Seeing Beyond the End of the World
“For now they saw something not only behind the wave but behind the
sun. They could not have seen even the sun if their eyes had not been
strengthened by the water of the Last Sea. But now they could look at the
rising sun and see it clearly and see things beyond it. What they saw—eastward,
beyond the sun—was a range of mountains. It was so high that either they never
saw the top of it or they forgot it. None of them remembers seeing any sky in
that direction. And the mountains must really have been outside the world. For
any mountains even a quarter of a twentieth of that height ought to have had
ice and snow on them. But these were warm and green and full of forests and
waterfalls however high you looked. And suddenly there came a breeze from the
east, tossing the top of the wave into foamy shapes and ruffling the smooth
water all round them. It lasted only a second or so but what it brought
them in that second none of those three children will ever forget. It brought
both a smell and a sound, a musical sound. Edmund and Eustace would never talk
about it afterward. Lucy could only say, “It would break your heart.” “Why,”
said I, “was it so sad?” “Sad!! No,” said Lucy. No one in that boat doubted that they were
seeing beyond the End of the World into Aslan’s country.” —C.S. Lewis, The
Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Some years ago,
Carolyn and I were flying to a pastors' conference in a mountain community in
northern Idaho with that rare, old saint, Dr. Oswald Sanders. We were in a
small plane and sitting knee to knee with Dr. Sanders, watching him scribble on
a yellow legal pad.
"What are
you doing?" I asked. "Writing about my next destination," he
said. "Which is?" I
prompted. "Heaven," he replied with an impish grin. A few months
later he reached his final destination and the notes he made that day found
their way into a book entitled, Heaven, Better by Far (Discovery House
Publishers).
Since I'm now
much closer to the end of my life than it's beginning I too am beginning to
wonder about my "next destination" and what awaits me there. In his
dialogue Phaedo Plato gives us
Socrates’ last words shortly before he drank the hemlock cup: “Perhaps it most becoming for one who is about to travel
there (beyond this world), to inquire and speculate about the journey thither,
what kind we think it is.” What follows thus, in this E-musing and others to
come, are some of the thoughts that have “gone up my mind,”
as Emily Dickinson would say, an inquiry and speculation about the journey
thither, what kind I think it is.
I must admit it
is difficult to write about Heaven.[1] The problem is
twofold: (1) We have very little biblical data to draw on. The Bible tells us
only a few things beyond the unambiguous assurance that Heaven exists. Other
than that assertion we have only tantalizing hints and intimations. We must be
content to see “only a picture of it—a sort of vision of
it—and only while you seem to be asleep,” George MacDonald said.
(2) Furthermore,
we human beings have no categories to describe Heaven; human thought and
language are inadequate to depict its majesty and joy. For that reason no
Biblical writer, not even Paul who visited Heaven, supplies a literal description, for we could never grasp
it. On the occasion that Paul
reported his visit to Heaven words failed him. He saw things he could not describe (2 Corinthians 12:3,4).[2]
However, God,
wholly aware of our limitations, has disclosed divine truth in forms we can
grasp. The biblical writers use metaphors and draw analogies from things we
know. Each of these symbols reveals some aspect of the greater reality to which
they point. They are, however, at best, imperfect reflections. The danger lies
in pressing these analogies beyond their limits and making them the
reality they represent.
When we read
about Heaven in scripture, therefore, we must not think that Heaven
is "this"; it is rather "like this." That's the best
we can do, although I do think it is entirely appropriate to use our God-given
imagination to reflect on the implications of these analogies. When guided by
revelation imagination can wake up thoughts and feelings within us that mere
facts cannot do.
There’s danger in
using our imagination of course. We can go too far, like Charles William’s
character, Lilly, who not only could tell you your future; she could “make one up for you.” It is my hope, however, that these
thoughts will not go “beyond what is written,” but will
be based on the facts of God’s word and used by His Spirit to evoke in us a
longing for “the magnificent future God has in store
for us” (Romans 8:18, J.B. Phillips, New Testament in Modern English.)
David Roper
October 26, 2016
[1] In recent years
authors have fallen into practice of writing the word “Heaven”
with a lower case “h,” as though it’s a common noun
like “sky.” But it seems to me that the word should be capitalized because it’s
a proper noun and refers to a unique entity like Boston or Boise.
[2] Paul “heard
things that cannot be told, which one is not able to speak.” The Greek word he uses, éxestin,
means “to have the power,” and does not mean that it’s inappropriate to speak of Heaven, but
rather that it’s impossible
to do so.
