John and Charles Enter into Heaven

When I was asked to contribute to this daily series, I said it would be an honor—which it is—and that I would be glad to take whatever day of the week I was assigned. Obviously I preferred some days more than others, but I also decided that in the spirit of a season of increased discipline I would accept my assignment as from the Lord and do my timely best whatever the minor inconvenience. As it turned out, providing Monday’s contribution has been an unexpected blessing in a number of ways, not least of which has been the Kalendar—a couple of weeks ago Martin Luther fell on “my” day, and in the week of Lent IV it is the observance of the amazing lives of John and Charles Wesley.

They were the fifteenth and eighteenth children (probably nothing special here—their mother Susannah was the 24th of 24 children) of the Reverend Samuel Wesley, Rector of Epworth, accomplished poet and hymn writer, most of whose output was lost in a fire at Epworth. However great the fortunes of Reverend Sam (and I think these were not so much), the environment into which John and Charles were born meant that the interests of the oldest children took precedence. Even today we have a tendency to give more attention, if not more honor, to the eldest child, and “back in the day” this kind of discrimination was considered to be good, right, and in the normal order of things. So neither John nor Charles would have felt ill-used for being expected to do for themselves, and no one else would have given it a thought.

The value of both the spiritual life and the life of the mind were priorities through many generations of Wesleys, but we know little or nothing about any of the other children of Sam and Sue, including the many older siblings of John and Charles. This isn’t to belittle them—I’m sure they were all good people and contributors to their communities—but to lift up that much more the significant and lasting accomplishments of both John and Charles. I believe it would be fair to say that their enduring legacies continue to touch every branch of the Christian faith, and the real significance for me is that fame and legacy were never their slightest concern. Rather, for John and Charles, "doing for themselves" simply meant that their entire lives were spent in the service of their Lord. They were raised to know in the deepest way what God had already said and done, and their hearts and minds were prepared and ready when God chose to use them. John never set out to create a denomination; Charles never intended to be one of history’s most prolific and well-known hymn writers. They just put their minds, hearts, souls, and strengths into doing what God asked of them, and the results have been a lasting blessing for generations of Christians.

No one can imagine what the final transition actually looks and feels like, but it’s easy to create the scene called “John and Charles Enter into Heaven.” Their greatest concern would be that they hadn’t finished, hadn’t done enough, hadn’t been all they might have been. And the Lord would put His arms on their shoulders and say what we all long to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servants.”

Father God, I can’t be them, or anything like it, but I can be more like them. Their diligence, perseverance, and obedience to Your leading are my desire, but these aren’t my most noticeable character traits. That means that what could be, isn’t, and that’s a choice I’ve made. So I thank You, Father, for all the second chances You give me. Right now, this minute, let me feel You changing me so that diligence, perseverance, and obedience become more than desires. Let these things become realities in me, more and more, so that I can be who You want me to be, more and more. Thank you in advance. Amen.