What God Might Have Said as I Entered the Pearly Gates

What God Might Have Said as I Entered the Pearly Gates
February 21, 2025 | Reverend Billy Graham

I’ve spent my life preaching about heaven—about the joy of meeting our Savior face to face, about the peace that surpasses understanding, about the glory of God’s presence. But on February 21, 2018, I didn’t just preach it. I lived it. I crossed the threshold from this earthly life into eternity, and as I entered those pearly gates, I heard the voice of my Lord. I’m Billy Graham, a simple preacher from North Carolina, and I want to share with you what I believe God might have said to me in that sacred moment—not for my glory, but for His.

I’d been tired for a long time. My body, at 99 years, had grown frail. The crusades, the sermons, the countless miles traveled to share the Gospel—they’d taken their toll. But my heart was full, knowing I’d run the race as best I could. As I passed from this world, I felt a lightness, a warmth, like the sun breaking through a Carolina morning. The gates of heaven stood before me, more radiant than I’d ever imagined, and there was Jesus, my Savior, waiting with arms open wide. I fell to my knees, tears in my eyes, and I heard His voice—gentle, yet mighty, like a river flowing with love.

“Billy, my faithful servant,” He said, “well done.” Those words pierced my soul. I’d preached them to millions, quoting Matthew 25:21, but to hear them from the lips of my Lord—it was more than I could bear. I’d always feared I hadn’t done enough, that I’d missed someone, that I’d faltered in my calling. But Jesus looked at me with eyes of mercy and said, “You’ve been faithful with what I gave you. You took the Gospel to the ends of the earth, to stadiums and villages, to presidents and prisoners. You pointed them to Me.”

I lifted my head, trembling, and He continued. “I saw every sermon, Billy. I heard every prayer. I was with you in Los Angeles in 1949, when you preached under that canvas tent and hearts turned to Me. I was with you in London, in Seoul, in Africa—everywhere you went, I went with you. You didn’t seek fame, but My name. You didn’t chase wealth, but My will. You spoke truth when it was hard, and you loved when it was harder.”

I thought of the times I’d struggled—times I’d wrestled with doubt, times I’d faced criticism for not taking sides in politics, times I’d seen the church stumble in division. I whispered, “Lord, I made mistakes. I wasn’t perfect.” And He smiled, a smile that held the weight of the cross. “Billy,” He said, “I never asked for perfection. I asked for obedience. You gave Me your yes—on that dairy farm in Charlotte, at every altar call, in every quiet moment when you sought My face. Your yes brought millions to Me.”

He lifted me to my feet, and I saw the scars on His hands—the price He paid for me, for all of us. “You told them I love them,” He said. “You told them I died for them. You told them to come to Me, and they did. I saw the tears in Madison Square Garden, the hands raised in Rio, the knees bent in Moscow. I heard the songs of praise in languages you never spoke. Because of your faithfulness, My children came home.”

I thought of the faces—countless faces—of those who’d come forward at my crusades, who’d written letters, who’d found Christ through a radio broadcast or a televised sermon. I’d always said it wasn’t me—it was the Holy Spirit. And now, standing before my Savior, I knew it more than ever. “Lord,” I said, “it was all You.” He nodded. “Yes, but you were My voice. You were My hands. You were My feet. You ran the race I set before you, and now your race is done.”

Then He led me through the gates, and I saw the saints—Abraham, Moses, Paul, and so many I’d preached about. But I also saw the dairy farmer from North Carolina, the single mother from Chicago, the soldier from Vietnam—all those I’d met along the way, now gathered in glory. Jesus turned to me one last time. “Billy,” He said, “this is your reward—not the crowds, not the numbers, but the souls. Enter into the joy of your Lord.”

I share this not to boast, but to beckon. Heaven is real, my friends. Jesus is real. And He’s waiting for you, just as He waited for me. I’m just a preacher, a sinner saved by grace, but I’ve seen the King. And He says, “Come.” Will you come?