Then Comes Judgement
This is part 2 of our Lenten Four Last Things Series. Read part 1 here.
Americans hate judgment—at least, anybody’s but our own. “Don’t judge me!” has become our neurotic calling card against the small-minded bigots who dare to try our conscience. We’ve very democratically resigned to let every man judge himself. No one else’s judgments are welcome because “You shouldn’t have to change for anybody.”
The reflex against judgment has come at the cost of introspection. Any effort at moral reflection typically devolves into a personal vindication. Priests in the confessional have been reduced to therapists listening to rationalizations and offering reassurances to the self-righteous. After all, who is brave enough to name his sins without excuse?
Lent, more than any other season of the year, is a call to reflect more seriously on Judgment, the second of the Last Four Things.
Christian Judgment
The modern issue with judgment is partly a semantic one. In 2013, Pope Francis infamously asked “Who am I to judge?” when questioned about gay Christians. The left and right alike took this to be an abdication of all judgment—that His Holiness was in no place to tell people their actions are wrong. But the Christian sense of “judgment” is more specific than the modern. When Christ warns to “judge not, lest you be judged,” he’s not speaking about moral analysis but about human dignity and the state of the soul.
Scripture instructs Christians to admonish sinners. Clearly there’s an expectation to judge actions. But that comes specifically from a perspective of love for the offender. Christians are not free to dismiss a person to Hell or declare them irredeemable. Even the most atrocious sinner must still be prayed for, converted, and loved. Eternal damnation is the right of God alone, for “people look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Sm 16:7).
This eternal flavor of judgment is the recurring theme of the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus emphatically declares the standard by which we judge others as the one by which we will be judged. He who forgives will be forgiven, and who condemns will be condemned. But in order to forgive—ourselves as well as others—we must first make a judgment that wrong has occurred.
The one who makes no judgments, who believes that we aren’t fit to judge right or wrong, is incapable of forgiveness and thus incapable of being forgiven. Dante places them farthest away from God. They are welcome in neither Heaven nor Hell, wallowing in filth and vain suffering for eternity. It’s a good reminder that, though we might outrun conscience in this life, the judgment which awaits us after death is inevitable.
Personal Judgment
Scripture is explicit about the coming of a Last Judgment at the end of time. But what happens to the dead in the meantime? On that issue Scripture offers far less insight.
Among Christians there’s general agreement that a personal particular judgment occurs at the moment of death, distinct from the Last Judgment of all nations. Scripture’s most convincing testimony is the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man (Lk 16:19-31). When each of the principals die, they’re immediately sent to their fate. Whether the parable is a literary device or literal biography, the implication is the same: immediately after death we will face God’s justice for how we’ve lived.
Between the two judgments, the person is all soul and no body. This is a bad thing: the human person is not merely a soul, but a composite being of body and soul together. The two components are made for each other, and their separation leaves us incomplete. So though our souls are capable of enjoying the state of Heaven, our fulfillment will not be complete until the resurrection of the body, which will not occur until the Last Judgment at “the end of time.”
Any discussion of the lapse between death and resurrection eventually begets a discussion of time and eternity. The passage from the finite to the infinite is hard to fathom. In eternity, according to Peter, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like a day. But how “long” the dead await the resurrection or suffer in Purgatory are the wrong questions because these events take place outside of time (whatever that means).
It’s not our privilege to comprehend all the mysteries of Heaven, time, and hylomorphism, and it’s not necessary—mainly because knowledge isn’t the basis of judgment. There’s not an entrance exam to Heaven (despite the academics’ deepest wishes). We are judged on our acts of faith. Did you live under the graces of faith, hope, and charity built on a foundation of natural virtues? If yes, then your soul is strong enough to enter Heaven. If no, then the sufferings of Hell begin.
Everyone born in Original Sin will face this personal death and judgment. Traditional Christianity doesn’t admit a “Rapture” where some lucky faithful are taken alive into Heaven while the sinful are left behind in a period of tribulation until the Last Judgment. That belief arose out of 19th century American fundamentalism. There is no fast pass: we must all persevere until our end.
Last Judgment
If we’re all individually judged at death, then what awaits us at the Last Judgment? The Last Judgment is the end of time in which all of Creation will be renewed and permanently restored to its intended state. The human person will be made whole again with bodies more perfect than what we know now, and a new Heaven and new Earth will enjoy the eternal reign of Christ the King.
Apocalyptic literature in Scripture is rich with imagery of the end times; however, the literal nature of the Last Judgment is uncertain. Whether there will be trumpets and thrones and dragons sweeping stars out of the sky isn’t really the point, and I don’t think it matters if you believe that will all literally happen or not. What should trouble us is its indisputable purpose: to analyze the conduct of every human person for the last time.
Following the Last Judgment, there will be nothing new (in the earthly sense)—just a perfect eternity of life as God intended. Christ himself says that in eternity “they do not marry nor are given in marriage,” but this isn’t a state of deprivation; it’s a state of higher existence. What you will enjoy in eternity are pleasures beyond the earthly. If you think Heaven is just an everlasting episode of the Brady Bunch where it’s you, your family, and your dog and God comes over for dinner on Sundays, then you don’t get it. God is greater and more fulfilling than any good you have ever known because He transcends everything. He will truly be “enough” for you.
But before any of that, we will have to face the music. What kind of a world did we, God’s stewards, prepare for Him? Did we observe His laws and spread His Gospel or not? I’ve always found this a compelling argument for why we ask the saints to pray for us: because they’re counting on us to bring about the fulfillment of God’s kingdom on Earth. They have a vested interest in our work because it’s the work that’s preparing for the very thing they’re awaiting: the resurrection. If we don’t do the work, then all the longer the world goes unredeemed.
I think every generation has its prophets who interpret the “signs of the times” and foresee a coming end. But I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing: they act as our own personal memento mori. The Early Church thought the Last Judgment was going to be soon after the Ascension—as though Jesus were just running home to shower and grab a bite to eat before coming back to finish the job. They were wrong, but their mindset should still be our own. “Nobody knows the hour” when Christ will return. Perhaps when the Gospel has truly been announced to all nations? But it could be today, and you better live like it. Whether it’s now or later, eventually you will have to face Judgment.