The Other Side of the Curtain

Revelation7:9-17

If you are anything like me, you have probably had the occasional conversation with others about what heaven might be like. While none of us has any direct experience with it, we like to speculate. After all, we all have hopes of being there some day, and we like to know where we are going.

Many artists have tried their hand at creating images of heaven. The traditional artwork usually includes lots of clouds, with people and angels sitting on them as though they were fluffy featherbeds. I’ve seen some pictures where heaven looks like the Emerald City in the land of Oz. But perhaps one of the oddest things was a painting described by a member of the roundtable. It showed the inside of a grand courtyard, beautiful and elegant, but with no one in it. Not a soul. So maybe this is heaven for introverts, those of us who think nothing could be more wonderful than to be left alone, at last. But none of us knows, really.

Contrary to what some might believe, I have no particular expertise on this matter. I don’t know any more about heaven than you do. Maybe the people who have the most to say about it are those individuals who have had what are called near-death experiences. Some of them, when they are revived, report some fascinating stories about what they saw and heard and felt. There is the light at the end of the tunnel that many speak of; this is, I think, the only consistent part. On the other side, it seems like everyone experiences something different, something that is especially meaningful and wonderful to them.

To be able to come back from the other side and explain what was there must be an impossible thing. So I don’t think it is possible for us to pin heaven down. Let it suffice to say it is something wonderful.

I hope we all agree on that. Yet, at the roundtable this week, we struggled uncomfortably with this image of the realm of God that John’s revelation gives us. Although we don’t know exactly what we expected, this was not what we expected.

No one that I know has an easy time with Revelation. If you say it’s an easy book to read and understand, I probably won’t believe you. It is so packed full of symbolism, layers upon layers. And it is rife with violence, something that makes me quite uncomfortable. Uncountable hours have been spent by both biblical scholars and amateurs, trying to decode this work. Some are convinced it is a coded timetable for the end of the world. But most scholars think it is primarily a vision for the church of the first century. John received this revelation that spoke to the difficult times they were living in at the end of the first century. And, believe it or not, it was a word of hope for a troubled people.

We see the great multitude, those who had come out of the great ordeal, as it is described in the text – probably referring to a time of extreme persecution of the church, but we might consider the great ordeal of life on earth, as well. These ones have been washed in the blood of the Lamb – although everyone knows that blood will never get anything clean, we understand this is a metaphor for the purifying power of the sacrificial blood of Jesus. These ones, saved, cleansed, renewed, all stand before the throne praising and glorifying God. Along with the four living creatures (which really defy description so I won’t try), the 144,000 from the tribes of Israel, the elders, and the angels. Heaven, we thought at the roundtable, looks like a crowded place. Which is good, I suppose.

Yet, in all the busyness and crowdedness and noisiness of it, we found ourselves uncomfortable with it. I guess we were looking for something a little more intimate. Just me and my loved ones, perhaps. Getting reacquainted with one another.

That is essentially what we are looking for on the other side of the curtain. The ones we know and love and miss dearly. And we especially think of them on All Saints Day.

We have experienced the loss of members of our church family this year. And many of us have experienced other personal losses as well. We all know too well what grief feels like.

And while we particularly remember those who have been lost to us this year, we don’t forget about the ones who have been gone longer. We don’t stop missing them. They still, and always will, hold a place in our hearts.

In some cases, even in our grief, we are glad that our loved ones have been released from their suffering. But that doesn’t make us miss them any less. At the same time we draw comfort from knowing that those we love are with the Lord, free from all sorrow and pain, it’s also a hard thing for us, knowing that they are so removed from us, in a place we can’t really begin to understand.

If you have lost someone close to you,  you might still feel a closeness to them. Perhaps you still talk to them, and maybe have the sense that they are answering you in some way. It is a comfort to know that, even though they are far, they are still close.

This is the nature of this curtain that separates life from death, this world from the other world. They are at the same time a million miles away and as close as your breath. They are removed from the concerns of this world and intimately concerned with this world. This is what we believe. They have not forgotten us.

And this is important to us – that they do not forget. We usually think about the ways we remember those who have died, and we have certain rituals for doing so. But deep in our hearts it matters to us that we are not forgotten by them.

In this place John’s revelation shows us, where there is 24/7 praise and worship of God, where there are strange creatures and a great multitude of people like us, like our loved ones, one might wonder if there is time and space to remember us.

There are things about this vision that are too hard to explain. But we may fall back on the essential things we know. We know that God made us in God’s own image, and God made us for community. We are meant to be in loving relationship with others, and this vision clearly shows that. This is one active community, centered around our creator and redeemer. The love flows everywhere.

And it is just on the other side of the curtain, hardly removed from us at all. Because of our faith, we know it is not only possible but quite natural for us to be in relationship with those on the other side of the curtain. After all, God calls us into a close and loving relationship with him through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Heaven is not far at all – we get a taste of it whenever we know love.

We know that once the curtain has been lifted, and the light at the other end revealed, there is only love. And peace and joy.

We are all part of a community of faith that stretches back to the beginning and will continue on well after we have passed over. We are all part of the communion of the saints, whether we are here or there. It is God and God’s love through Jesus Christ that holds us all together. In drawing near to Christ we draw nearer to our loved ones who are now in his company.

Take comfort in the vision of your loved ones, free of sorrow and pain, free to sing praises to God our creator and redeemer and sustainer, knowing that they are not far from us – not now, not ever.

Give thanks to God for the gift of salvation, enabling us to live a life of hope, walking in the steps of those who have come before us, making a path for those who will follow, in Christ’s name.

The Enemies of Gratitude, Part 5: Disappointment

Deuteronomy34:1-12        

A simple question was asked at the roundtable this week: Why didn’t Moses get to enter the promised land?

Why not, indeed? Having asked the question, we needed to go back and address it. Why did God refuse Moses the opportunity to enter the promised land, at long last? It was all because of Meribah.

Do you remember Meribah? The name means quarrel. Meribah was a place we visited with the Israelites a while ago, early in their wilderness journey. Meribah was the place where they panicked because there was no water. Meribah was a place of desperation, and then, fulfillment.

At that time they were wandering, going by stages through the desert, and they stopped at this place, but there was no sign of water. The people turned on Moses – “Why did you bring us out of Egypt to kill us with thirst?” – and Moses turned to God – “Help me! They’re going to kill me!”

So God helped Moses help the Israelites, by leading him to a rock which would bring forth a gush of water, assuring them once again that the Lord was with them.

Was that all that happened? It depends on what you read. The book of Numbers gives us more detail, saying that God instructed Moses take his staff, the staff with which he had already performed many wonders, and assemble the people before the rock. Command the rock to give its water, and the water shall flow. But what Moses did was actually a bit different.

Moses took the staff and assembled the people, then said to them, “‘Listen, you rebels, shall we bring water for you out of this rock?’ Then Moses lifted up his hand and struck the rock twice with his staff; water came out abundantly” (Numbers 20:10-11).

“But the Lord said to Moses and Aaron, ‘Because you did not trust in me, to show my holiness before the eyes of the Israelites, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land that I have given them.’” (Numbers 20:12) That’s the story.

At the waters of Meribah, where the people of Israel quarreled with the Lord, Moses lost this hope of someday entering the promised land. For he had, apparently, failed in making it all about him. Maybe Moses was getting a little high on this power God had given him. He had this awesome staff – is it possible he had started to feel like the power was in his control? If not that, maybe these people of Israel had gotten to his last nerve and he just lost it. Whatever it was, it hardly seems that bad, does it?

Moses had been faithful and obedient from the beginning to the end. He had been steadfast in trusting the Lord and providing good leadership to Israel. He had done everything he was asked to do, all toward the hope of someday reaching the promised land. But Moses would not get that chance.

And twisting the knife in the wound, God takes Moses up to the mountaintop to let him see what he won’t get. Look at all this land. Beautiful, isn’t it? You’re not going there. Oh well.

How disappointed Moses must have been. How disappointed we are on Moses’ behalf.

We know all about disappointment, we are all too familiar with the concept. Let us count the ways:

The hope of a pregnancy that never materializes or, perhaps worse, ends prematurely in miscarriage. The dream of a family gone.

The child, for whom we had such bright hopes, whose life is turned upside down by mental illness or addiction.  The dreams for this child’s future now gone.

The young bridegroom who goes to war and comes back a triple amputee.

The man who suffers a massive heart attack and dies one week before his planned retirement, leaving his wife a widow.

The husband whose tragic accident renders him unable to work with four young children at home.

The cancer that cuts a life short. The economic downturn that steals your retirement funds. The fire that destroys all our hearts treasures.  We all know disappointment. Life is full of disappointment.

But perhaps even worse than the disappointment we feel about such loss, is the loss that occurs as a result of disappointment: disappointment, as justified as it may be, robs us of our joy and gratitude.

The grieving woman who, unable to have children of her own, can take no interest in children because of the bitterness of her loss.

The widow who isolates herself in her bitterness about being left alone just when she and her husband were on the threshold of their golden years.

The father unable to work, whose embarrassment about his plight prevents him from loving his children and wife.

Getting stuck in our disappointment prevents us from moving forward with our lives, however they might unfold. And this is a tragedy, my friends. For isn’t a life, no matter the great plans that were destroyed, still a precious life?

We all have our personal tragedies. And no one of us can tell another just what their tragedies ought to teach them. None of us has the right to assign meaning to someone else’s suffering. But each one of has the potential to discover something greater than misery in our own disappointments.

Each one of us has the possibility of seeing our own short life in the context of something great. What part is your life, it’s pleasures and beauties and tragedies, in this grand narrative of God’s story? From the many who came before us, some of whom we remember with love, to the countless who will follow us, what part do we play? How do each of our disappointments connect the pieces of the past and the future?

Moses didn’t set foot in the promised land, but he did see it. He got to know that he had been instrumental in bringing his people there. And, trusting in God as he always had, he knew they would arrive there.

Gratitude has many enemies, we have seen during these past five weeks: nostalgia for the good old days, worry about the future, entitlement about what we think we deserve, greed for all kinds of things we don’t deserve or need, and disappointment about all that was lost, all that might have been.

Each of these enemies reveals a failure to welcome each moment of this life for the gifts that they offer. God has a memory that stretches way back, and a plan that looks well into the future. The best we can do is to live each moment of time. We will find, again and again, that the present moment is full of gift. In receiving what is offered, this is where we find joy. And for this we can be truly grateful.