So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal. For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
~ 2 Corinthians 4:16-5:1
I don't talk about heaven much, and I don't preach about it on a regular basis. I am most likely to speak from the pulpit about heaven during a memorial service or funeral, because I believe at that moment, the loved ones of the deceased need to hear words of hope that include that promise. But I don't preach about it most Sundays because I believe the people, on the whole, need words of hope and encouragement that are about the here and now, which, after all, is what Jesus meant by the "kingdom" or "reign" of heaven. He was talking about God's inbreaking and transforming presence for us, now, in this life. The heaven that is here already, but not entirely, not yet.
But today I read this passage in 2 Corinthians, so let's talk about heaven! Paul is using these words of encouragement, not for a grieving congregation, but for a fighting congregation, in the midst of power struggles, and, particularly, in the midst of rejecting him. And here, in the middle of addressing those concerns, he moves into a long and very beautiful description of the way in which the promise of heaven can encourage those who are suffering-- whether physically or mentally. He does not want his people to lose heart, in the midst of a world that can be so ugly, so harsh, and so devastating. Even in physical decline, even when faced with illness or the challenges that can come with aging, he asks the people to consider it a preparation for that moment when it will all be transformed into a glory he can't even quite describe.
This is not it, he insists. This pain. This sorrow. This is not it. And if you do not see the joy and transformation in this life, he holds up God's promises that we surely will see it in the next.This image comforts me so. The soldiers have their limbs again, and whole and perfect brains. The children no longer have the wounds of war. The infirm are hale, and walk upright. Everyone has their original knees and hips!
I don't mean to be glib, or silly. Physical suffering in this life is no joke. I read last night about a ten year old boy, named Seven Bridges, who took his own life because he was mercilessly teased by school bullies about having a colostomy bag. The suffering that child endured makes me weep. And my hope is in the Lord who promises he is not only whole, but in the arms of a loving Father-Mother God who has removed all that pain and even the memory of it.
I don't know that that would be a comfort to his parents, though. Even believing what I do, I don't know that I would be comforted by it, if that were my child.
We have these promises, and they are beautiful and they can be a source of strength under certain conditions.
But I don't want us to give up on this world. Right now a dream of peace among nations; justice and equity/equality for every person; peace among peoples of differing complexions, ways of worshiping God, ways of loving; a world in which there are no hungry or homeless people; a world in which the air is clean and the water is pure and human beings are the priority, and not profits.... right now this dream seems so very far away.
But I don't want us to give up on it. I can't. I won't. I won't give up on this world, no matter how beautiful the promise of what is next may be.
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