Glimpses of the Heavenly Life'.

Next Part Glimpses of the Heavenly Life'. 2

Heaven's gates never open outward. Countless multitudes enter them, to look upon the glories within—but none come back to report to us what they have seen. We often wish we might look upon the beauty of the heavenly home to see what it is—but our wish cannot be granted. Only a thin veil separates heaven from earth—but that veil is impenetrable. No natural eye can see the things that are spiritual.

Once when the servant of Elisha was dismayed to find his master surrounded by a company of the enemy's soldiers, his eyes were opened and he saw an inner guard of horses and chariots of fire, round about Elisha. The angels were not summoned there that moment to impress the young man with his master's safety, nor was the vision he saw merely a vision, with no corresponding reality. His eyes were opened for a moment, that he might have a glimpse of what was always there unseen. If our eyes were opened to see spiritual things, a wonderful splendor would appear on every side.

Heaven lies about us, not only in our infancy—but always. Yet we cannot see it. All we can know of it is told us in words which are pictures only, revealings of heavenly things inearthly language. We could not understand any other language. The Incarnation was the divine effort, so to speak, to interpret God to men in words and acts which they could understand. The descriptions of heaven which we have in the Bible are efforts to give us in earthly language, some conception of the beauty, the glory, the blessedness, of the things and the experiences of heaven.

We need to train ourselves to think more of heaven. It is the home to which we are journeying, and our thoughts should often be upon it. We need its inspiration and uplifting in our life, When one is traveling toward his home on a dark night, when the road is long and he is weary, he gets courage and strength from the knowledge that in a little while he shall reach the place so dear to him, where his loved ones are. A clear confidence in our hearts that heaven is waiting for us at the end, would make us braver and stronger in all our earthly experiences of toil, care, disappointment, and sorrow. This that we call life is not life—it is but the way to life. The joys we have here, sweet as they may be, are but hints and beginnings of the full, perfect joys which await us. The attainments and achievements of our earthly experience, which are the fruit of so much toil, pain, and struggle are only the faint prophecies and promises of what we shall attain and achieve in the heavenly life.

We miss much if we do not have in our life here, the influence of the heavenly hope. We cannot see heaven as we move along in this world—but if it is a reality to our faith, we can feel it pull upon our hearts as we toil and struggle under our burdens. People tell us sometimes that there is no profit in thinking about heaven while we are on the earth. We would better give our attention to our duties here, than let our minds wander off among the stars. This is true in a sense. Gazing into heaven, trying to see what is within its veil, while we neglect the duties that wait for us every moment—is most unprofitable living. Yet while we do all our earthly tasks diligently and faithfully, we have a right to let our thoughts and affections fly away to the joys that are waiting for us. The vision will put new zest into our hearts for the hard, dull task-work which fills our hands. It assures us that our work and struggles here are not vain. In a little while we shall be through with all failure, all disappointment, all sorrow, and shall be at home where every promise shall be realized, where all weary sowing shall find its rich harvest, where every disappointment shall prove to have been a divine appointment.

An doctor advised a literary worker, who came to him for new glasses, to go out on her porch several times every day, and to look for five or ten minutes at the mountains which were always in view in the distance. "The far-away look," he said, "will rest your eyes after your long hours with manuscripts and proof sheets. This will be better for you than new glasses." The advice proved most wise. She could do her prosaic taskwork better after looking at something lofty and sublime. Just so, we need the far-away look to keep our spiritual life from losing its tone. We have so much to do with earthly things—that we almost forget sometimes that there is a heaven above us. Our work here is so strenuous, so unremitting, sometimes so hard—that we scarcely get time to read our Bible or to pray. The tendency is to gravitate more and more toward earthly levels. We need to think often of heaven to keep us in mind that there is a heaven.

There is a story of a man who in youth once found a gold coin on the street. Ever after, as he walked, he kept his eyes on the ground, looking for coins. He found one now and then—but he never saw the trees, the hills, the glorious landscapes, or the blue sky. The tendency of our absorbing business life, with its weary grind and struggle, is to hold our eyes ever on the dusty earth, causing us to miss the sight of the things that are above. Paul's counsel is that since we are raised together with Christ—we should seek the things that are above, where Christ is. A life which runs only along on the ground, with no elevation in it, no thought of heaven or of God, no vision of Christ, is unworthy of a child of God. We should get time every day, for a little while, at least, to think of God, to look into the face of Christ, and to gaze upon the heavenly hills.

The New Testament gives us many glimpses of the heavenly life. The closing chapters of Revelation contain a series of such glimpses. The seer had a vision of "a new heaven and a new earth." This probably does not mean that the earth and the heaven we now see are to be destroyed and a new earth and a new heaven created. Astronomers sometimes report seeing through their telescopes burning worlds, worlds passing through a fiery change. Probably they are not being destroyed—but only renewed, to come out of the fiery ordeal, at length, in new beauty. We may suppose that something like this is what is meant in this vision of a new earth—not created anew but cleansed, made pure and holy, all the marks of sin and sin's curse removed.

The golden age of the world is yet before us. There are some people who get so discouraged by the troubles in their lives and by the sin and moral failure about them, that they come to believe that all things are going to destruction. No; this is our Father's world. On this earth Christ died, and from one of its graves he rose again. This old battered globe is to be made new, and to be fashioned into imperishable beauty! Then it will be ready to be the home of redeemed and regenerated men. The work of Christ will not be a failure. The paradise of beauty which was lost through sin—is to be restored. The Bible begins with a garden of Eden, as the home of the unfallen man. It closes with a holy city, glorious and beautiful, the home of redeemed man. Between these two paradises comes a long story of sin, of failure, of sorrow, of struggle, of suffering—a story also of divine love and sacrifice, in the midst of which stands the cross of Christ. What we have in the closing chapters of the New Testament, is a vision of the completed kingdom of Christ, the home and the life to which we are looking forward—the old heaven and the outworn earth, made new.

Take another glimpse. "The SEA is no more." Why will there be no sea in the new earth? Is the sea a blot, a disfigurement, on the face of the earth? Would a sea on the new earth take away from its beauty? We talk about the grandeur of the sea. We can easily suggest its advantages, not only the physical benefits which the earth receives from it—but its commercial value. Why, is this description of the final home of man, is the absence of a sea named as one of the elements of its beauty and blessedness? No doubt the language issymbolic. The sea was a symbol of mystery. In ancient days men stood upon its shore, wondering what its waters covered, and what lay beyond it. They could not cross it in those times, and could only guess what was on the other side. Hence it stood for mystery.

Earth is full of mystery. But in heaven the sea is no more—there is no mystery. Here life is full of strange things which we cannot understand, questions which cannot be answered, providences in which we cannot find God's love, sorrows which stagger faith. Scarcely a day passes but we hear some one crying, "Why? and no one can give an answer. Why did God take away the young mother the other night and leave the helpless baby motherless? Why did he call suddenly from earth the strong man in the prime of his life, leaving his young widow to battle alone with the world, and without human help to provide for her children? We cannot answer. There is mystery everywhere. But in the life of heaven there will be no perplexities, no mysteries, no whys. The darkest providences of earth will then be clear. We shall see all unfinished things, all broken plans, worked out to completion and shall find love and beauty where all seemed mistake and even cruelty, when we had only part of the story before us. In another of the visions of the book of Revelation there is a sea—but it is a sea of glass, clear as crystal. There is no mystery in it. In the life of heaven there will be no obscurity, nothing uncertain, nothing hid, nothing to perplex.

The sea is always the symbol of storm and strife. It was dreaded in ancient times. Every reference in the Bible to the sea implies fear and danger. Even in modem times, while our wonderful scientific advances have given us a sort of mastery over it, making it a great highway between nations, the medium of commerce for the world, and while our ships traverse it continually, the sea is still wrathful in its power. Think of its cruel storms, of its wrecks, when ships are broken on its rocks, of the destructive energy that makes it terrible to those who are exposed to its fury. The sea, in this regard, too, is an emblem of life in this world, with its dangers, its cruelties, its storms and wrecks. But in heaven "the sea is no more." In the new earth, there will be no danger, nothing wild and terrible, no fierce storms, no wars, nothing to hurt or annoy. Here nature itself, with all its beauty and its gentle ministries, is full of tragic things—earthquakes, volcanic fires, cyclones, droughts, deserts, avalanches. But in the new earth, nature will be tamed, all its wildness and fury subdued to quietness, and, will be like a lamb in its gentleness and peacefulness.

The sea also suggests separation. Even now it is a great and seemingly impassable barrier when we want to get quickly to our friends who are beyond it, or when we want to bring them quickly to us. In ancient times, however, the sea seemed to make an altogether hopeless barrier of separation when it parted friends. John was exiled on the Isle of Patmos when he saw the visions of Revelation, while his friends and loved ones were far away. The sea that rolled about his little rocky island seemed to cut him off from them relentlessly and forever. There were no ships passing every day, or even every week, from country to country. In his exile there seemed no hope that he could ever see his friends again. We can imagine John, sitting on the cold rocks, homesick and lonely, looking yearningly in the direction of his home, though unable to go to it, and thinking of the sea as most cruel, in that it separated him hopelessly from all that were dear to his heart.

But in heaven "the sea is no more." Its waters are dried up. There will be nothing there to keep friends apart, or to hinder their closest and tenderest association. An aged Christian woman, alone now in the world, with most of hers in heaven, said to a friend, "If I thought I could go and speak to people I have known on earth, my friends and my loved ones, when I get to heaven, I would be willing to go tomorrow." She seemed to fear that heaven will be a strange place to newcomers, as when one coming from over the sea and arriving in a strange city, sees no familiar face, and meets no one he has ever met before, receives no welcome, and finds no love waiting. But this is not the way it will be in heaven. The moment you touch the edge of the blessed country you will be met by those who have gone before you, and will be welcomed home. "The sea is no more." In heaven there will be nothing to separate any one from those he loves. It is no shame to our hearts to confess that among the dearest things in heaven will be the friendships begun on earth and continued there. These will mean far more to us than the golden streets, the pearl gates, and all the splendors. One reason we want to go to heaven is to meet those we love who are there, and a great part of the anticipated joy of heaven is the expectation of meeting those who have grown dear to us, and whom we have lost awhile.

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