Revelation 7.9-17 2 November 2008
“HEAVEN ON OUR MINDS”
Weeks ago some ladies here gave me a book, wanting to know my opinion of it. The book is about a pastor returning home from a conference, crossing a narrow old bridge traveling toward
Of course, the traffic was stopped in both directions for hours. People milled at the scene, one of them another pastor. Don’s red car had passed him earlier. “Is there anybody here that I can help?” he asked the police. He was reluctantly given permission to pray over the man under the tarp in the red car, but warned it was not for the feint of heart. This second pastor had to reach through the trunk just to put his hand on Don’s shoulder. He prayed and whispered hymns to Don. At 1:15 pm this second pastor heard Don in the front seat singing along with him.
As though this weren’t remarkable enough, Don Piper had vivid recollections of the 90 minutes from the time no one could get his pulse to the time he returned. Hence, the title of the book, Ninety Minutes in Heaven. He didn’t move through a dark tunnel toward the light, as many life-after-life accounts tend to describe. He simply felt light enveloping him and pulsating with joy. Immediately, a throng of beloved people became his reception committee, various people who had pre-deceased him. Grandfather, childhood friend, classmate, teachers, and far-flung family—one by one, they received him with an aura of joyous incomparable bliss.
And it all felt more real than anything Don had ever felt in within his earthly days. He wasn’t pained of what he was leaving behind, but rejoiced within the moment. He absorbed their love and was overwhelmed by the brilliant and bright intensity.
There was beautiful and pleasant music, a song that never ended. But was it voice, instrument, or the sound of nature? It was unlike anything he’d ever heard. A holy awe enveloped Don as he realized the myriad of harmonized songs were all in praise of God, whom Don couldn’t see, but who radiated bright iridescence. Because he cannot begin to convey all that and much more, neither can I today.
So the ladies asked what I thought, perhaps thinking that being religious for a living I might be as skeptical as medical or philosophical professionals, explaining it away with a sweep of the hand. Alas, I cannot. I’m reminded of the words of Antoine de St. Exupery in The Little Prince, “do not fail to believe in what you cannot understand, for the world is full of wonders.” Yes, this world and the next.
I am reminded of Paul the Apostle telling the church in Corinth (I Cor 2.9), “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, what God has prepared for those who love him.” But I am mostly reminded of how similar it sounds to our lesson in Revelation, a massive and joyous throng of worshippers, from different times and places, glorifying God such that they seem almost transported beyond worship, maybe like our Jazz Sunday or our Celebration Sunday last June. In that moment no ex-travagance in music or words could possibly be enough to attest to the wonder of it all, the fulfillment of lives lived in loving sacrifice, the banishment of sorrow and suffering, the arrival to the place where we were meant to be, the vindication of good over evil, truth over lies, blessing over curse, and salvation over perdition.
On this All Saints Sunday, as we recall at table the names of those who someday might greet us at those heavenly gates, I offer my few flimsy thoughts on heaven. In my pastoral experience I have found that laypeople think far more about this than we clergy are willing to expound on the subject. We fear sounding stupid.
Don’t ask me to get too specific, I cannot. When Paul gets into descriptions of the afterlife, he offers no definitions, not even a story, but “a mystery”. A mystery. Lo, our world shall be changed in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye. Don Piper learned what Paul meant by this. In that moment heaven’s furnishings are beside the point. The point is at the end of it all, God in Christ shall have his way with us. This world, created and loved by God, but always in rebellion against God, shall at last completely belong to God; the Lamb once crucified shall rule forever.
And as we are received by God, it will not be because of anything heroic we have done, even though we have spent our whole lives trying to impress God. As God receives us, it will feel more like God freely offering us God’s own self as his gift. Friends, I promise you, you shall never receive a gift so great as that anywhere.
Imagine, having spent our whole lives dreading, fearing or raging against death, how all of that in the light of heaven will become nothing more than a purging or letting go of self so we can open ourselves up to God; a relinquishing of miserly selfishness so that we can be embraced, forgiven, in a word, loved by our Maker.
I know what you’ll ask next. Who gets in? Again, don’t ask me to get too specific. At the heavenly banquet of joyous communal sharing that this table represents, I am not seeing anyone turned away. We welcome to this table all who trust Christ more than self, all who affirm his resurrection beyond the crucifixion. Theologians have a word for this, “universalism”, the notion that in the end all shall be united with God despite their lives. I mean, I feel united with God des-pite the worst part of being me. Why not extend that same grace to all persons?
Or look at it this way. When Christ died on the cross, it was for all people. As one stand-up comic put it, Jesus picked up the check for the whole table. If he decided to offer his life out of loving sacrifice for those driving nails through his hands and feet rather than pursue the alternative—wiping out the whole bloody lot of us—why not include all faiths, all creeds, all nationalities? I do. I believe this not just because God is merciful, but because God seeks to win back all people. I believe God’s purposes will not be thwarted. As for those who believe some shall be turned away, they must believe God’s purposes can fail. I for one believe that God’s grace is triumphant, victorious. God shall have his way with us despite us.
Of course, I can imagine some might not feel comfortable showing up, names like Stalin, Pol Pot, Hitler, and Mao. I see them like the elder brother in the story of the Prodigal Son, refusing to enter the party, staying out in the dark. You can call this hell if you like, I suppose. For hell is separation from God. If it exists in this world—we observe it—maybe it also exists in the world to come. Remember, God is love. And for love to remain love, it just can’t coerce the love of the other.
The fate of rogues and tyrants, like yours and mine, is finally up to God. Despite my worst qualities, I still feel pretty good about that. For our God is a great God.
Today we notice how as we try to speak of heaven, we reach for the language of the greatest delight we can imagine on earth. Don Piper did it. Revelation did it. We reach for melody and song, shining luminaries and abundant banquets. We reach for the most incredifabulous benedictions that any clergy could bless with. Just as heaven is whatever God wants it to be, it is also whomever God wants us to be. And I for one like the sound of that, even if I will not rush there just yet. Amen.
