The “There and the Then”

May 5, 2010

I don’t want to be a downer in your day but I’ve been thinking a lot about death, dying and what comes after in recent days. I’ve been spending more time than the average bear ruminating on the fragility of the fleshy package that houses the essence of who we really are, and our all too human mortality. What’s taken me to these thoughts is that there are two people I love who’ve learned not all that long ago that for different reasons neither has a life expectancy that will stretch beyond a very few years. They will die from diseases that even in this moment are quietly destroying healthy cells and short-circuiting the connections that keeps their bodies moving and fully functioning. People I love are dying, not today, not tomorrow but far sooner than they or I would ever have wanted to imagine. Far sooner than I want to go into such grief. Much sooner than I care to let either of them go.

So here I am, on a day where gray clouds fill the sky releasing occasional bone-soaking downpours of rain, blogging about death and dying on a blog purposed to encourage and support my GLBTQ brothers and sisters in their journey of faith.  But this is where I am. Life on this earth and the life that follows occupies center stage in my thoughts these days with everything else fading into the background. I care what’s happening in the world to my GLBTQ family but for today I care even more about the impermanence and preciousness of being human and being alive.

I suppose it makes sense that after telling you in recent days what I don’t believe about the next life, I should tell you what it is that I do believe. After all my notions on the non-existence of hell indulge me one more time while I share a little about the vague imaginations I have about heaven.

As a young girl I’d look up into the black night sky and catch glimpses of heaven’s brilliant light breaking through tiny holes in heaven’s floor. The stars proved heaven’s existence to me because with my own eyes I could see the light of God bursting through the darkness. There it is. Heaven. Up there!  A few decades have passed since then and I no longer cast my eyes to the sky as I did then as though heaven was a place beyond the clouds somewhere “up there.” I’ve shed my childish notions of a physical locale where wings and cloud jumping are the standard forms of transportation and choir rehearsal and harp lessons comprise the better part of every day in eternity.

I’ve let go of fluffy clouds and streets of gold but I haven’t shed by belief that heaven is reality; an un-mappable destination in the spiritual realm and that one day we will stand face to face before the Lamb. I don’t know the details of what heaven will be like nor do I care about the nuts and bolts and set design. All I know is that one day we will be there, all those who have loved us and that we have loved will be there, all those who have despised us and those we’ve despised will be there, and the One we worship and adore above all others will be there illuminating our souls and clearing away the blindness from our eyes and that, my dear friend, is heaven.

I want you to understand I don’t believe in heaven because it sounds like a nice idea. It’s not fear of death or fear of nothingness after death that makes heaven a “must have” in my heart and mind, but rather this: just as I’m no longer able to believe in hell because of the eternal love, boundless mercy, and extravagant grace of God, I’m led with equal resolve to believe in heaven for the same reasons. We are God’s creation, born out of the love of the Godhead. We were given life to be loved by God and to love God, and as there is no end to the eternal love of God, so  there will be no end to those whom God loves. This is nothing more than common sense if you believe in a God of love.

There is no end to our relationship with God. No fierce or gentle parting of the way. God loved us while we were in our mother’s womb, has loved us every moment since and will continue to love us forever. Think on that. We will be loved forever and in a way we can’t begin to comprehend in the here and now because in the there and then all doubt will be erased. No longer will we struggle with our worth to be loved. No longer will we judge ourselves as too flawed or too fallen. We won’t shuffle our feet or shrug our shoulders at the very mention that God is crazy in love with us. No. Standing on the other side; standing where our spirits will be set free from their fleshy imprisonment; standing where we will see clearly with new vision; standing where we will be made completely, perfectly whole; we will know beyond a shred of a doubt that we are loved for we will be standing on the other side of hearing God said, “You are mine. You have always been mine. Enter in to all I have in store for you, for the mysteries and abundance I have prepared for you. I invite you in. My Son welcomes you in. My child, come.”

This is where my faith takes me when I consider the impermanence of life. It takes me to the foreverness of life in the presence of God even as it reminds me of the precious treasure of this one day. No matter what is happening today; no matter how painful the journey, how difficult the challenges, how great the losses, we are alive. We have this day. Yesterday is over. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. So it is today that matters. Eternal life is coming but abundant life has already begun.

This morning I woke to another day and I am so deeply grateful to be alive to see it and for the next 24 hours I want to come into the day with all of me, holding nothing back. I will take the heartache just as I will the heart’s delight. Until the sun falls tonight I want to take full advantage of this day and use it up to the last drop in the best way I know to do. I want to take note of what’s beautiful around me and seek ways to bring change to what is broken and in need of repair. I want to give God glory and praise, give love to those around me, ease someone’s suffering, celebrate someone’s joy, and say “thank you” as often as I can.

This life may not be our final home, but this life matters none the less and even while my heart is heavy over the thought of future losses and sorrows that are to come, I take joy in knowing that all suffering will one day end, all that is lost will be restored, and all that we mourn will be turned to joy. If not on this side, then on the other. This is where the love of God and faith in that love takes me. May your own heart say “Amen.”

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Posted in Periodic Reflections on the Love of God