Old man wearing hat looking serious

I’m the Last One

Family roles and traditions are powerful for most of us. It’s fun to celebrate the first family member who makes it to college. It’s fun to celebrate the first grandchild in a family. I remember that I felt like the only one in my family to carry on my family name, and I was the namesake for my maternal grandfather, as well. The first doctor, the first teacher, the first millionaire, the first to travel beyond the nation’s borders–each of these carry joy and pride.

But another kind of pride is a sobering one, even somber one. “I’m the LAST” brother, the last Prindle, the last sister, the last president of my company,” people say. When they do, it’s a mixture of feelings. On the one hand, the isolation of that kind of statement can feel stifling. At the same time, it feels like a great milestone of accomplishment and survival. It’s sweet and bitter, joyful and sobering.

I am studying 1 John with our Explorers and we are looking at his life as we start this last group of letters in the Christian scriptures. He’s the last remaining disciple. “I’m the last one,” he may have thought. “I have to write this down so it won’t be overlooked or forgotten,” he may have mused.

So what if you were the last witness of YOUR family, the last witness of YOUR generation, your town, your neighborhood? What would you risk to be sure that those you knew and loved also knew Christ? In some countries, believers are VERY few. Will you join me in praying for them tonight–that they would be bold, courageous, and faithful?

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