Heaven (51 page)

Some people will say, "To imagine that God would populate worlds with new beings is just science fiction." We may have it
backward. Science fiction is the result of mankind's God-given sense of adventure, wonder, creativity, and imagination. It
emerges from being made in God's image. Like everything else undertaken by sinful humans, science fiction is often riddled
with false philoso­phies and assumptions that glorify mankind and ignore God. But this shouldn't cause us to dismiss its glimpses
of what an infinitely creative God might fashion across the broad expanse of the new heavens and the New Earth. Is God's imag­ination
less than that of his image-bearers? Or is the height of human imagina­tion at its best a reflection of the infinite creativity
of the divine mind?

Those who consider extraterrestrial creation a foolish notion shouldn't dis­miss too quickly the longing and intuitive sense
that many people have about in­telligent creatures different from ourselves. The worlds of
Star Trek, Star Wars,
and
E. T.
are fictional, as are the worlds portrayed throughout the long history of mythology, fantasy, and science fiction. But if
people, created in God's image and endowed with divine creativity, have invented these fictional alien races and have so passionately
contemplated them, should it surprise us if God creates the sub­stance of which science fiction, fantasy, and mythology are
but shadows?

When we get excited reading Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings trilogy or Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia, it's not our sinfulness
that arouses that excite­ment. It's our God-given hunger for adventure, for new realms and new beings, for new beauties and
new knowledge. God has given us a longing for new worlds.

Give painters a room full of canvases, and they will paint. Why? Because they are painters. It's their nature. When the Creator
fashions the new heavens—as we're told he will—whatever he does will be in keeping with his nature. Con­sidering that his
higher glory and praise come not from inanimate objects such as stars and planets but from intelligent beings such as people
and angels, it's no great stretch to suppose he might create other intelligent beings.

Would I expect the Creator, from whom human artists derive their creativ­ity, to do less to demonstrate his ingenuity in the
coming ages than he has in this first age? No. I anticipate an eternity of delight in watching and discovering what he creates
to reveal more of himself to us.

WILL WE TRAVEL IN TIME?

If we will travel to other galaxies, will we also be able to travel in time? Even though I believe we'll live in time, God
is certainly capable of bending time and opening doors in time's fabric for us. Perhaps we'll be able to travel back and stand
alongside angels in the invisible realm, seeing events as they happened on Earth. Maybe we'll learn the lessons of God's providence
through direct obser­vation. Can you imagine being there as Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount? Perhaps you will be.

Want to see the crossing of the Red Sea? Want to be there when Daniel's three friends emerge from the fiery furnace? It would
be simple for God to open the door to the past.

Because God is not limited by time, he may choose to show us past events as if they were presently happening. We may be able
to study history from a front-row seat. Perhaps we'll have opportunity to see the lives of our spiritual and physical ancestors
lived out on Earth.

Usually we're not able to see God's immediate responses to our prayers, but in Heaven God may permit us to see what happened
in the spiritual realm as a result of his answers to our prayers. In the Old Testament an angel comes to the prophet Daniel
and tells him what happened as the result of his prayers: "As soon as you began to pray, an answer was given, which I have
come to tell you" (Daniel 9:23).

Will God show us in Heaven what almost happened to us on Earth? Will he take us back to see what would have happened if we'd
made other choices? Per­haps. Will the father whose son had cerebral palsy see what would have hap­pened if he'd followed
his temptation to desert his family? Would this not fill his heart with gratitude to God for his sovereign grace?

Will I see how missing the exit on the freeway last night saved me from a crash? Will I learn how getting delayed in the grocery
store last week saved my wife from a fatal accident? How many times have we whined and groaned about the very circumstances
God used to save us? How many times have we prayed that God would make us Christlike, then begged him to take from us the
very things he sent to make us Christlike? How many times has God heard our cries when we imagined he didn't? How many times
has he said no to our prayers when saying yes would have harmed us and robbed us of good?

Perhaps we'll see the ripple effects of our small acts of faithfulness and obe­dience. Like Scrooge in
A Christmas Carol
and George Bailey in
It's a Wonderful Life,
perhaps we'll see how we affected others, and how living our lives differ­ently might have influenced them. (May God give
us the grace to see this
now
while we can still revise and edit our lives.)

If we believe in God's sovereignty, we must believe God would be glorified through our better understanding of human history.
We'll no longer have to cling by faith to "God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God" (Romans
8:28, NASB). We will see history as definitive documenta­tion of that reality.

Does this discussion seem to you a bit bizarre? Consider it further. Surely you agree that God is capable of sending resurrected
people back in time or of pulling back the curtain of time and allowing us to see the past. If he couldn't do this, he wouldn't
be God. So the question is whether he might have good rea­sons to do so. One reason might be to show us his providence, grace,
and good­ness in our lives and the lives of others. Wouldn't that bring God glory? Wouldn't it cause us to praise and exalt
him for his sovereign grace? This is surely a high and God-glorifying response. Couldn't this fit his revealed pur­pose "that
in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace" (Ephesians 2:7)?

C. S. Lewis wrote, "Don't run away with the idea that when I speak of the resurrection of the body I mean merely that the
blessed dead will have excellent memories of their sensuous experiences on earth. I mean it the other way round; that memory
as we know it is a dim foretaste, a mirage even, of a power which the soul, or rather Christ in the s o u l . . . will exercise
hereafter. It need no longer . . . be private to the soul in which it occurs. I can now communicate to you the fields of my
boyhood—they are building-estates today—only imperfectly, by words. Perhaps the day is coming when I can take you for a walk
through them."
³³¹

WILL GOD DO MORE THAN WE IMAGINE?

In much of what I've just said, I'm speculating, of course. But because the Bible gives a clear picture of resurrection and
of earthly civilization in the eternal state, I'm walking through a door of imagination that Scripture itself opens. If all
this seems more than you can imagine, I'd encourage you not to reject it sim­ply on that basis. Our God, after all, is called
the one "who is able to do immea­surably more than all we ask or imagine" (Ephesians 3:20). The very next verse gives praise
to this God who acts immeasurably beyond our imaginations: "To him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all
generations, for ever and ever!"

In my novel
Edge of Eternity,
Nick Seagrave beholds the Woodsman (Jesus) and the end of the world—then realizes it's really a beginning:

I saw a dying cosmos hold out its weak right arm, longing for a trans­fusion, a cure for its cancerous chasm. I saw the Woodsman,
holding what appeared to be a tiny lump of coal, the same size as the blue-green marble he'd held before. The Woodsman squeezed
his hand and the world around me darkened. Just as I felt I would scream from unbearable pressure, the crushed world emerged
from his grip a diamond. I gasped air in relief.

I saw a new world, once more a life-filled blue-green, the old black coal delivered from its curse and pain and shame, wondrously
remade.

It looked so easy for the Woodsman to shape all this with his hands. But then I saw his scars . . . and remembered it was
not.
³³²

CHAPTER 45

REORIENTING OURSELVES TO HEAVEN AS OUR HOME

I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get
snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others
to do the same.

C. S. Lewis

W
hen I see ocean fish in an aquarium, I enjoy watching them, but I feel as if something's wrong. They don't belong there. It's
not their home. The fish weren't made for that little glass box; they were made for a great ocean.

I suppose the fish don't know any better, but I wonder if their instincts tell them that their true home is elsewhere. I know
our
instincts tell us that this fallen world isn't our home—we were made for someplace better. As we've seen, the Bible repeatedly
confirms this instinct.

Theologian Donald Bloesch suggests, "Our greatest affliction is not anxiety, or even guilt, but rather homesickness—a nostalgia
or ineradicable yearning to be at home with God."
³³³

Christian slaves sang of "goin' home to live with God" and a chariot "comin fo' to carry me home." Christians have always
thought of going to Heaven as going home. When Jesus said he was going to prepare a place for us, he spoke of building us
a home. To anticipate Heaven, then, we need to understand the meaning of
home.
Early in the book we touched on it. Now it's time to take a closer look as we move toward our conclusion in the next chapter.

WHAT HOME IS LIKE

Have you ever been on a trip that became miserable, where everybody got sick or everything went wrong? What did you want more
than anything?
Togo home.
In your imagination you could feel your comfy bed, taste a home-cooked meal, and picture the company of family and friends
laughing together in front of the fire, telling stories about what went wrong on your trip.

Home is also about comfort. It's a place where we can put on jeans and a sweatshirt and throw ourselves on the couch to relax.
It's a place we
want to
be. As much as I've enjoyed traveling to many different countries, I always
love
to come home. That craving for home is sweet and deep. Home is our reference point, what we always come back to. No matter
how much we enjoy our adventures away, we anticipate coming home. Knowing we can come home is what keeps us going;—and that's
what Heaven should do for us. It should keep us going because it's our eternal home, the welcome refuge that awaits us and
calls our name.

Home is where friends come to visit. It's where we putter, plant gardens, read our favorite books, and listen to music we
enjoy. Home is where I inhale the wonderful aroma of strong, rich coffee every morning, and where Nanci fixes great meals
and her amazing apple pie.

I realize it sounds as if I'm romanticizing home. I know that many people have had terrible experiences at home. But our true
home in Heaven will have all the good things about our earthly homes, multiplied many times, but
none of the bad.

The world says, "You can never go home again." It means that while we were gone, home changed and so did we. Our old house
may have been destroyed or sold, been renovated or become run-down. In contrast, when this life is over—and particularly when
we arrive on the New Earth—God's children will truly be able to come home for the very first time. Because our home in Heaven
will never burn, flood, or be blown away, we'll never have to wonder whether home will still be there when we return. The
new heavens and New Earth will never disappear. They'll give a wonderful permanence to the word
home.

When it comes to our eternal home, we often fail to think biblically in two ways. First, we imagine we won't be fully human
and our ultimate home won't be physical and earthly. Second, we imagine that this world as it now is, under the Curse, is
our ultimate home. C. S. Lewis wrot,"Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage
us to mistake them for home."
³³⁴

When I get to heaven, I shall see three

wonders there. The first wonder will be to see

many there whom I did not expect to see; the

second wonder will be to miss many people

who I did expect to see; the third and greatest

of all will be to find myself there.

JOHN NEWTON

If Heaven is truly our home, we should expect it to have the qualities we associate with home.
Home
as a term for Heaven isn't simply a metaphor. It describes an actual, physical place—a place promised and built by our bridegroom;
a place we'll share with loved ones; a place of fond familiarity and comfort and refuge; a place of marvelous smells and tastes,
fine food, and great conversation; a place of con­templation and interaction and expressing the gifts and passions that God
has given us. It'll be a place of unprecedented freedom and adventure.

The unbiblical stereotypes of Heaven as a vague, incorporeal existence hurt us far more than we realize. Among other things,
they diminish our anticipa­tion of Heaven and keep us from believing it is truly our home. Bible scholar Graham Scroggie was
right: "Future existence is not a purely spiritual existence; it demands a life in a body, and in a material universe."
³³⁵
Though many of us af­firm a belief in the resurrection of the dead, we don't know what that really means. Our doctrine dresses
up men and women in bodies, then gives them no place to go. Instead of the New Earth as our eternal home, we offer an intangi­ble
and utterly unfamiliar Heaven that's the
opposite
of home. No wonder there is such ambivalence and uneasiness about Heaven in our churches.

GOING TO THE PARTY

Imagine someone takes you to a party. You see a few friends there, enjoy a cou­ple of good conversations, a little laughter,
and some decent appetizers. The party's all right, but you keep hoping it will get better. Give it another hour, and maybe
it will. Suddenly, your friend says, "I need to take you home."

Now?

You're disappointed—nobody wants to leave a party early—but you leave, and your friend drops you off at your house. As you
approach the door, you're feeling all alone and sorry for yourself. As you open the door and reach for the light switch, you
sense someone's there. Your heart's in your throat. You flip on the light.

"Surprise!" Your house is full of smiling people, familiar faces.

It's a party—
tor you.
You smell your favorites—barbecued ribs and pecan pie right out of the oven. The tables are full. It's a feast. You recognize
the guests, people you haven't seen for a long time. Then, one by one, the people you most enjoyed at the other party show
up at your house, grinning. This turns out to be the
real
party. You realize that if you'd stayed longer at the other party as you'd wanted, you wouldn't be
at
the real party—you'd be
away
from it.

Christians faced with terminal illness or imminent death often feel they're leaving the party before it's over. They have
to go home early. They're disap­pointed, thinking of all they'll miss when they leave. But the truth is, the real party is
underway at home—precisely where they're going. They're not the ones missing the party; those of us left behind are. (Fortunately,
if we know Jesus, we'll get there eventually.)

One by one, occasionally a few of us at a time, we'll disappear from this world. Those we leave behind will grieve that their
loved ones have left home. In reality, however, their believing loved ones aren't
leaving
home, they're
going
home. They'll be home before us. We'll be arriving at the party a little later.

Remember, Jesus said, "Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh" (Luke 6:21). He said, "There is rejoicing in the
presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents" (Luke 15:10). Laughter and rejoicing—a party awaits us. Don't you
want to join it? Yet even that party, in the present Heaven, is a preliminary celebration. It's like the welcome at the airport
for a woman who's come home for her wedding. Sure, she's home now, and it's wonderful, but what she's really looking forward
to is the wedding, and the wedding feast, which will be followed by moving into her new home with her beloved bride­groom.

To be in resurrected bodies on a resurrected Earth in resurrected friendships, enjoying a resurrected culture with the resurrected
Jesus—now Ma/will be the ultimate party! Everybody will be who God made them to be—and none of us will ever suffer or die
again. As a Christian, the day I die will be the best day I've ever lived. But it won't be the best day I ever
will live.
Resurrection day will be far better. And the first day on the New Earth—that will be one
big
step for mankind, one giant leap for God's glory.

LONGING FOR RESURRECTION

I've never been to Heaven, yet I miss it. Eden's in my blood. The best things of life are souvenirs from Eden, appetizers
of the New Earth. There's just enough of them to keep us going, but never enough to make us satisfied with the world as it
is, or ourselves as we are. We live between Eden and the New Earth, pulled toward what we once were and what we yet will be.

As Christians, we're linked to Heaven in ways too deep to comprehend. Somehow, according to Ephesians 2:6, we're already seated
with Christ in Heaven. So we can't be satisfied with less.

Desire is a signpost pointing to Heaven. Every longing for better health is a longing for the New Earth. Every longing for
romance is a longing for the ulti­mate romance with Christ. Every desire for intimacy is a desire for Christ. Ev­ery thirst
for beauty is a thirst for Christ. Every taste of joy is but a foretaste of a greater and more vibrant joy than can be found
on Earth as it is now. A. W. Tozer said, "In nature, everything moves in the direction of its hungers. In the spiritual world
it is not otherwise. We gravitate toward our inward longing, pro­vided of course that those longings are strong enough to
move us."
³³⁶

That's why we need to spend our lives cultivating our love for Heaven. That's why we need to meditate on what Scripture says
about Heaven, read books on it, have Bible studies, teach classes, and preach sermons on it. We need to talk to our children
about Heaven. When we're camping, hiking, or driving, when we're at a museum, a sporting event, or a theme park, we need to
talk about what we see around us as signposts to the New Earth.

When we think of Heaven as unearthly, our present lives seem unspiritual, like they don't matter. When we grasp the reality
of the New Earth, our present, earthly lives suddenly matter. Conversations with loved ones matter. The taste of food matters.
Work, leisure, creativity, and intellectual stimulation matter. Rivers and trees and flowers matter. Laughter matters. Service
matters. Why?
Because they are eternal.

Life on Earth matters not because it's the only life we have, but precisely be­cause it isn't—it's the beginning of a life
that will continue without end. It's the precursor of life on the New Earth. Eternal life doesn't begin when we die—it has
already begun. Life is not, as Macbeth supposed, "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Informed
by the doctrines of creation, redemption, resurrection, and the New Earth, our present lives take on greater importance, infusing
us with purpose. Understanding Heaven doesn't just tell us
what
to do, but
why.
What God tells us about our future lives enables us to interpret our past and serve him in our present.

Consider the old proverb, "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die." It assumes that the only earthly pleasures we'll
ever enjoy must be obtained now. As Christians, we should indeed eat, drink, and be merry—and also sacrifice, suffer, and
die—all to the glory of God. In doing so, we're preparing for an eter­nal life in which we will eat, drink, and be merry,
but never again die. This pres­ent life, then, is not our last chance to eat, drink, and be merry—rather, it is the last time
our eating, drinking, and merrymaking can be corrupted by sin, death, and the Curse.

We need to stop acting as if Heaven were a myth, an impossible dream, a re­lentlessly dull meeting, or an unimportant distraction
from real life. We need to see Heaven for what it is: the realm we're made for. If we do, we'll embrace it with contagious
joy, excitement, and anticipation.

HEAVEN: OUR SOURCE OF OPTIMISM

Secular optimists are wishful thinkers. Discovering the present payoffs of opti­mism, they conduct seminars and write books
on thinking positively. Some­times they capitalize on optimism by becoming rich and famous. But then what happens? They eventually
get old or sick, and when they die they go to Hell for­ever. Their optimism is an illusion, for it fails to take eternity
into account.

The only proper foundation for optimism is the redemptive work of Jesus Christ. Any other foundation is sand, not rock. It
will not bear the weight of our eternity.

However, if we build our lives on the redemptive work of Christ, we should all be optimists. Why? Because even our most painful
experience in life is but a temporary setback. Our pain and suffering may or may not be relieved in this life, but they will
certainly
be relieved in the next. That is Christ's promise—no more death or pain; he will wipe away all our tears. He took our sufferings
on himself so that one day he might remove all suffering from us. That is the bibli­cal foundation for our optimism. No Christian
should be a pessimist. We should be realists—focused on the
reality
that we serve a sovereign and gracious God. Because of the
reality
of Christ's atoning sacrifice and his promises, bibli­cal realism is
optimism.

Knowing that our suffering will be relieved doesn't make it easy, but it does make itbearable. It allows joy in the midst
of suffering. Jesus said, "Blessed are you when men hate you, when they exclude you and insult you. . . . Rejoice in that
day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven" (Luke 6:2223). Paul said, "I rejoice in my sufferings" (Colossians
1:24, NASB), and James said, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds" (James 1:2). The
apostles didn't enjoy suffering, but they rejoiced in the midst of it, because they trusted God's sovereign plan and they
looked for­ward to Christ's return, their bodily resurrection, and the redemption of all creation.