but most importantly, to prepare you for the life to come. That’s priority #1!
My prayer, and my hope is that all of us will experience the joys of Heaven when this life is over.
The clock is ticking. Time marches on and the day and hour of death for those who are dying is drawing ever nearer. But until that day and hour comes, let us continue to witness Jesus to other people and tell them of the Love of God. Every day more and more souls are passing into eternity like the man of our story tonight and it is up to us, you and I, to bring the message of deliverance and salvation to them.
Who knows what poor soul you may rescue just in the nick of time?
