The Lamb’s Book
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The Lamb’s Book Lyrics
In Memory of Andrew Clayton
I.
I awoke to the shrill, techno tones of my telephone ringing at 7 AM on a Sunday morning. I don’t really like getting woken up at 7 in the morning, especially after a late night hanging with friends. I had hung out with my new roommate, Brett Maddocks, and an old-school friend of his, Kellie Kendall. We had each given our 7 dollar offering to genuflect before the acting god, Robert De Niro, in his new flick The Score. Good movie. 3 generations of awesome actors.
Brando.
De Niro.
Edward Norton.
An enjoyable time was had by all. And now I’m getting a dad-gum phone call at 7 AM. I can’t even remember, really, if the thought crossed my mind that something might be wrong. Maybe briefly. But more than anything I was groggy, crust still in my eyes.
“Matt?” the shaken voice inquired.
“Yeah,” came the exhausted reply.
“This is Philip; sorry to call you so early, but Andrew’s dead.”
“What?!? Andrew Clayton?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you serious?”
I.
I awoke to the shrill, techno tones of my telephone ringing at 7 AM on a Sunday morning. I don’t really like getting woken up at 7 in the morning, especially after a late night hanging with friends. I had hung out with my new roommate, Brett Maddocks, and an old-school friend of his, Kellie Kendall. We had each given our 7 dollar offering to genuflect before the acting god, Robert De Niro, in his new flick The Score. Good movie. 3 generations of awesome actors.
Brando.
De Niro.
Edward Norton.
An enjoyable time was had by all. And now I’m getting a dad-gum phone call at 7 AM. I can’t even remember, really, if the thought crossed my mind that something might be wrong. Maybe briefly. But more than anything I was groggy, crust still in my eyes.
“Matt?” the shaken voice inquired.
“Yeah,” came the exhausted reply.
“This is Philip; sorry to call you so early, but Andrew’s dead.”
“What?!? Andrew Clayton?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what happened?” I asked, as the news starts to hit me like a knife twisting into my innards.
“Car wreck. Andrew was driving back home from Savannah in the middle of the night,” Philip answered. “It was pretty bad weather, and Andrew was most likely speeding; he lost control of his Explorer and hit a tree. Dead on impact.”
“Oh God,” I gasped.
“We really don’t know much else right now.
“Ok. Well, what should I do? What can I do?”
“Lots of people are gathering at the Claytons’ house.”
“Alright; I’ll be there in about an hour.”
Hang up the telephone; hang up a friendship. Andrew dead? Not believable. Not process-able. Stumble into shower, attempt to wash away the horror. Doesn’t work: Andrew still dead as I dry my naked body. “Must call Mom and Dad – and Nicole – before I leave. Don’t know if I should bother Brett, though. He’s leaving today on a big ministry trip. Don’t want to ruin his day. But he knew Andrew a little bit through me. Plus, Brett’s my closest friend. Ok – I’ll tell Brett.”
II.
Having remembered to grab my Bible, I turned my key, thus cranking up the lumbering motor of a 95 Cherokee, and set my face towards Ray City, GA. Can’t tell you a single thought that I recall from the drive. I think I remember listening to the Galactic Cowboys, one of my favorite bands. They do a great song called Speak to Me, which requests to hear the voice of God. But I think I was listening to a different album that day. Oh well, doesn’t really matter, my choice of music. I was too stupefied to hear God in a song anyway. The only reliable communication with the Divine that I recall having came through the pages of my Bible.
When I arrived at the Clayton household, I made my way through the throng of corpse-like friends and family. Let me tell you the truth: Andrew was not alone in the land of the dead that day; we were all there along with him. Never have I personally seen so much grief, so many tears. ‘Twas a morning for mourning like no other. I squeezed through to an empty chair; didn’t bother to greet my friends. Opened up my NRSV translation and just started silently reading to myself:
"We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose."
“Well, what happened?” I asked, as the news starts to hit me like a knife twisting into my innards.
“Car wreck. Andrew was driving back home from Savannah in the middle of the night,” Philip answered. “It was pretty bad weather, and Andrew was most likely speeding; he lost control of his Explorer and hit a tree. Dead on impact.”
“Oh God,” I gasped.
“We really don’t know much else right now.
“Ok. Well, what should I do? What can I do?”
“Lots of people are gathering at the Claytons’ house.”
“Alright; I’ll be there in about an hour.”
Hang up the telephone; hang up a friendship. Andrew dead? Not believable. Not process-able. Stumble into shower, attempt to wash away the horror. Doesn’t work: Andrew still dead as I dry my naked body. “Must call Mom and Dad – and Nicole – before I leave. Don’t know if I should bother Brett, though. He’s leaving today on a big ministry trip. Don’t want to ruin his day. But he knew Andrew a little bit through me. Plus, Brett’s my closest friend. Ok – I’ll tell Brett.”
II.
Having remembered to grab my Bible, I turned my key, thus cranking up the lumbering motor of a 95 Cherokee, and set my face towards Ray City, GA. Can’t tell you a single thought that I recall from the drive. I think I remember listening to the Galactic Cowboys, one of my favorite bands. They do a great song called Speak to Me, which requests to hear the voice of God. But I think I was listening to a different album that day. Oh well, doesn’t really matter, my choice of music. I was too stupefied to hear God in a song anyway. The only reliable communication with the Divine that I recall having came through the pages of my Bible.
When I arrived at the Clayton household, I made my way through the throng of corpse-like friends and family. Let me tell you the truth: Andrew was not alone in the land of the dead that day; we were all there along with him. Never have I personally seen so much grief, so many tears. ‘Twas a morning for mourning like no other. I squeezed through to an empty chair; didn’t bother to greet my friends. Opened up my NRSV translation and just started silently reading to myself:
"We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose."
"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
"Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"
“Do these Scriptures mean anything?” I wondered. “Do they bring Andrew back to life?”
But my questions of God really had no force. Rather, I simply resigned myself to the fact of Andrew’s death. You see, I knew about the truth about Resurrection. Part of my reading that summer had been C.K. Barrett’s Commentary on First Corinthians, the biblical book that contains the most information regarding Resurrection. Come to think of it, I read a lot of theology that summer. Spent a lot of time alone, just me and The Word. Maybe it was a preparation, a training ground for how to deal when death comes knocking, not necessarily at my door but a couple feet down the street.
If training it was, my trainer was thorough. I knew too much. Knew that one day Andrew would rise again as a Saint and that God would eventually be all in all. Can’t argue with that. Everybody dies; that’s how it works. At least Andrew had found eternal life, name written in red by the blood of Christ in the Lamb’s Book of Life. He, nor I, had any ground for complaint.
For… living is Christ and dying is gain.
“Matt, I always knew you were called to be a preacher.”
Her words jarred me back into engagement with the reality around me.
“Ma’am?”
“I said that I always knew you were going to end up being a pastor.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, here you are in the midst of all this suffering and tragedy just quietly reading your Bible.”
“Oh. Yeah, well I didn’t really feel much like talking to anyone. Plus, I guess I just needed to remind myself of what’s true. There’s some hard stuff in here, but it’s the truth. As cliché as it sounds, Andrew really is in a better place. And one day He’ll rise again. The Bible seems to always help me put things in the proper perspective.”
The Lamb’s Book gives life.
"Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"
“Do these Scriptures mean anything?” I wondered. “Do they bring Andrew back to life?”
But my questions of God really had no force. Rather, I simply resigned myself to the fact of Andrew’s death. You see, I knew about the truth about Resurrection. Part of my reading that summer had been C.K. Barrett’s Commentary on First Corinthians, the biblical book that contains the most information regarding Resurrection. Come to think of it, I read a lot of theology that summer. Spent a lot of time alone, just me and The Word. Maybe it was a preparation, a training ground for how to deal when death comes knocking, not necessarily at my door but a couple feet down the street.
If training it was, my trainer was thorough. I knew too much. Knew that one day Andrew would rise again as a Saint and that God would eventually be all in all. Can’t argue with that. Everybody dies; that’s how it works. At least Andrew had found eternal life, name written in red by the blood of Christ in the Lamb’s Book of Life. He, nor I, had any ground for complaint.
For… living is Christ and dying is gain.
“Matt, I always knew you were called to be a preacher.”
Her words jarred me back into engagement with the reality around me.
“Ma’am?”
“I said that I always knew you were going to end up being a pastor.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, here you are in the midst of all this suffering and tragedy just quietly reading your Bible.”
“Oh. Yeah, well I didn’t really feel much like talking to anyone. Plus, I guess I just needed to remind myself of what’s true. There’s some hard stuff in here, but it’s the truth. As cliché as it sounds, Andrew really is in a better place. And one day He’ll rise again. The Bible seems to always help me put things in the proper perspective.”
The Lamb’s Book gives life.
III.
Time has gone by. Maybe a year, or a little more. I anxiously pace to and fro at Andrew’s grave. Never done anything like this before, at least not while standing over the body of a dead friend.
“Now I would remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you—unless you have come to believe in vain…”
Thus my declaration of First Corinthians 15 began.
“These words are for you, Andrew. These words are the promise of your return to life. They are the promise of a world to come in which death no longer reigns. Andrew, man, I hope that somewhere you can hear these words. I look forward to seeing you again.”
I can’t recall what else I thought during the several minutes it took me to read aloud that incredibly long chapter. But I remember that a deep peace and a profound joy came down upon me as if from heaven. A baptism you could call it, I guess. Just like when the Spirit came down on Jesus in the form of a dove.
"Listen, I will tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed…For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’ ”
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
But then again I didn’t have to.
The Lamb wrote it all down for me in a short, little book.
Time has gone by. Maybe a year, or a little more. I anxiously pace to and fro at Andrew’s grave. Never done anything like this before, at least not while standing over the body of a dead friend.
“Now I would remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you—unless you have come to believe in vain…”
Thus my declaration of First Corinthians 15 began.
“These words are for you, Andrew. These words are the promise of your return to life. They are the promise of a world to come in which death no longer reigns. Andrew, man, I hope that somewhere you can hear these words. I look forward to seeing you again.”
I can’t recall what else I thought during the several minutes it took me to read aloud that incredibly long chapter. But I remember that a deep peace and a profound joy came down upon me as if from heaven. A baptism you could call it, I guess. Just like when the Spirit came down on Jesus in the form of a dove.
"Listen, I will tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed…For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’ ”
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
But then again I didn’t have to.
The Lamb wrote it all down for me in a short, little book.
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