Chapter 2 Who Are We in Heaven?
Chapter 2
Who Are We in Heaven?
I’ve been thinking about my heavenly home for years. Naturally, you can understand why: My earthly body doesn’t work. That’s one reason I dream about heaven all the time.
I can’t say my dreams are Technicolor versions of pearly gates and streets of gold; rather, they’re more like rough sketches or dim reflections, as when my “eyes…see the king in his beauty and view a land that stretches afar” (Isaiah 33:17). Like the rolling vista of a Kansas wheat field…
…Except for one extraordinary heaven dream I had one night in a hotel in Stavanger, Norway. My quiet time that week centered on Revelation 21:21 where it says, “the great street of the city was of pure gold, like transparent glass.” It didn’t make sense. Gold is not transparent; and it’s nothing like glass because you can’t see through it. It was another one of those heavenly images gone gawky. I shrugged my shoulders and closed my Bible.
That night, as the cold Norwegian wind rattled my bedroom window, I snuggled down and slipped into the most amazing dream. I saw myself standing in a bright yellow bathing suit at the edge of a pool. This was astonishing since I rarely dream about being on my feet. Usually I can’t see or feel my body from the shoulders down; my torso and legs are always hazy and unfinished, like the half-completed edges of a painting. But not in this dream.
I stretched my arms above my head, arched my back, and gracefully dove into the water. When I came up and slicked my hair with my hands, I was stunned to see them glow, all rose-red wet and honey-ivory, bathed in life, beauty, and well-being. I pressed my palms to my nose. They smelled wild and sweet. Some might have mistaken me for an angel, but I never felt more human, more a woman. I cocked my head and admired my outstretched arms and then looked around. This is hard to describe, but the water and air were brilliant, ablaze in light, like pure gold, as transparent as glass.
Each breath was piercing to my lungs, but with a sweet sting that made me want to breathe deeper. I looked down to see the pool water shimmering like diamonds. You know how we say “the water sparkles”? In my dream it was doing exactly that. The air was sparkling too. Everything was flashing, clear, and golden.
I saw a friend sitting poolside, relaxing in a chair under a white cabana and watching me. Oddly, he looked awash in light too. He seemed more real, more a man than ever before. He was my old friend but a thousand times more himself, and when our eyes met, youth infused my heart. I wondered if he felt the same. I smiled, waved, and then began swimming, smoothly parting the water with long, powerful strokes. The ripples felt cool and slick, more like satin than water. After a while, my friend dove in. He touched my shoulder and it burned, but in a painless way. There was no need to talk; our smiles said that we were friends for the first time again. We swam together stroke-for-stroke. And the longer we swam, the stronger we grew. Not weaker, but stronger.
It was the most remarkable dream I’ve ever had. When I woke up, I had no doubt it was a dream about heaven. I was convinced “pure gold like transparent glass” existed. It wasn’t a gawky image. I saw it with the eyes of my heart.
New Bodies
One day the dream will come true.
One day, if I should die before Jesus returns, my soul will be reunited with my body. Pause and dream with me…
One day no more bulging middles or balding tops. No varicose veins or crow’s-feet. No more cellulite or support hose. Forget the thunder thighs and highway hips. Just a quick leapfrog over the tombstone and it’s the body you’ve always dreamed of. Fit and trim, smooth and sleek.
It makes me want to break up into giggles right now! Little wonder “we eagerly await a Savior from [heaven], the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body” (Philippians 3:20–21).
Our lowly bodies…will be like His glorious body. Astounding. Like Jesus in His resurrected body, we will have hands and arms, feet and legs. We won’t be spirit beings, floating around like angels who have no bodies.
A promise like this, though, almost raises more questions than answers. Does a glorified body translate into glorified digestive systems? What about sleeping? What if we prefer our teeth a little crooked rather than perfect and straight? Will we look the same? And if we do, will we recognize each other? Will my husband be “Ken Tada” and my mother, “Margaret Johanna Eareckson”? Will I wear a bright yellow bathing suit in heaven if I want to and take a swim with a friend if I wish?
Another thing. What about people who died in the ocean centuries before; whose bodies long ago became fish food? Or people who were blown to smithereens in bomb blasts; or pioneers who perished on the prairies, whose bodies dissolved into dust that was scattered to the four winds? Will God vacuum up the winds, collect and sort everyone’s body particles, and divvy out the correct DNA?
These questions became real to me in the summer of 1990 when my ninety-year-old father passed away. He had led a cowboy roughrider life, trading with Indians, riding fast horses, and scaling the highest peaks of the Rockies. So it was not unusual that summer for my family and Ken and me to drive to the top of Pikes Peak to scatter my father’s ashes.
We found a private place near the edge of a cliff. Thousands of feet beneath us spread a green valley patchworked in sun and cloud shadows. The icy wind whipped our hair and we held onto our wool hats. An eagle hang glided above our heads. Ken opened The Book of Common Prayer and read: “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God, in his wise providence, to take out of this world the soul of our beloved father, John Eareckson, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; awaiting the Resurrection at the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose second coming…the earth and the sea shall give up their dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his own glorious body…“1
Ken closed the book and read a final verse from Romans 8:11, which assured us that “if the Spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he that raised up Christ from the dead shall also quicken your mortal bodies by his Spirit that dwelleth in you.” With that, my mother stepped closer to the edge, took her husband’s ashes in her hand, and threw them to the wind. I watched with wet eyes as a gust carried my father’s ashes up and beyond the clouds.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Later that afternoon, we talked about how God would resurrect our dad’s body. We didn’t get into details, but our faith assured us that somehow it would happen. That night in bed, I wondered how will it happen? Billions and billions of people have lived on earth and have probably shared the same dust and ashes. For all I know, my father’s ashes settled on some field in that green valley, providing fertilizer to feed the next generation. It seems silly, but how will John Eareckson’s molecules remain distinct from the rest?
Others have wondered the same. The apostle Paul framed their thoughts in 1 Corinthians 15:35 when he said, “But someone may ask, ‘How are the dead raised? With what kind of body will they come?’”
Paul then cuts those big scary questions down to size when he says, “How foolish!” In other words, “Guys, get real. Open your eyes.” And starting with verse 36, he sketches a few lessons from nature, “What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives its own body.”
How Are the Dead Raised?
Have you ever seen those nature specials on public television? The ones where they put the camera up against a glass to show a dry, old lima bean in the soil? Through time-lapse photography, you watch it shrivel, turn brown, and die. Then, miraculously, the dead shell of that little bean splits open and a tiny lima leg-like root sprouts out. The old bean is shoved aside against the dirt as the little green plant swells. The lima plant came to life because the old bean died.
Not even a Ph.D. in Botany can explain how life comes out of death, even in something so simple as a seed. But one thing is for sure: it’s a lima bean plant. Not a bush of roses or a bunch of bananas. There’s no mistaking it for anything other than what it is. It has absolute identity. Positively, plain as day, a lima bean plant. It may come out of the earth different than when it went in, but it’s the same.
So it is with the resurrection body. We’ll have absolute identification with our body that died. I will be able to positively recognize my dad as John Eareckson. The “daddy” I meet in heaven will be my dad; he won’t be neutered in my eyes, stripped of all the trappings that made him my father. He may come forth from the earth different than when he was buried, but he won’t be mistaken for anyone else.
And what about his dust and ashes scattered to the winds? How many of my father’s molecules are required to be reassembled before he can be raised? Very little, I suspect. I once read that if all the DNA were collected from the five billion or so persons now inhabiting the earth, it would approximate the size of two five-grain aspirin tablets. The “who” you are and the “who” I am is not that big. It’s actually very small.2
Besides, how much of that old lima bean was the “seed” out of which life miraculously came forth? The best botanists in the world can’t answer that one. No one knows how much of that seed is required or even how life can spring from a dead seed. It’s one of God’s miracles of nature.
So it will be with the resurrection. God will not have to use every part of your body in order to resurrect it. Anyway, you do not possess today any particle of your body that you had a few years ago. We learn in Biology 101 that human cells are being replaced every three and one-half years. The flesh and blood that make up “you” today is not the same flesh and blood you had in your teens. Yet, somehow, the particular person that you are carries on.
Obviously, God is not as hung up as we are on DNA. Jesus gives a simple biology lesson in John 12:24: “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” It is no more difficult to believe in the resurrection than it is to believe in the harvest.
What Kind of Body?
What about the second question, “With what kind of body will they come?” True to the apostle Paul and his lessons from nature, all we have to do is open our eyes and look around. “You do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed…If there is a natural body, there is a spiritual body…And just as we have borne the likeness of the earthly man [Adam], so shall we bear the likeness of the man from heaven [Jesus]” (1 Corinthians 15:38, 44, 49).
You do not plant the body that will be. I learned this lesson on one of those blustery November afternoons when I tend to get thoughtful and meditative. I glanced outside my window and spied a fat, furry squirrel doing his autumn ritual of collecting acorns. I watched him sniff each one, inspecting them in his paws, then stuffing his cheeks with the tastiest nuts. Others he dropped on the ground.
The acorns he discarded rolled around in the stiff breeze. I knew most of them would blow away. Others would remain on the dirt to dry in the chilly air. And a few, just a few, would take root under the soil. They would be the ones next season to sprout forth green shoots of new life. These were the acorns destined to be trees.
I shook my head in amazement. If you were to tell that tiny acorn that one day he would be as tall as a building with heavy branches and thick, green leaves, a tree so great it would house many squirrels, that nut would say you were crazy. A gigantic oak tree bears absolutely no resemblance to an acorn. The two, although related, seem as different as night and day. Somehow, somewhere within that acorn is the promise and pattern of the tree it will become.
Somehow, somewhere within you is the pattern of the heavenly person you will become, and if you want to catch a glimpse of how glorious and full of splendor your body will be, just do a comparison. Compare a hairy peach pit with the tree it becomes, loaded with fragrant blossoms and sweet fruit. They are totally different, yet the same. Compare a caterpillar with a butterfly. A wet, musty flower bulb with an aromatic hyacinth. A hairy coconut with a graceful palm tree.
It’s no wonder you and I get stymied thinking about our resurrection bodies; whether or not our teeth will be straight or our digestive systems intact. First Corinthians 15:42–44 only touches on it: “The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.” It is sown…it is raised. We may not be able to describe the changes, but we know it’s the same “it.” You and what you will one day be are one and the same—yet different.
Trying to understand what our bodies will be like in heaven is much like expecting an acorn to understand his destiny of roots, bark, branches, and leaves. Or asking a caterpillar to appreciate flying. Or a peach pit to fathom being fragrant. Or a coconut to grasp what it means to sway in the ocean breeze. Our eternal bodies will be so grand, so glorious, that we can only catch a fleeting glimpse of the splendor to come. C. S. Lewis marveled: “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses.”3
Lima beans. Kernels of wheat. Peach pits. Acorns and oak trees. Examples in nature are what the Bible invites us to use since “what we will be has not yet been made known” (1 John 3:2). One of the best ways to understand the resurrection is to take a field trip after the apostle Paul’s lesson in nature: Go find an acorn on the ground, look up into the billowy skirts of the tree from which it fell, and then praise God that “so it will be with the resurrection of the dead.”
Can you now see why I enjoy dreaming about heaven?
Somewhere in my broken, paralyzed body is the seed of what I shall become. The paralysis makes what I am to become all the more grand when you contrast atrophied, useless legs against splendorous resurrected legs. I’m convinced if there are mirrors in heaven (and why not?), the image I’ll see will be unmistakably “Joni,” although a much better, brighter “Joni.” So much so, that it’s not worth comparing. There’s no way I can comprehend it all because I’m just an “acorn” when it comes to understanding heaven. But I’ll tell you this: Whatever my little acorn shape becomes, in all its power and honor, I’m ready for it.
I’m ready to have this lowly body transformed. That means I won’t merely be revived from the dead, like Lazarus when he came out of his tomb. People who return from the dead—whether from the tomb or off the operating table—aren’t, like Christ, able then to appear and disappear, walk through walls, or transport themselves through time and space with a single thought.
No, I will bear the likeness of Jesus, the man from heaven. Like His, mine will be an actual, literal body perfectly suited for earth and heaven. Whether flinging a Frisbee or flying past Ursa Major. Scaling walls or walking through them. Speaking with friends or conversing with angels. Whether trout fishing in the Crystal Sea or going for seconds at the Wedding Supper, at all times and in all places we shall be perfectly fitted for our environment, whether it be the new heavens or new earth.
A New Heart
Please don’t assume that all I ever do is dream about springing out of this chair, stretching glorified fingers and toes, and pole-vaulting over the pearly gates. However much I relish the idea of leaving this wheelchair behind, that is still, for me, not the best part of heaven.
I can put up with legs and arms that don’t obey. For me, hands that refuse to pick up things no matter how much my mind commands them to move are a fact of life. I can cope with this.
However, there’s something with which I can’t cope. In fact, the older I get and the closer to heaven I draw, the less I’m able to adjust to it. I am sick and tired of combating my flesh; that is, “the law of sin at work within my members” that just won’t do as I command. “When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members. What a wretched man I am!” (Romans 7:21–24).
That’s why the best part of heaven will be a completely purified heart.
I’m reminded of this every time I recite those beautiful words in the General Confession from The Book of Common Prayer that say,
Almighty and most merciful Father; we have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. We have offended against thy holy laws. We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done; and there is no health in us…miserable offenders.4
I love those words. And I hate those words. I’m weary of constant confession. I despise sinning. It pains me to keep erring and straying, to do things that I shouldn’t do, to always fall face-flat in the dirt, grieving that I miserably offend the God I love. My heart is soiled and stained, and that drives me to the Lord on my knees (at least, metaphorically). What’s odd is, the closer I draw to Jesus, the more intense the heat of the battle.
Never do I feel more on the frontline of this battle than when I offer praise to God. Right in the middle of adoring Him in prayer or singing a praise hymn, my heart will start wandering off into some wicked thought. I have to grab my heart by the aorta and jerk it in line time and again!
“Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7: 24–25). One day Jesus will come back to complete the salvation He began when I first believed. One day He will release me from the presence and influence of evil. That’s why the bad news of Romans chapter 7 is followed by the good news of Romans chapter 8: “We ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:23).
Right here is the highest and most exalted reason that “flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God” (1 Corinthians 15:50). Entrance to heaven requires a redeemed body. The body must be rid of the law of sin at work in its members. At this present time, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. The day is coming, however, when instead of being a hindrance to the spirit, the body will be the perfect vessel for the expression of my glorified mind, will, and emotions. Right now, we wear our souls on the inside. But one day we will be “clothed in righteousness” as we wear our souls on the outside, brilliant and glorious.5
I can’t wait to be clothed in righteousness. Without a trace of sin. True, it will be wonderful to stand, stretch, and reach to the sky, but it will be more wonderful to offer praise that is pure. I won’t be crippled by distractions. Disabled by insincerity. I won’t be handicapped by a ho-hum halfheartedness. My heart will join with yours and bubble over with effervescent adoration. We will finally be able to fellowship fully with the Father and the Son.
For me, this will be the best part of heaven.
A New Mind
I look forward to heaven because I’ve got a lot invested there. A new body. A new heart free of sin. But I have some other friends who have just as much, if not more, invested.
I encountered these friends in a Sunday school class not long ago where I shared my testimony. They were young adults with mental handicaps, some from Down syndrome, others with autism or various brain injuries. It was pretty tough getting their attention. A few were looking out the window, others were drumming their fingers on their desks, and some were ambling around the back of the room. The teacher clapped her hands and directed the class’s attention my way.
One or two of them leaned on their elbows and studied me in my wheelchair with casual curiosity. I caught their interest when I flailed my useless arms and told them that the guys that run Six Flags Over Magic Mountain wouldn’t let me ride the giant water slide. They felt bad. Some booed. Then I told them that one day, when I get my new body, I’d not only master the water slide, but also snow ski the Cornice at Mammoth Mountain or run the New York City marathon if I wanted to (a few of them laughed when I told them I really didn’t want to).
“It’s going to be great having a new body.” I smiled at the men and women who were now looking with intense interest. The guys in the back found their seats, and the others quit throwing spitballs and drumming pencils on their desks. Everybody wanted to hear about heaven.
“They say that the gates of heaven are made from a single pearl,” I said with wide eyes.
“Na-a-ahh!” a teenager with Down syndrome said in unison with a couple of his buddies. They giggled and covered their mouths. “No pearl that big!” he scoffed.
“Oh yes there is,” I teased. “And can you guess how big the oyster will be who makes that pearl?” By this time, half the class was spreading wide there arms, trying to size up how large of an oyster was needed to produce a pearl the size of a gate.
I had their attention. I challenged them to come up with other neat things I’d do with a new body. They thought it would be great for me to walk into McDonald’s and stand in line. I’d be able to unwrap a Snicker’s bar. I could flush a toilet (that got more giggles). One girl wanted to know if I’d still have my plastic arms in heaven. I looked at her a little funny because there’s nothing plastic about my arms; but I grinned, shrugged my shoulders, and said wistfully, “No, no more plastic in heaven. I’ll have a real body and I’ll be able to do all kinds of things, even go swimming if I want.”
My comment drew a new level of empathy. One girl came up, patted my arm, and said, “Be careful next time, okay?”
“Okay,” I promised. The class wanted to talk more about heaven. They invented all sorts of wild and wonderful heavenly activities. Riding giraffes. Going on a picnic with Jesus. Petting sharks. Earning lots of money. Shaking hands with Kareem Abdul-Jabaar. I reminded them that was only possible if Mr. Jabaar knew Jesus. It was then suggested that someone should pray for the L.A. Lakers.
As their enthusiasm mounted, I finally blurted, “Hey guys, I may have a new body, but one day, you will have…new…minds!” The entire class jumped to their feet and wildly applauded. Amidst whistles and cheers, I went on to say, “You will be able to think better than your teacher, here. And you will show your sister how to do her homework, even the hard stuff like math and things. You will think high-powered, super-charged thoughts and know just about everything there is to know. Your brain will burn rubber! Most of all, you and Jesus will be together, and you’ll have lots of things to talk about.”
By the time Sunday school was over, the class was well on their way to setting their hearts and minds on heavenly glories above. They were looking out the window to see if Jesus was coming back, clapping their hands, and jumping up and down. I thought I had taught them a lesson about heaven, but they had taught me what it meant to “have the mind of Christ.”
A new mind!
First Corinthians 13:12 describes it this way: “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” We will have the mind of Christ. No need to worry about feeling dumb or not knowing the answers. “We will know as we are known,” and our present knowledge shall increase beyond belief. What’s more, the shine of our best thoughts and memories will be made more resplendent as they are magnified through our new mind.
But what about the sad thoughts left over from earth? Isaiah 65:17 says, “Behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth. The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create.” This, at first, looks like a snafu. Didn’t we just read that we will fully know all things? Are bad things excluded?
Our ignorance or imperfect thoughts and memories won’t be erased so much as eclipsed, like the stars are mitigated by the rising of the sun. Something so dazzling is going to happen in the world’s finale that its light will obscure every dark memory. We won’t forget so much as have no need nor desire to remember. Bad things will not, as Isaiah observes, come to mind, for they will be blocked out by the brilliance of the knowledge of God.
Only good things will come to mind. Our thought processes will no longer connive; we won’t devise nasty words or scheme wicked plans. We won’t battle against idle daydreams or lustful fantasies. Rather, our thoughts will be gloriously elevated for “when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2).
Think of perfect obedience to the Ten Commandments. Having no other gods before the Lord? Easy, we will be one with Him. I don’t know about you, but I would love to tiptoe alongside the ranks of the seraphim and harmonize as they constantly proclaim day and night, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty.”
Jealousy? You and I will have nothing but admiration for whomever is selected to sit on the right and left hand of Christ.
Keeping the Sabbath? We will have entered God’s seventh and final day, the Sabbath-rest of peace and joy for eternity.
Adultery? I will love everyone as perfectly as Christ loves, and I will never be grieved with the thought that I am slighted by those I love or that their love is not fully and fondly returned. I will find in every person that facet of the Lord’s loveliness that only he or she can uniquely reflect—I’m going to be in love with a mountain of people, both men and women!
Coveting? We will be joint-heirs with Christ. We’ll have everything.
Bearing false witness? The father of lies will be dead. The flesh will no longer entice us to lie. Only truth will spring from our heart.
Misusing the name of the Lord? Only praise will be on our lips.
Never a hurtful thought.
Oh, happy day, we shall have the mind of Christ!
And with the mind of Christ we shall “know fully.” Not halfway, but fully. While we were on earth, we only sort-of-knew or partially understood the “all things that God kept working together for our good” and the good of others, especially in the midst of painful trials. Most of the time, we scratched our heads and wondered how the matted mesh of threads in Romans 8:28 could possibly be woven together for our good. On earth, the underside of the tapestry was tangled and unclear; but in heaven, we will stand amazed to see the topside of the tapestry and how God beautifully embroidered each circumstance into a pattern for our good and His glory.
This will be one of those fringe benefits not essential for our eternal happiness, but simply nice to know. The parents of the little girl paralyzed in a drunk driving accident will understand. They will see how her accident touched the lives of friends and neighbors, sending out repercussions far and wide. They will see how God used the prayers of people halfway across the country; and how those prayers reached relatives and friends of relatives, rippling out farther than they ever dreamed. They will see how God’s grace cradled their daughter, forging her little character with nobility and courage. They will see that nothing—absolutely nothing—was wasted and that every tear counted and every cry was heard. “Record my lament; list my tears on your scroll—are they not in your record?” (Psalm 56:8).
My sister, Linda, will understand why God took her five-year-old daughter, Kelly, through brain cancer. My friend, Diane, will see how her multiple sclerosis safeguarded her from falling into spiritual indifference. My coworker, Greg, will realize the measure of mercy God poured out to him after his divorce. You will marvel at the time you scolded yourself for making a wrong left-hand turn at a traffic signal, a wrong turn by which you narrowly missed a terrible accident—an accident that never happened.
We will lift our hands and glorify God when we see how He used the hundred dollars we sacrificed at the missions conference to reach many hundreds in Brazil. We’ll see how many times He engineered the right places and the right moments so that we’d meet just the right people—and the happy marriages and friendships which resulted.
We will understand how everything fit. Everything counted. Nothing was wasted. “The Lord works out everything for his own ends—even the wicked for a day of disaster” (Proverbs 16:4). Every jot and tittle of life will give supreme glory to our all-wise and all-powerful God.
Perfection of Body and Soul
Perfection of body and soul can, to some, sound boring.
I have two friends, John and Mike, with whom perfection just doesn’t click. They are wonderful brothers in Christ, but they are the robust sort who would rather tackle the work of the kingdom on earth and not get sidetracked with future things. They’ll do their God-appointed job here and let heaven take care of itself. Anyway, their picture of heaven is static—a never ending do-nothingness in which there are no more things to achieve or goals to accomplish. For them, heaven is literally the end. The idea of a “never-ending relationship at the feet of Jesus,” though comforting, doesn’t get them charged.
Perfection? Nah, they savor the spice of a good argument now and then. “Who wants a friend, or even a wife, who always agrees with you?” they say.
These guys would rather help pave the streets of gold with titanium monster trucks, back loaders, and steamrollers. They’ll take kayaking on the River of Life any day, and would rather take Joseph and Daniel fly-fishing than sit around and listen to them explain dream therapy.
I’m not about to fault these friends of mine. Frankly, I hope they take me fly-fishing as well. They’re just being left-brained. They’re into logic and explanations and—watch it—clunky earthly symbols. Perfection of body and soul has nothing to do with casting the perfect fly or playing the perfect round of golf. (Although I remember the time an eighth-grader once told me he couldn’t understand how anyone would ever score in a heavenly game of basketball if the offense was as perfect as the defense, to which I replied, “Well, if there are going to be different levels of giftedness and skill in heaven—and I think there will be—you’ll just have to find a few saints to play with whose perfect lay-up isn’t as classy as yours!”)
But even with that eighth-grader, we’ve got to watch it. We can’t construct heaven with the Lincoln Logs of our logic. We can’t forget that what we imagine turns clunky when we rely on earthly images.
To appreciate the perfection of our bodies and souls, we have to begin to get our hearts and minds somewhat in tune for heaven. Heaven is a prepared place for prepared people. Otherwise, heaven is a turnoff.
It’s like this. I love listening to Mozart. That’s because Mozart was a master at composing perfect music. I’m told that he arranged his notes flawlessly in every bar of every page and even employed certain numerical progressions that reflect absolute order and symmetry in tone and balance. Mathematicians study this composer. He’s perfect.
Now if I were to play his Magic Flute for a couple of homeboys from my husband’s high school, they’d guffaw and turn up the volume on their boom box. Hip-hop and death-rap is more their speed. But it’s a far, far cry from perfect music. You have to spend a lot of time listening to perfect music before you can appreciate it.
My point? You have to spend time doing the “be ye perfect as I am perfect” thing here on earth before you can enjoy the idea of heavenly perfection. To John and Mike this, at first, may chill rather than awaken their desire for heaven. But whether left-brained or right-brained, whether macho or meditative, each of us must never avert our eyes from those elements of heaven that seem puzzling or repellent; for it is precisely the puzzlement of perfection that conceals what we do not yet know and yet need to know.
“Duh…what was that?” I can hear my macho friends now.
The closer we draw to the Lord Jesus and the more we set our hearts and minds on heavenly glories above, the better prepared we shall be for heaven’s perfection. Fellowship won’t mean sitting at the feet of Jesus and fighting back boredom while everyone else is enraptured. No. Fellowship will be the best of what earthly friendship merely hinted at.
I would like to tell John and Mike, “Hey, don’t forget, Christ knows better than you what it means to be human. He sailed on the seas, hiked mountains, and slept under the stars by a rushing brook. He realizes what gets your heart pumping. Remember, He made you. You won’t stop being human. Rather, you’ll enjoy the full richness of all that your humanity was designed to be. You, with all your propensity for chumming it up around the campfire, will be a better…you!”
And a better you is a perfect you.
Perfect People in Perfect Fellowship
Heaven’s Wedding Supper of the Lamb will be the perfect party. The Father has been sending out invitations and people have been RSVP-ing through the ages. Jesus has gone ahead to hang the streamers, prepare the feast, and make our mansion ready. And like any party, what will make it sweet is the fellowship.
Fellowship with our glorious Savior and with our friends and family.
There are countless people I’m waiting to see. Queen Esther, Daniel, Jonah, and, of course, Mary and Martha. What’s amazing is that I’ll immediately recognize these people and all the other redeemed whom I never met on earth. If the disciples were able to recognize Elijah and Moses standing next to Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration—saints they had never laid eyes on—then the same is true for us. I can’t wait to meet them all!
However, one person I’m particularly eager to see in heaven is Steve Estes, my friend whom I mentioned in chapter 1. He’s a small-town pastor of a country church in Pennsylvania. And next to my husband, he’s my dearest friend. Ken is the first to understand and accept my affection for Steve. After all, Ken realizes that in the sixties the Lord used this young man to lift me out of my suicidal despair. Steve understood nothing about wheelchairs, but he loved Christ with a passion, and he wanted me—his depressed neighbor fresh out of the hospital—to find help and hope in God’s Word. So we made an arrangement: I would provide plenty of RC Cola and he would come to my house on Friday nights with his Bible to help me painstakingly piece together the puzzle of my suffering. Yes, I found the help and hope he talked about. And the rest is history.
That was a long time ago, and even though we only visit occasionally over the phone, our friendship remains strong and secure. Still, whenever I miss “the good ol’ days” or wish I could see him more often, these longings are tempered by one amazing thought: We shall be forever friends.
Our friendship is no coincidence. God has something eternal in mind for me and Steve. How do I know? In Acts 17:26 it says, “From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live.”
Did you catch that? Of all the billions of possibilities, of all the millions of people with whom I could be friends, the Lord chose Steve for me. A few more miles between our houses, or a few more years between our ages, and chances are, we would never have encountered each other. But for Christians, as C. S. Lewis says, there are no such chances. “Christ who said to the disciples, ‘You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you,’ can truly say to every group of Christian friends, ‘You have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for each other.’”6
This has powerful implications for eternity. Friendship initiated on earth barely has time to get started; we only scratch its surface in the few short years we reside on earth. Its greater and richer dimension will unfold in heaven. God has a plan for Steve and me in eternity and together we will play an intimate role in carrying out that special plan. I will love him as I never thought possible on earth. Wow, if I think my husband, and Steve, and others that I hold dear bring me joy in the here and now, just think what’s in store for us in heaven!
How it will pan out is yet to be seen, but this I know: All the earthly things we enjoy with our friends here will find their more exalted expression in heaven. I’ll never forget one night when, sitting by the fireside, Steve opened his Bible and took me through a study on heaven. My heart burned as bright as the coals in the fireplace as I caught glimpses of heavenly joy, especially the excitement of a new glorified heart, mind, and body. It was a moment both human and divine. In fact, our joy was so great we raced outside on the front lawn to sing and howl at the midnight moon. We just had to do something human to express our divine joy. And minus the howling at the moon, I’m assured heaven will be much like that. It’ll be a place where we do things with our friends for the sheer joy of being together and blessed by God.
Heavenly fellowship with friends won’t be some ethereal do-nothingness where we yawn, sit around on clouds, and ogle at angels. Because heaven is the home of redeemed humans, it will be thoroughly “human” in its structure and activities. As one writer said: “Its joys and occupations must all be rational, moral, emotional, voluntary and active. There must be the exercise of all the faculties, the gratification of all tastes, the expression of all talents, the realization of all ideals…the intellectual curiosity, the aesthetic instincts, the holy affections, the social affinities, the inexhaustible resources of strength and power native to the human soul, must all find in heaven exercise and satisfaction.”7
Oh, the things we shall do! You and your friends will rule the world and judge the angels. Together, friends will eat the fruit of the tree of life and be pillars in the temple of God. Together, we shall receive the morning star and be crowned with life, righteousness, and glory. Most of all, together we shall fall on our faces at the foot of the throne and worship our Savior forever.
Note how many times I’ve used the word “together.” Heaven is by no means a hangout for mavericks roaming the universe and doing their own thing. It’s a place of sweet togetherness and maybe that’s why it says we all live in a city, the New Jerusalem. We won’t be speckled here and there in rural cottages isolated from one another, but we’ll live in harmony in a city. A nice city. A holy city!
Dreaming about this makes missing Steve—and many other dear friends—more bearable. It even makes my relationship with friends who have died and gone on to glory sweet and close.
The same is true for you. Read Acts 17:26 again and rejoice that it’s no accident that you are living in this decade, in your part of the country, and in your town where you enjoy your best friends. These dear ones in your life are no coincidence. You could have been born in another time and another place, but God determined to “people” your life with these particular friends.
These special ones strike a resonant chord in your heart; there is something about them, some aspect of beauty or goodness that reminds you of God. I have an inkling that when you see the face of God in heaven, you will say, “Yes, I always knew You!” It was Him all along that you loved whenever you were with that treasured person. In friendship, God opens your eyes to the glories of Himself, and the greater the number of friends with whom you share deep and selfless love, the better and more clear the picture of God you will have.
What I’ll Do When I Get to Heaven
I grew up in a little Reformed Episcopal Church where they preached the gospel, read the liturgy, sang hymns from the heart, and kneeled in prayer. Banners and candles, processionals and recessionals were a part of regular worship. Sunday morning worship was serious business, and I learned as a child what it meant to bend my knee before the Lord. Yes, kneeling felt hard on the knees, but what it did for my heart felt better.
I don’t intend to make an issue of kneeling. God listens when His people pray standing, sitting, lying prone or prostrate. What’s my point about kneeling? It’s just that I wish I could do it. It’s impossible for me to bow in worship.
Once at a convention, the speaker closed his message by asking everyone in the large room to push their chairs away from the tables and, if they were able, to kneel on the carpeted floor for prayer. I watched as everyone in the room—maybe five or six hundred people—hiked up their cuffs and got down on their knees. With everyone kneeling, I certainly stood out. And I couldn’t stop the tears.
I wasn’t crying out of pity or because I felt awkward or different. Tears were streaming because I was struck with the beauty of seeing so many people on bended knees before the Lord. It was a picture of heaven.
Sitting there, I was reminded that in heaven I will be free to jump up, dance, kick, and do aerobics. And although I’m sure Jesus will be delighted to watch me rise on tiptoe, there’s something I plan to do that may please Him more. If possible, somewhere, sometime before the party gets going, sometime before the guests are called to the banquet table at the Wedding Feast of the Lamb, the first thing I plan to do on resurrected legs is to drop on grateful, glorified knees. I will quietly kneel at the feet of Jesus.
To not move will be my chance to demonstrate heartfelt thanks to the Lord for the grace He dispensed year after year when my legs and hands were limp and motionless. To not move will be my last chance to present a sacrifice of praise—paralyzed praise.
And after a while, I shall spring to my feet, stretch my arms, and shout out to anyone within earshot of the whole universe, “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain to receive power and riches, wisdom and might, honor and glory and blessing!” I wonder if, at that point, my Episcopalian roots will have me clap my hand over my loud mouth. If so, at least for me, the party will have gone up a notch. It will be a dignified celebration of worship, eloquent and regal.
It’s been decades since I’ve been able to kneel. Those long-ago Sunday mornings at our little church seem so far away. I didn’t appreciate then the privilege of Psalm 95:6: “Come let us bow down and worship, let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.”
I sure appreciate it now. And the day is drawing near when I’ll be able to kneel again. I know it, I can feel it. Heaven is just around the corner. So, do me a favor: Do what so many of us who are paralyzed or too lame or old can’t do. Flip open your Bible to Psalm 95:6; read it aloud and take its advice. And when you kneel in prayer, be grateful for knees that bend to the will of God. Be grateful you’re destined for heaven, for a new heart, mind, and body.
Our risen heart, sin-free will be
pure passion poured
purely
Adore!
He will give us this heart free
to love for the first time again.
Our risen body, light, bright
clothed in righteousness,
blessed with glowing flesh
that feels, really feels for the first time again.
But now we wait
wait
wait for our Risen Lord
who will reward we who weep
yet still seek Him above all
so…
stand we tall together
for the first time ever
then fall, please, on grateful knees…
Eternity is ours.
—Joni Tada