I wonder what it will be like. Once this world has passed away, and we are forever with our Lord, doing and being in His presence, what will the concrete details of our life consist of? Sometimes I try to imagine, but I never get far, because my primary concern always boils down to this thought:
Will I personally get to walk alongside Jesus? Will He always be right by my side, like He is now, only fully fleshed out and visible?
The questions make me feel vaguely guilty for even asking. But I can't wrap my head around it. Who am I, that I would ever be able to get close enough to Him, with all the other saints in existence around?
Before I put much thought into it, I always just sort of imagined an innumerable crowd swarming around Him, and me somewhere at the back, trying to see Him. Or going about whatever work I will be doing for Him, in some distant land, wistfully thinking about Him.
My unglorified, finite mind simply cannot imagine a reality beyond this one, where my God is not only present but visible. A place where I won't ever be wistfully longing, unable to lay my head against my Savior's heart. It seems impossible for me to imagine.
But lately, a few fragments of scripture have been coming together in my mind. They seem to be pointing toward an answer to my hesitant questions. I desperately want to believe that my Father is patiently trying to show me, to coax me to believe what I hope I'm seeing there.
The first is, strangely, in the Book of Revelation. At the start of chapter 14, there is a brief paragraph about 144,000 people "who had been redeemed from the earth....They follow the Lamb wherever He goes. They were purchased from among mankind and offered as firstfruits to God and the Lamb" (Rev. 14:1-4).
I'm very hesitant to do much interpretation in Revelation, for many reasons. I do, however, try to read it the way I read the rest of the Bible: looking for how God is relating to His chosen people through Christ. And I'm reasonably sure that there have been many more redeemed from the earth than 144,000. The word "firstfruits" is really key here. Studying where it is used throughout the Bible leads me to believe that the number 144,000 is being used as a representative of all believers.
They follow Him wherever He goes.
That's the part that's been coming to mind. It seems to speak to this ache that I have, this-- I don't want to call it 'anxiety', but I can't think of a better word-- concern that maybe that reality isn't for me. What if I barely get to see Him in eternity, let alone walk and talk with Him?
But why would that ever be? Does that sound our Lord to you? It doesn't to me. If the whole Bible is rich with passages declaring God's desire for intense intimacy with His children, why would that desire end the moment we are fully with Him? It won't. That doesn't make sense.
But then, HOW? How will it be that each saint will get to be with our Lord FOREVER? We all crave this personal attention, this companionship, this heart-to-heart love. He literally built it into us, this feeling that we are made for one other, who understands us and loves us more than anyone else. Most of the time, our very physical need seeks fulfillment in other humans, particularly in romance and marriage. But that's only a shadow, not the real thing.
It's why Jesus said that there will be no marriage in heaven. We are all made for HIM. He is our One. And each of us, as impossible as it feels in this fallen existence, are His one.
Somehow, He wants each of us, all of us, as if we were the only person in the world. Somehow, each one of His people are the shepherd girl in Song of Songs, leaning on her Beloved. Somehow, each of us are the little tribe of Benjamin, the one the Lord loves resting between His shoulders. Somehow, we are all the beloved disciple, leaning on Jesus' breast.
I don't know how this is possible, but my whole heart cries out that it is somehow the case.
Another passage has been creeping into my thoughts and lending credence to this belief. I hadn't stopped to consider it until today, and when I did, I had to marvel again at the way the Holy Spirit opens Scripture: a little bit at a time, over an extended period, until He chooses to reveal the bigger picture. The Bible fits together, often in ways I don't expect. Every word speaks, and He often puts passages together in ways I never would think to do. It's so comforting to realize, over and over, that it is the Living Word of God, and that He will never stop speaking through it in new ways, to every part of our lives, in every season, in every trial, circumstance, to every feeling, hope, dream, pain, and joy.
Anyway, the passage. Whenever I start thinking about wanting to be hand in hand with Jesus, and getting a little discouraged with the limitations of my imagination, lately what comes to mind is the phrase "five hundred at once." I finally looked it up. It's in 1 Corinthians 15. Paul is writing about the resurrection of Christ, with what becomes obvious as the specific goal to talk about our own resurrection and glorification later. He says, "After that, He appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at the same time.." (15:6a).
I don't know why, but for some reason, I always just imagined a large crowd of people hanging around and Jesus appearing to them...much the way I keep imagining life after death, struggling to see Him over the heads of the crowd. (And oh, this is a theme throughout the Bible, too. Remember the diminutive Zaccheus? We might have trouble seeing Him, and think that we've missed our chance to be with Him. But He never fails to spot us, recognize us, call us by name, and invite us into His company. Whether we're sitting in a tree, or under it.)
But back to 1 Corinthians and my idea of an impenetrable crowd between me and Jesus That's not what Paul is saying. He wouldn't need to specify that they all saw Him at the same time if they were all together.
At the same time.
Maybe it's just the way Paul casually throws this statement into a book already dense and rich with theological concepts and truths about our life in Christ that are flashier, take up more of our thoughts, have more to do with our daily lives. Amidst all the other treasure, I missed it, the importance and tenderness of it. The personal, earnest care of our Shepherd, who leaves the ninety-nine to go after the one. And we are all, each of us, somehow, the one.
He was with each of them at the same moment...wherever they happened to be. At home, like His mother probably was. On the road, like the disciples headed to Emmaus. He was really physically there with all of them, one on one, exactly the way I am hoping to be some day.
As I let this miracle wash over me, the block in my imagination started to dissipate. I started thinking about the innumerable details that lay behind this small, simple statement. The details of over five hundred individual stories, each one cherished by the teller, told and retold, each one full of personal love and communication between one child of God and his or her Creator, Savior, and Friend.
How much time passed after Jesus returned to heaven before the saints began to understand what Jesus had done, the magnitude of all these individual visitations? Who first noticed these stories going around and began to tally them up? Did the apostles get everyone together and do a head count, or did they just add a name to their list whenever they came across another one?
I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me if some of the five hundred included each one of the people mentioned in the gospels who had some personal encounter with the Lord during His ministry. The woman at the well. The woman with an issue of blood, who crawled through a crowd to touch His robe. The couple at whose wedding He turned water into wine. The leper who turned back to thank Him. Joseph of Arimathea. The group of fellows who lowered their sick friend through a ceiling to get to Him. The many, many people He rescued from demonic possession.
This is a miracle that, like that of the loaves and fishes, kept giving. Slowly, over a period of time, it kept revealing itself to be greater, more mysterious, more precious than previously realized. Like the Bible. Like Christ. It's still giving.
Why don't we have any of those details? Didn't someone write them down? Probably this is one of those things that caused John to remark, in one of my favorite verses to consider, "And there are also many other things that Jesus did, which if they were written one by one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written." (John 21:25). And they don't really matter, because we ourselves will be supplying those details someday.
Remember "firstfruits"? One of those passages occurs just a few verses after Paul mentions the five hundred. 1 Corinthians 15:20-23 says, "But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. But each in turn: Christ, the firstfruits; then, when he comes, those who belong to him."
Those who belong to Him. We belong to Him. Let that thought comfort you today. No one takes better care of His possessions than Jesus.
At the close of that chapter (1 Cor. 15:48-54), Paul explains that we will be physically changed when Christ returns, whether we are alive or dead at that time. He says that we will "bear the image of the heavenly man."
John, too, in his first epistle, talks about this very physical transition: "Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is." (1 John 3:2)
This is another one of those passages that I've heard so many times, but never stopped to consider the implications. When we think about the process of sanctification in our lives, "becoming more like Christ," we're primarily thinking about the fruits of the Spirit. As we draw near to God and obey His commandments, we love more deeply, we find our joy in Him, we have peace amid the hardships on earth, we become more patient and gentle and good and meek and disciplined, and so on.
But we will also, quite literally, be like Him in a physical sense, the glorified Him, which means things like having the ability to pass through locked doors, calm storms, and appear to five hundred people at once. Clearly, the laws of earthly physics do not apply to the kinds of bodies we will have. If He could appear to five hundred of His beloveds at the same time on Earth, how much more so can He be with each of us at once in heaven? I suspect that this doesn't even scratch the surface of what will be possible with Him.
We know that Christ is our heavenly reward, our treasure stored up for us. So maybe it's time to start thinking of heaven as simply the very real, glorious state of walking hand in hand with Jesus, unceasingly, for eternity.
Oh, come quickly, Lord Jesus!
















