Jesus in the Starting Blocks

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     I can’t see heaven from here.

     Try as I might, strain as I will, the glory escapes me. I squint to see what the other John saw in the Revelation, but as soon as I look down onto the pages of my Bible, I lose sight of what is above. I’ve stood on mountaintops many thousands of feet above sea level, but thought mostly of the toil it took to get there. I’ve traveled in aircraft six miles up with clouds far below, but thought mostly about how presumptuous it is to move so high and so fast.

     By day the sun is too intense to look upon. By night the moon is a mocking reflection. Faraway stars twinkle and tease – though others find lions and hunters and bears by connecting the shimmering dots, I take one Big Dip and I’m done. And the heavens return to returning a blank stare.

     At some point in my childhood I heard a preacher describe Jesus’ present posture in heaven. Jesus, presumably, is coiled up like a sprinter in the starting blocks, waiting for the Father, at a moment known only to him, to fire the pistol. For, like, two thousand years so far. Sounds exhausting to me. I’ll bet Jesus has better things to do. The image of Jesus in the blocks returns (unbidden) to my recall at times, but I put no stock in it. And heaven gets farther away.

     Help a brother out, here?

     I’ve been reading some old, old writing lately. Early Seventeenth Century – how’s that for retro? The author, one Jeremiah Burroughs – a Puritan preacher who gained and lost various degrees of distinction over his 46 years on this earth – proposes that there is greater satisfaction to be had in this walk-around world, and in this mortal life, than in the world and life to come.

     Oh, perish the thought!

     To be fair, his theory is that obedience to God in a disobedient generation (meaning, any generation) sets up a better-than-heaven-on-earth scenario; an isle of contentment can be had in a raging sea of sin and debauchery. He posits that seeking God’s purposes in the midst of temptation is better than being plugged into God’s purposes when there is no choice. But the question I’m itching to ask Brother Burroughs is, “How the heck could you have known?” He knows now, gone to heaven these 378 years. Maybe he knows, now, he was wrong then.

     “On earth as it is in heaven…” (Matthew 6:10). Of all the things Jesus could have taught us to pray, this is one of the very few he chose. Leads me to believe that earth contains precisely as much heaven as we pray into it. That – ahead of the rightful King’s return – his little brothers and sisters will see only as much heaven as they drag down to examine at arm’s length. Mountains are worth climbing, and flying through thin air is great fun, but if Jesus is to be believed, climbing and flying and gazing into the heavens aren’t the best ways to catch a glimpse. Maybe heaven is closer than I thought, and easier to see.

     “…having the eyes of your heart enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you…” (Ephesians 1:18). Of all the things Paul the apostle prayed for us, this – breathing in the words God breathed out – is one of the many he prayed. As it turns out, I’ve been using the wrong organs for looking into heaven. My natural eyes are subject to the grit and smoke and fog of the atmosphere – the very heavens conspire against my seeing them. Praise God: there’s a better way of seeing.

     Disagree if you wish, but I’m convinced that the grit and smoke and fog here below are all part of the divine plan, meant to make us concentrate. I’m convinced that if we had all of heaven right now, it would be a terrific letdown. Though I found this quote in a novel, by a fictional character, it bears considering: “We’ve all got to go through just enough to kill us.” Why should it be otherwise? And, thank God, since we who are saved won’t be touched by the second death, we don’t have to go through twice as much as it takes.

     If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory (Colossians 3:1-4).

     Kay and I recently re-watched “Hidden Figures,” a movie about the lesser known yet indispensable contributors to early space travel at NASA. The crescendo comes when the team of mathematicians correctly calculates the re-entry path and returns Astronaut John Glenn safely home – a task that had been described as being like “shooting a sawed-off shotgun and putting one pellet through a pinhole at a thousand yards – on purpose.” One of the mathematicians, Katherine Johnson, was then asked by her boss, “So, do you think we can get to the moon?” To which Katherine replied, “We’re already there.”

     Well, whaddya know? I done died and gone to heaven! Like it already happened. According to Colossians 3:3, and in a sense that I only grasp occasionally, it already has. With the eyes of my heart enlightened, the glimpses will come more often – right here, at arm’s length.

 

Thanks for the help, Church.

 

 Grace and Peace (on earth as it is in heaven),

 

John

 

Glory and Honor

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Do you trust God?

     Let the question bubble up for a bit. There’s an easy answer – a Christian reflex, we might say – but I think we’ll be more satisfied if we hold it off for a while. I asked a very broad question, on purpose, but the best responses will be more specific.

     I trust God with whatever I can’t possibly change: the orbits of heavenly bodies, the rotation of Earth and such. I trust God, sometimes, with whatever I can’t change but think I can: the effects of gravity, international affairs and all that jazz. Trusting God in the details, in the everyday, in all the matters in which he calls for my cooperation – yeah, that’s the hard part.

     In our last letter, I wrote to you on Romans 15:13, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” I hadn’t planned for the verse to become a series, but there’s a certain phrase that won’t leave me alone, so I’ll pester you with it as well: “…as you trust in him.”

     From the prayer Jesus taught us, we have some familiar phrases: “on earth as it is in heaven,” and “forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The small-but-mighty word – “as” – sets up a firm correlation. In the same manner and to the same measure that the kingdom of God has come to heaven, we pray for the kingdom to come here on earth. In the same manner and to the same measure that we forgive those who trespass against us, our trespasses are forgiven. Romans 15:13 has the same correlation loaded into it – “…as you trust in him.” Joy and peace ride in through the gate opened by trusting God.

     Trust, we know, is built over time. In human relationships, we take that as a given. Why? Because we’ve had relationships with some untrustworthy people – keep your distance, let trust be proven. Ironically, Christians tend toward the weird idea that trusting God is a one-and-done, now-and-forever proposition. This notion sets up a difficult scenario: I trusted God once – say, for salvation – but if I fail to trust him in some detail, all of my trust in him is shaken… or broken. That won’t do.

     From what I can tell in Scripture, God is OK with us learning to trust him over time. Jesus didn’t come on the scene saying, “Hey, everybody, I’m the Son of the Almighty – time to bow down and worship!” Rather, he came healing and ministering and admonishing. He made an offer, that even if the people couldn’t yet trust his claim of deity, they could begin to trust through what he was doing among them. All of us who are saved trusted God for salvation – but at that point, did any of us understand everything salvation involved?

     I’ve never been a fan of the “Jesus Take the Wheel” brand of faith. Jesus made the wheel, and whatever road I’m traveling, he, ultimately, paved it. But when he plunks me down in the left-front seat, I get the idea he wants me to drive – according to his purpose, of course. Job One for me is to give up the notion that I made the wheel, I paved the road, or my purposes are better than his. As God called the first human to be co-regent with him in the Garden of Eden, so he calls all saved humans to participate in the reconciliation of all things on earth and in heaven.

     “In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength” (Isaiah 30:15). Nothing can be added to salvation – we walk into Jesus’ finished work on the cross. But look at the arrangement of trust and strength, so close together. Strength, like trust, is built over time. The Father’s trustworthiness will always outpace our level of trust in him, and we are made stronger – quietly, faithfully – each time his grace is found to be sufficient for the day.

     As you trust in him… joy and peace begin to fill. It’s a one-for-one proposition, best I can tell. My prayer for us is that we lean into the trust, and are willing to be surprised by the joy and peace.

 Do you trust God? Get as specific as you like; God can handle it.

 

 Grace and Peace (with a side of joy),

 

John

John