Asking For a Friend - What Actually Happens in Heaven?

Luke 23:39-43

One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” 

But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” 

Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

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We don’t talk much about heaven. And when we do, it’s not with much substance — like that old Norman Greenbaum song: the place we go when we die, the place that’s “the best.” as if heaven were some never-ending worship service in the sky. Some ask the question why talk about heaven at all?

The argument goes: “Why waste time on heaven when there’s so much work to do here on earth? Doesn’t talk of heaven distract us from fixing what’s broken now?” And that feels like a fair point. Why talk about heaven today when two children were killed this week while praying in pews at a church in Minnesota? Shouldn’t we be advocating for gun reform and better access to mental health care? Of course we should.

But thinking about heaven doesn’t have to be an escape hatch from the world’s pain. It isn’t wishful thinking or some bribe for good behavior. Rather, how are we to make things on earth as they are in heaven if we don’t have the slightest idea what heaven is like?

C.S. Lewis once wrote: “Aim at heaven and you’ll get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you’ll get neither.”

So it is worth our time, especially today, to ask what really happens in heaven — to have a picture vivid enough to stir us. Because maybe, just maybe, with a stronger and more compelling image of heaven, we can make this earth resemble it more, and less the kind of place where parents are afraid to send their children to school.

But first, let me free us of two things.

First, heaven is not a never-ending worship service. Could you imagine showing up only to find yourself stuck in an endless 1st or 2nd service — refrains on repeat, blaring organ music, the same prayers over and over? That's not what I want to do for eternity! Surely there are better ways to be with God.

Second, much of Christian tradition describes our final fulfillment as the beatific vision—seeing God face to face, fully and directly, instead of through the symbols and metaphors we cling to now. 

But until then, all we really have are symbols, theological concepts, and imagery: the golden streets, the white robes, the river of life, the crowns of glory. They’re not literal blueprints of the place; they’re faithful attempts to describe the indescribable, whether they come from the Bible or the best theologians.

Which means we’re free. Free to use Scripture, tradition, and our own lives to imagine heaven faithfully. We should take our own reverent best guess at what it might be like. And that’s what I want to do with you today, my reverent best guess at what happens in heaven through four images.

Josh Noem, a Catholic writer and baseball lover deserves credit for the inspiration of this idea. He made a post that went viral with the caption “I collect images of walk-off home run hitters rounding third because they are an image of heaven.”

On a Sunday in August seven years ago, a rookie named David Bote stepped into the batter’s box for the Chicago Cubs. The Cubs were down by three. Bases loaded. Two outs. Two strikes. And then — on the fifth pitch — Bote crushed a ball to center field. A walk-off grand slam.

That night, the Cubs released a photo of Bote rounding third and heading home. You can see the ecstasy on his teammates’ faces, the sheer joy of his coach, the wild cheering of fans — even Bill Murray was crying in the stands.

I think heaven begins like that. The saints who have gone before us surround you, waiting to embrace you. You will be one of the saints waiting to embrace others! The multitude too great to count, like Revelation describes, erupts in cheers. And at the end of it all, God — like that third-base coach — looks you in the eye and says, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

It’s Jesus who hit the home run. But we get to round the bases and go home. And when we do, there will be celebration.

If the first thing in heaven is celebration, then the second is healing.

Bandaids are a big deal in my house right now. Every time someone gets a boo-boo, my son Clive thinks we need a bandaid — the dog included. Stubbed toe, scraped knee, headache, doesn’t matter: everything and everyone gets a bandaid.

But there are no bandaids in heaven.  From the prophet Isaiah to the vision in Revelation, one of Scripture’s clearest promises about heaven is that God will wipe away every tear, 

that there will be no more pain, no more suffering. Paul says in 1 Corinthians that our bodies will be raised — the same bodies, but transformed. The hurts, the failures, the agony we carry will be changed into glory.

And if Jesus’ resurrection is any sign, we will still bear our scars in heaven — they’ll still mark our story — but they will no longer hurt us. And the same is true, not only for us, but for all living things, in fact all of creation. Isn’t that what we all hope for? Healing for ourselves, for our loved ones, for all creation.

In heaven, there will be no bandaids. And because there will be no wounds left to cover and healing will be complete, there will be no need for hope either.

After we celebrate and heal, we feast! yes – there will be eating in heaven… I was concerned. But not just any meal, a feast. One of the most beautiful pictures of this comes from the story Babette’s Feast. Babette, a refugee from Paris, lands in a nowhere Norwegian town where she is taken in by two devout Lutheran sisters. Their father had been the pastor of the village’s only church, but since his death, the congregation had withered, burdened by grudges and old conflicts. 

For what would have been his 100th birthday, Babette offers to prepare a great feast. What begins as a stiff, awkward gathering soon becomes something altogether different. 

As the wine is poured and the rich food is savored, something more than good cooking is at work: hearts begin to soften, laughter replaces suspicion, and forgiveness flows as freely as the wine. What seemed impossible at the beginning of the meal—reconciliation— happened, 

all by the time dessert was served.

There will be feasting in heaven and I think it will be like this feast. As Isaiah envisions, we will sit at the table with those with whom we’ve been estranged, even those we never imagined we could forgive—or be forgiven by. It will not happen in an instant. But as the feast unfolds, course by course, grace will work on us. Understanding will deepen. Forgiveness will be given and received. 

And by the time the great banquet reaches its end, all will be reconciled—fully, finally, and joyfully.

I know I haven’t answered all the questions: When do we go to heaven? Is it right away, or do we sleep first? What about our relationships — will they change? Will I still have to… you know poop!… since there will be all this feasting? There are more questions than I can count.

But here’s the promise I hold onto when the questions overwhelm me: fishing in paradise.

Of all the images, metaphors, and concepts we have, the clearest promise comes from Jesus’ words to the thief on the cross: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” That promise isn’t just for one person, or one moment. It’s for you, for me, for every sinner who has been crucified by their sin and raised to new life in Christ.

I believe, then, what happens in heaven is this: it’s you, and you, and you, and me, and Jesus will be there too. We’ll learn, we’ll grow, and grace will continue to work on us, until, like that John Prine song says, we forgive each other — over and over, until we both turn blue. And then, maybe, we’ll whistle and go fishing in heaven. We will live together in harmony, all of us, all creation, with Jesus in paradise.

You see, when it comes to paradise (heaven) it’s not the questions that really matter, but the promises. And the perfect promise is “today you will be with me in paradise”. 

And that promise is better than any reverent best guess we can come up with.

If only we celebrated each other now, if we worked toward healing now — for our neighbors, for our world, for ourselves — 

if we sought reconciliation today rather than waiting, then perhaps what we hope happens in heaven could happen right here on earth. 

Maybe then we wouldn’t be so afraid to send our children to school because earth would be like those images, those promises we have of heaven.

As you leave today, these images are laid out in the welcome area. Take the one you need for the week ahead — the one that encourages you, challenges you, or comforts you. 

Let it be the image that inspires you to make earth a little more like heaven.

Amen.

Asking for a Friend - Do Churches change the meaning of Scripture to fit what they want it to say?

John 1:1-4, 14-18

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ ”)

From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is the only Son, himself God, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.

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We’re in week three of this series: Asking for a Friend. Real Questions. Honest Faith. We gathered your questions and promised to answer them faithfully. This week: “Do churches or denominations change the meaning of the Bible to fit what they want it to say?”

It’s a timely question. Just this week, I saw too many stories and news clips about a pastor in Idaho saying things like: women shouldn’t vote, “godly women are designed to make sandwiches,”

and that Southern slave owners weren’t sinning because their relationships with enslaved people were based on “mutual affection and confidence.” Doug Wilson, the pastor who said those awful things, believes they are gospel truth because he thinks he has Scripture to back it up.

Like Titus 2:5 which says: young women should be “good managers of the household, kind, and submissive to their husbands, so that the word of God may not be discredited.” Or Ephesians 6:5: “Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ.”

If we don’t agree with him, he’d probably say we’ve changed the meaning of the Bible to fit what we want it to say. Anyone who believes there’s only one correct meaning of a text would say the same. Disagree, and you’re wrong. But here’s the thing: there isn’t just one correct meaning.

For too long, we’ve treated the Bible like a locked box, hunting for the interpretive key to the writer’s original intent. But words are more complicated than that. They carry layers of meaning, history and emotion. Most communication holds more than one meaning.

So No, we don’t change the meaning of the Bible—because there isn’t just one. We interpret it. We ask: what does this mean for us here, now, in our lives? Sure, some twist Scripture for personal gain. Paula White, for instance, claimed John 11:44 meant people should give her $1,144 to receive a prayer cloth that could possibly bring them miracles.

Others accuse us of twisting Scripture to justify our welcome of LGBTQ+ siblings, as a way of attracting more people. Truthfully, if that were our aim, we wouldn’t offer such a bold, hospitable welcome.

We are the only church in this county to do it—and we do it because the Word of God calls us to, not as a marketing ploy.

If we are following the 8th commandment (of not bearing false witness) and interpreting our neighbors’ actions in the best light, we’d say most people interpret Scripture in search of the Truth with a capital T. The real question we want answered is: whose interpretation is right? Whose is wrong? And why?

Seminary students spend three years wrestling with this. Some pastors and theologians spend their whole lives. And you want me to answer it in 10 or 12 minutes? Sure.A small caveat, I am answering from a Lutheran perspective because it is what I know. That is not to say it’s the most right, though I do think it’s pretty useful. There are surely other ways to interpret Scripture that are insightful and faithful.

But as Pastor Mark said last week, you asked me, sorta, so this is what you get. And so much more could be said, so this is not exhaustive by any means, but it’s a start.

As Lutherans, we can’t talk about interpretation without first talking about what the Word of God is. And you might think, well it’s just the Bible, that's the Word of God. Well not exactly. First and foremost, the Word of God is Jesus. John says, “The Word became flesh and lived among us.” It’s not a book that became flesh—it’s God in Christ. Jesus is the Word. What this means is that we see and understand God most through and because of Jesus.

Second, the Word is proclaimed. After the Word became flesh, lived among us, died, and rose, the story could not be contained. People shared it, again and again—witnessing, preaching, proclaiming Christ. Through that proclamation, we encounter Jesus. We hope that’s what happens here on Sundays…

That you encounter Jesus through this preaching and that it confronts us, transforms us, and pushes out into the world holding onto the promises God makes to us.

And then Third, the Word is the written Word—the Bible—because and insofar as it points us to Jesus. The whole Bible, as one story, reveals Christ. Some parts though point more clearly: the gospels, Jesus’ teachings, his death and resurrection, and for Luther, the book of Romans. These show most vividly what Christ’s life and death mean for us.

Other passages, like Titus 2:5 urging women to be submissive, reflect cultural norms more than the gospel’s promise of oneness and equality, proclaimed most boldly in Galatians 3:28. How can we say this? Jesus lifted up the role of women. He taught unity, servitude, placing others before ourselves—but never that women must submit. These messages echo far more deeply than cultural instructions ever could.

But someone might ask, how can one Scripture matter more than another if all Scripture is inspired by God, as that passage from 2 Timothy says plainly: “All scripture is inspired by God”? I’m not disagreeing with that. But Scripture points us to Jesus. We don’t worship the Bible. We worship Christ. Sometimes I fear we get that confused.

The Bible is a tool, a means by which the Holy Spirit shows us God’s love revealed in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. And when we see that, it changes us. It transforms us. It shapes how we live. What matters most in interpreting Scripture isn’t only what it means. Yes, understanding the original intent matters. But what matters most isn’t just what the Bible means, but what the Bible does.

The Word of God does something to you, to us. When we hear it, when we read it together, when we listen to it proclaimed, the Holy Spirit is at work through that Word. After all it is a living and active Word, not just ink on a page. it calls us, moves us, and shapes us, so much so that we live differently because of it.

Take for example that passage from Exodus: You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien. If you are an immigrant or refugee, that word is certainly good news because it shows how God longs for their care and well-being in every time and place. It must give comfort and hope to the desperate migrants in search of safety for themselves and their families. But it also confronts those who see no problem with the rhetoric and policies that harm them.

And it should move those of us—like me—who have done nothing, who have simply shaken our heads and said, “How terrible,” without stepping forward to help our immigrant siblings. The Word meets us here, calling us to act, to love, to bear witness to God’s justice.

You’ve heard it said that people can make the Bible say whatever they want it to say. And that’s true.

But I am more interested in what the Bible, what the Word of God makes one do. So if the meaning you find in the text doesn’t make you afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted,

if it doesn’t widen the bounds of your love,

if it doesn’t encourage unity, or extend forgiveness, or move you toward repentance,

and offer grace with no strings attached, then find a different, more Christ like meaning.

Because the way we interpret scripture is by reading all of it through the lens of Jesus Christ, through whom we all have received grace upon grace.

And that’s the gospel truth.

Amen.