Glimpses of the Heavenly Life'. 2

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Heaven is a place of love, where all the scattered friendships of earth shall be gathered up, cleansed, enriched, purified, refined, and elevated, freed from all envies and jealousies, all narrowness and sordidness, and brought together in inseparable union. "The sea is no more."

Take another glimpse of the heavenly life. "He shall wipe away every tear from their eyes." Earth's comforts are very sweet when they are accepted and allowed to enter the heart—but the best comfort here is only partial, and is always incomplete. The sorrow remains even if we acquiesce most submissively in it. The friend comes not again, nor can we hope that he will come tomorrow, or next week, and the best we can do is to consent to give him up and to go on without him. Comfort does not take away the loneliness. We can never get quite used to doing without him, though we know he is with God. The sweetest friendships are shadowed, too, all along their days of gladness, by the knowledge that there must be a separation, by and by, and one of us must go on alone after that.

Earth's comfort, precious as it is, is not complete. It is only for a little while—and then another sorrow will come. But in heaven God will wipe away every tear. This means also that there will never be any other tears. For one thing, there will be no sorrow in heaven. "Death shall be no more." When we join hands with our loved ones there, we shall have no dread of ever being separated from them any more. The reunion with friends will wipe away the tears which separation from them caused. It will be a blessed moment when those who have been long apart, one here, one there, meet again. The gladness of the reunion will make them forget all the long years of separation. Their new fellowship will yield such joy, such bliss, such fullness of love, that the memory of the long loneliness and sorrow will be swallowed up.

But that is not all. On earth, the best friendships are marred ofttimes by faults, by infirmities, by imperfections in the life, and by rash words and unkindnesses. Not always are even our truest friends thoughtful; not always are they gentle. Somehow many of us go trampling with great iron-soled boots right through the gardens of tender hearts—treading down the delicate plants and flowers. We do not mean to grieve each other; we think we are exceptionally kind. Yet, ignorantly and unintentionally, we do things or we speak words which hurt and give pain. On the other hand, some of us are very sensitive and far too easily hurt by others. We misconstrue into rudeness, words and acts which were intended only to be playful. We misunderstand what our friends say or do, imputing a wrong motive when only love was meant. Thus it is, that many friendships never reach their best possibilities in this world.

It takes time, too, for most of us to grow to the best in our friendships. Love is a lesson to be learned. It is a long lesson, too, and it takes a great while to learn it. At the best here, in the whole of our life, however long, we just begin to understand how to love. But in heaven we shall come together, having learned the lesson perfectly, and shall find and realize friendship's richest possibilities. There are tears ofttimes in earth's truest, purest friendships—but when we meet in heaven, God will wipe away every tear. We shall never hurt nor grieve each other there.

Another way in which God will wipe away tears in heaven will be by revealing to us the blessings that come out of sorrow. Someone has been photographing a dried tear, as it appears under the microscope, and describes the exquisitely beautiful forms — ferns, crosses, dainty frost-work — that are hidden in it. Earth's tears are full of blessings for those who shed them, trusting in Christ and submitting to him. One of the most remarkable and suggestive visions which John saw in heaven, was of a great company that no man could number, gathered out of all nations, wearing white robes, with palms in their hands, singing a song of victory. "Who are these?" it was asked. The guide explained that these had come out of great tribulation. "Therefore are they before the throne of God; and they serve him day and night in his temple; and he who sits on the throne shall spread his tabernacle over them." That is, these bright ones, with the white robes and the palm branches, had not come as one might think from earth's sheltered places, where they had never known a pain or a care, where they had experienced only the sweetness of joy. They had come, rather, out of earth's great tribulations. Yet the hardness of their earthly experiences had not hurt them, had not dimmed the luster of their lives; rather they had grown in beauty, and their lives had become more and more radiant in the trials through which they had passed. The brightest glories of heaven, are for those who have suffered most in this world.

W. L. Watkinson tells of a flower-show in London, where all the flowers exhibited had been grown in the city. He says, "It is not much to grow splendid flowers in privileged places—in places where there is pure air, sweet light, silver dew; but think of growing palms and myrtles, roses and orchids, in dingy courts, in murky cellars, in poor back yards, on narrow window-sills, on the tiles, among chimney-pots, — think of growing prize blossoms in yellow fogs, stifling air, and amid the breath of the millions. No wonder the Queen went to see this exhibition; it was one of the most uplifting of shows, a splendid triumph over dark and hard conditions." So in John's vision, these noble saints, shining in white garments and bearing the symbols of battle and victory, had come, not out of ease and kindly circumstances, not out of experiences of luxury, from cozy homes, from favored spots and genial conditions; rather they had won their nobleness in hard lots, in fierce struggle, in sharp temptation, in bitter sorrow, in keen suffering.

Some of us grow impatient of our difficulties and hardships. We brood over them and come to think that we have not been fairly dealt with. Some of us resent our trials and think that God has not been kind, has not even been just with us. "I submit to you," wrote a young man the other day, "whether I have had a fair chance in life, whether God's dealing with me has been quite right and just." Then he told of certain trials and losses, certain bereavements and sorrows, certain disappointments and struggles which he had met, and then of certain wrongs and injustices he had suffered from those who ought to have been his friends. The story was one that drew out sympathy. But in the light of this heavenly vision all that had seemed so hard meant an opportunity for this young man to grow into manly strength and heroic character.

Those who have the battles and the trials, and overcome in them, shall wear white robes and carry palm brandies. They shall be among the victors at the last. Nothing noble is attained easily. The crowns of life, can be won only on the fields of struggle. Thus God wipes away tears in heaven by disclosing the rewards of sorrow, its outcome in nobler, purer, whiter life. "He shall wipe away every tear."

Take another glimpse of heaven. "I will give unto him who is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely." That means satisfying, the quenching of life's thirsts. In a sense our thirsts are satisfied when we receive Christ. We are invited to come to him and drink. One of the Beatitudes is for the unsatisfied. "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness; for they shall be filled." So thirst is a blessed experience. The man who has ceased to thirst has ceased to live and ceased to grow. To be satisfied is to have reached one's limit of growth, for after that, there is no longer any desire for more of life and blessing. Christian life in this world is full of thirsts, full of longings. It never reaches its best possibilities. However much of knowledge we have gained, if we are really living, we are ever eager to know more. The philosopher, after his lifetime of study and research, spoke of himself as but like a child, picking up a few bright pebbles on the shore, while the great deep sea still lay before him, unexplored. The thirst for knowledge is never satisfied. Nor is the thirst for love. Earthly love is very sweet. When it is ideal, it seems to leave nothing to be desired. But pure and deep as it is, there still are thirsts in the heart after we have experienced human love's richest and best. Even divine grace does not altogether in this life quench the soul's thirsts, nor satisfy its longings. We still have our cravings for more and more. We may drink at the fountain today, and go away rejoicing in the love of Christ—but tomorrow we shall thirst again. The more we know of Christ, the more we long to know of him. The fuller and sweeter our fellowship with him is, the more do we desire still fuller and sweeter communion. The more we take of Christ's life into our souls, the more do we desire to be filled with that life. From "some of self, and some of You," the longing grows until it is, "Less of self, and more of You." Still the yearning increases, as God's love fills the heart, and at last it is, "None of self, and all of You!" The writer of the old Psalm said he never would be satisfied in this world—but would be when he looked upon the face of God. "As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness; I shall be satisfied, when I awake with beholding your form." What the Psalmist knew about the after-life we cannot certainly tell. The Old Testament believers did not have the clear and full revealing of immortality that was made in the New Testament. Yet in some way, dim perhaps, as when one sees in a mirror darkly, he believed that one day he would look upon the face of God, and that then all his thirsts would be satisfied. We may say the same—some day we shall be satisfied. Every longing will be answered. We shall be filled with love, with joy, with peace. But it will not be in this world. When we see Christ face to face, and enter into the fullness of his joy, we shall be satisfied! Not here! Not here!

So heaven is to be a place of satisfaction. No need will be unsupplied. No want will be unsupplied. No craving will be unanswered. No thirst will be unfulfilled. The voice calls, "He who is athirst, let him of life freely." We do not begin to realize what this assurance of the heavenly life means. Satisfaction! Oh, it is a hungry word. It has gone through the ages finding no answer to its cry. There are many good people to whom this world has not ministered lavishly, has indeed ministered most scantily. There are some who have been bitterly disappointed in human love. They thought that they were getting bread, and it was only a stone! For promised tenderness and cherishing, they have had only neglect and wrong. Instead of plentiful providing, they have had poverty, perhaps sometimes hunger. Instead of kindness, they have had only cruelty. How these will enjoy heaven's satisfaction of loving! What heaven will mean to thousands who have had so little of human love here!

There are those to whom all of life has been only a disappointment, a failure, an alluring mirage fading into desert sands. They have gone through the world with empty hands. They have known little of joy or of comfort. Think what heaven will mean to earth's hungry ones, with its bread enough and to spare! "I shall be satisfied with beholding your form."

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