Tag: afterlife

That Might Explain It

No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him. John 6:44

Recently I attended another high school reunion – our 55th. We have these gatherings every five years, but because of Covid the last one was four years ago. So, our much anticipated 50th ended up being 51 years after graduation.

Even in the four years since the last reunion, we had lost some classmates, and I don’t imagine we’ll get to the next reunion without losing more. The most recent loss was John, whose passing had shocked everyone – a sudden heart attack in the middle of his workout at the gym, and he was gone.

I thought surely by now my former classmates would be pondering their own mortality, the rapidly passing time, and whether or not there was anything awaiting them after this life. I fully expected numerous opportunities to share my faith in my resurrected Savior.

John’s “celebration of life” was an event attended by hundreds of people. Musicians played classical music, a choir sang “What a Wonderful World,” a soloist sang a Cat Stevens song, and for two hours people reminisced about John – his athleticism, his success in business, his philanthropy, his humor. Stories were shared about this wonderful, funny, successful, athletic, generous person – who has now left this world forever.

I listened for some hint of John’s faith, any mention of God, heaven, eternity, any shred of hope offered to the people there, all of whom will also leave this life very soon. But there was nothing – not even the generic mention of “a better place.”

At the reunion dinner that followed, people talked about how wonderful the service had been. All I remembered was a hollow performance. I tried to express my thoughts to my friend Laurie about the hope of life after death, but she adamantly insisted that by remembering John, in a sense, we’re keeping him alive. I was baffled that I seemed to be the only person wanting more than fading memories of me after I leave this world.

Laurie and I later encountered a couple of people we had known in our school days, who were just saying goodbye to another man I didn’t recognize. This man was unusually thin and frail and was breathing oxygen from a small tank. (I later learned he was in hospice care.) After he was out of earshot, one of the others said, “He asked me, ‘How’s your spiritual life?'” with an expression of amazement that said he thought that was the strangest thing anyone had ever asked him. (I was touched that he had dragged himself to the reunion for one last ditch effort to reach his former classmates before his own departure.)

Laurie laughed, “I’m glad he didn’t ask me!” Then she looked at me and added, “He should have asked Ann!”

The others looked at me curiously, and I responded, “As a matter of fact, the older I get, the more important those things are to me…”

But no one asked me to elaborate. The subject was changed quickly, and the conversation continued as if I had left the building.

During the other events of that weekend, I reconnected with former classmates with a growing awareness of how fleeting time is. The boys who had proudly flaunted their long hair in high school now have much less of it. One of my girlfriends has Parkinson’s. Several of “the girls” didn’t make it to St. Louis, either because of sudden health issues of their own or a health emergency involving their husbands. Some are now widowed. And of course, some we will never see again in this life.

How can they be so indifferent to the speed at which we are all careening towards eternity?

Generally speaking, with a couple of exceptions, which I’ll write about next time, I returned from the reunion feeling let down. And baffled that so many people in this stage of life seem to have no concern whatsoever about the future, even after seeing a classmate “in excellent health” be working out in the gym one moment and gone the next. (Where is John now???) Many had also seen an old friend about to leave this life who is perfectly at peace – God bless him. – but appeared unimpressed.

Back in Louisville, I met with my book group to discuss R. C. Sproul’s Chosen by God. I still struggle with the Calvinistic view that some of us are chosen, others aren’t. But it might be starting to make sense to me in light of recent experience. I’ve long known we can’t save ourselves by our own efforts; we’re saved through faith, not works. But is it true that we can’t even believe without God’s help? According to Ephesians, apparently yes.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.” Ephesians 2:8

Could it be that most of the people I encountered that weekend had no interest in thinking about God, because they were quite literally unable to? From all appearances, these people didn’t know Him – and didn’t care. Had I been looking into the faces of dead souls? And if they had no ability to even be interested in spiritual things, much less grasp them, that meant there was nothing I could have said to make them interested, unless the Lord Himself opened their minds.

That doctrine always puzzled me before, probably because I can’t imagine being indifferent to God – I have wanted to know Him for as long as I can remember. And as this life’s end is looming on the horizon, I can’t imagine not caring what comes next. But according to Sproul and others, we can’t even care without His help.

I’m still pondering these things, but for now, I have no other explanation.

Prayer: Lord, thank You for giving us the gift of salvation, even though none of us deserves it. Thank You for the gracious gift of faith which enables us to have this relationship with to You, the faith which drew us to You in the first place. Please open the hearts and minds of those we love. Draw them, as well, so that they, too, may find eternal life in You. And help us to be faithful witnesses, even in frustrating times. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Behind the Veil

Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed – in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. – I Corinthians 15:51-52

My mother once lamented that after a certain age, “it’s patch-patch-patch.” It does seem sometimes that the moment one problem is dealt with, another one crops up. I no longer wonder what old people do all day – they go to doctors, mostly “specialists.” They take supplements, do physical therapy, and research the latest treatment for whatever is ailing them on any given day. Not fun.

But I’m also spending my time reading, discussing, meditating on, and memorizing Scripture, and my thoughts often turn to the glorious future we (Christ-followers) have been promised. I look forward to having a new body, one without aches, pains, weakness, and sickness, that doesn’t get stressed and struggle to sleep. (Do people even sleep in heaven?)

Speaking of sleep, these thoughts have even entered my dreams.

Recently I dreamt I was walking on a city sidewalk, when suddenly I began to rise into the air. Looking around, I saw other people being raised up, too! It wasn’t a violent whoosh, like being sucked up by a giant vacuum cleaner, or slowly floating, like helium balloons. It was more like going up in an elevator – an invisible elevator.

As I looked around, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face reflected in the windows of one of the buildings. It was someone I hadn’t seen in many years …

It was ME – a twenty-year-old me! I only caught a momentary glimpse, but it was enough to thrill me – That person still exists! When I woke up, I concluded that I had dreamt about the Rapture, and that the moment my feet left the sidewalk, I had already received my new body.

A similar theme popped up in another dream, after learning that one of my high school classmates, Audrey – “Audie” – had passed away.

This time I was coming into a room where our class was gathered. The first person I saw was Audie! Startled, I wondered if the news I had received had been a mistake. Or was this a dream? I was seeing her so clearly that I asked, “This is real, isn’t it?” She just smiled at me mischievously, the way she used to in high school. In fact, she looked just the same as when we were in high school – dark brown hair, rosy cheeks, wearing a bright red t-shirt. She sure didn’t look like a ghost. I hugged her, she hugged me back. She sure didn’t feel like a ghost.

Next to Audie was a very tall, slender, elegant-looking woman, with white (or platinum blonde) hair and a silvery blue, shimmering dress. She had a slight smile on her face, and, like Audie, seemed just to be enjoying watching the party. I wondered why no one else was as excited and amazed as I was to see their classmate. – Was I the only one who saw her?

Then I noticed that the rest of the scene looked like a grainy old black and white movie.

In other words, Audie and her companion were more real than the rest of us.

“I suppose I should ask you what it’s like on the other side …” I thought out loud. The two just looked at each other and smiled, and I knew I wasn’t going to get any information out of them.

I don’t look to dreams for guidance. At best, they confirm what Scripture says. If my interpretation of a dream contradicts the Word of God, that dream should be ignored unless and until God gives me a better interpretation. But to me, these two dreams confirm what the Scripture from I Corinthians says – We will be changed, and when we are in our new bodies, we won’t be shadows or ghosts. We will be solid, living, breathing, hugging. Real – more real than we are now.

Yesterday I turned (gulp!) 72. If I had asked the much younger me what I expected life to be like at 72, I don’t think I would have imagined its being this interesting, exciting, and fun. Still, this body has its limitations, and I’m comforted knowing there are better things to come.

As I was getting out my Bible, I was thinking about how some have called it “God’s love letter to us.” With that in mind, I read from Song of Solomon. As I was reading chapter 4, the words of the Lover to his Beloved: “How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes behind your veil are like doves …” The word “veil” caught my attention. What follows is a lavish description of the woman the King’s beloved. Verse 3 repeats the phrase, “behind your veil.” In verse 7 the Lover declares, “All beautiful you are, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”

The Bible calls the Church “the Bride of Christ,” and describes a divine wedding that will take place at the end of the age. On that day the veil will be lifted, and as we behold Him face to face, we will be radiant, flawless.

So, if, like me, you feel like your veil has gotten a little rumpled lately, and the thought of being “flawless” makes you laugh (or cry), take heart. One day (maybe very soon) the veil of this earthly existence will be lifted, and we will be in our new bodies, free from everything that corrupts. Like the beauty that captured the heart of King Solomon – only better! – we will be the all-beautiful, flawless Bride of Christ.

But I’m guessing we won’t be looking at ourselves or one another. On that day we’ll only have eyes for our Bridegroom.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, as the world clings hopelessly to health, strength, youth, and beauty, all of which are fading away, we thank You that You have promised us new life in Your forever Kingdom, if we just trust in You. Help us to keep divine perspective as we await Your return for Your Bride. In Your name we pray. Amen.