The hope of heaven

Her name was Elizabeth.

At 10 years old my height was sufficient to meet her eye to eye.  Her hair was cropped short and layered in waves atop her head.  It was silver and perfectly matched the wrinkles that time had drawn upon her face.  I thought she was ancient, but to 10 year old me, everyone was that had gray hair.  She had a thick accent that I liked to hear, but was never able to imitate.  It hinted at the mystery of her story.  She was an immigrant from Hungary and had settled in Cincinnati decades before I was born.  It was some time later that she found the tiny church where my Dad was pastor, and then became a part of my story.

I remember the cookies she baked at Christmastime, huge platters of confections that I could not name but had no problem enjoying.  It was a labor of love and goodness that she gifted to the world, and one in which I looked forward to every year.  But what I remember most about Elizabeth was her longing for heaven.  She would talk openly about how she looked forward to the day when she would see Jesus.  She knew things that I did not.

As a child, I could not imagine wanting my life on earth to be complete.  I found it strange, even scary, that she would speak so openly about her desire to leave what is known for what has not yet been seen.  Death was separation from what I understood, from the people and the places that gave me comfort, security and love.  While I grasped the inevitability of death, it was certainly not something that my heart was longing for.

But the years grew in me a knowledge and an affection for what is to come.Christmas is nearly here.  The advent calendars are in the last few days and I patiently wait.  I look around and I see how the world spins weary.  There will always be on this earth the decay of death.  We are surrounded by illness, depression, fear, and loneliness. I move my fingers to the pulse of hearts, and I feel the staggered beating.  We are alive, but we are struggling.  We exist, but we are desperate for something better.  Do you not feel it deep within that we were made for something more?  I read how the sufferings of this present world cannot compare to the glory that is to come, and my heart clings to the truth of it.  

God, what does this future glory look like?

It's early morning and the house is still asleep.  I open the Word to find Jesus, because I have lived long enough to learn that there is no hope of good news anywhere else.  And I soak it all in, 

"Against its will, all creation was subjected to God's curse.  But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God's children in glorious freedom from death and decay.  For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.  And we believers also groan, even though we have the Holy Spirit within us as a foretaste of future glory, for we long for our bodies to be released from sin and suffering.  We, too, wait with eager hope for the day when God will give us our full rights as his adopted children, including the new bodies he has promised us.  We were given this hope when we were saved.  (If we already have something, we don't need to hope for it.  But if we look forward to something we don't yet have, we must wait patiently and confidently.)" Romans 8:20-25

I read it again, "We were given this hope when we were saved." 

Christmas is nearly here, but the world waits differently for its coming. An older man told me the other day that he would not be celebrating this year.  His wife lay in the hospital bed as I was getting her ready for surgery.  He told me how they had hardly left the house since spring, and their children would not be breeching their social distancing request.  I understood his resignation.  He shrugged at the idea of losing Christmas.  It wouldn't be what he expected, so he canceled it.  And my heart broke when I heard the sadness in his voice. 

I realize how we will all grow older, but we may never grow wiser.  I wanted to let him know that it doesn't matter how we celebrate; it only matters who.  Because even if life falls broken around us, even in our sadness, our weakness, our lack of feeling grateful or blessed, Jesus is still worthy to be celebrated.  No one can cancel the gift of God's son, we can only recieve it with our yes or reject it in our no.

The wise still seek, and they are the ones who find that Jesus is worthy.  He is worthy of the honor and adoration we bring.  A heart of worship, of celebration, does not depend on our changing circumstances, but on the truth of a God who is unchanging.  Jesus came to seek and save the lost, the lonely, and the broken.  He came so he could give us the gift of salvation and the glorious hope of heaven.  

In confidence, I look forward to that day.  I do believe I have a friend there, and I hope she is waiting to greet me.