Courage From Above: The Hope of Heaven as a Home with the Lord (2 Cor. 4:14, 5:6-9)

Chris Altrock – March 21, 2010

 

I just returned from traveling to my childhood home in New Mexico.  We drove 2,100 miles and saw every McDonalds, truck stop, and dead armadillo there was to see between Memphis and New Mexico.   Three years have passed since the last time I journeyed there with my kids.  Five years have passed since I journeyed there with Kendra.  But that stands in stark contrast to our travel habits when we first moved to Memphis in 1998.  Eleven years ago, we would travel back home every year, usually around Christmas.   It was a rare year when we didn’t get back home.  In fact, for the first couple of years after moving to Memphis, I was home-sick.  Each time we returned to Memphis after our Christmas sojourn to New Mexico, I would ache for my New Mexico home.  I would long to still be in New Mexico.  Just ask Kendra – I was a “grumpy Gus” to be around.  Yet now, we only occasionally travel to New Mexico.  While New Mexico remains my childhood home, more and more Memphis is my adult home.

 

And all this travel has led me to think a lot lately about the concept of home.  What is home?  Most of us, I think, would agree on one thing home is not: home is not merely a place.  Just because you have four walls and a roof doesn’t mean you have a home.  For example, I recall the day I arrived in Memphis in the summer of 1998.  Kendra and Jordan remained behind at my brother’s home in Oklahoma City.  They sent me ahead, like John the Baptist, to prepare their way.  And I spent that first night in Memphis alone in the house we had purchased during a previous visit.  But that house was not a home.  The power hadn’t been turned on yet, and it was July.  And the movers hadn’t arrived with any furniture.  I was so uncomfortable in that house that first night sleeping on the floor and sweating, that I finally got up in the middle of the night, drove to the church building on Highland Street, and spent the rest of the night on a couch in the Youth Mission.  That house looked like a home.  But it didn’t feel home.  Home is not merely a place.

 

If home was merely a place, then we’d have to take that place with us to feel at home wherever we were.  But we don’t do that.  Throughout our lives, many places become home.  Donnie and Bethany Stover’s baby has had a warm and comfortable home for nine months.  But he’s about to change homes.  He’s about to leave the only place he’s known and be thrust into a bright, cold, and sensory-overloading place we call earth.  It’ll take a while, but he’ll get used to it.  And soon, the room Bethany and Donnie have prepared will feel like his new home.  And for the next 18 years, that place will be home.  But eventually, he’ll move out and go to college.  He’ll live in a dorm room or rent an apartment with five other guys with moldy leftovers and smelly laundry.  For five or six years, that’ll be home.  At first, it will be strange.  He’ll be home-sick.  He’ll come back to Memphis every weekend.  But eventually, that college home will feel like his new home.  And then, he’ll graduate and move on to graduate school or to a full-time job.  He’ll lease a condo or rent an apartment or purchase a small two bedroom house.  And that will become home.  Then, maybe he’ll get married and they’ll buy a place together.  And that will become home.  And they’ll have a child, and the cycle will repeat itself.  Home’s not merely a place.  If it was, we wouldn’t be able to be at home in all these different places.

 

What then, is home?  It’s often attached to a place.  But you need more than the place.  You need something else, don’t you?  I’m going to suggest three words which I think summarize much of what makes a place a home.  [PP Home: familiarity, fun, family.]  First, home is often a place of familiarity.  For example, have you ever taken a vacation and at some point said, “I can’t wait to get home!”?  What did you mean?  You probably meant “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed,” or “I can’t wait to sit in my own chair.”  One of the things we miss most about home when we’re gone is its familiarity: the bed and pillow, the couch or easy chair.  Have you ever travelled out of the country and at some point said, “I can’t wait to get home!”?  What did you mean?  You may have meant, “I can’t wait to get back home where they drive on the right side of the road,” or “I can’t wait to eat some real food.”  What makes a place a home is often familiarity.

 

Second, home is often a place of fun.  For those of you who may have lived in a dorm or in an apartment in college, and you actually enjoyed the experience, what did you enjoy about it?  Most likely, you enjoyed the fun.  On some weekends you would actually choose to stay in the dorm or college apartment rather than trek back home.  Why?  Because you were having so much fun.  I lived in the college dorm of a state university for three years, and I experienced some very entertaining times.  Like the time the football team barged into my suitemate’s room (he was the physical trainer for the team), strapped him with rope to the mattress of his bed, and then set him and his mattress afloat on the small lake nearby.  And he was only wearing underwear.  In addition, many of you had homes before college which were filled with fun.  Your home was the house everyone wanted to be at.  There was always horseplay, silliness, laughter, and lots of fun.  What makes a place a home is often fun.

 

Third, home is often a place of family.  This component is probably the one that comes most quickly to mind.  Do you ever think wistfully about your childhood home?  What is it about that childhood home you miss the most?  It’s probably that sense of connection, of belonging.  For those of you who came from even semi-healthy families, what really made home “home” was that it was where those we loved the most lived.  And that’s why, if your family moved, you could always re-establish a new home.  For example, Kendra’s family moved a great deal, with her Dad being in the Army.  But each time, in each different location, they were able to make a new home, because for them, home was primarily a place of family.  Wherever the Army happened to move the family, that was home.  Home is often a place of family. 

 

We’re in the middle of a series about heaven. The series is based in Paul’s words in 2 Cor. 4:7-5:10.  It’s one of the most important texts about heaven in the Bible.  Joshua Ray has led us through two Sunday mornings in this text.  This morning, listen to the way in which Paul describes heaven as “home”: 14knowing that he who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into his presence…6So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, 7for we walk by faith, not by sight. 8Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. 9So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him. (2 Cor. 4:14; 5:6-9 ESV).  First, Paul establishes a timeline in vs. 14.  It goes like this: God raised Jesus from the dead, God will also raise us from the dead, and then God will bring us “into his presence.”  “Presence” here has varied meanings.  Among them is this: “to bring into one’s fellowship or intimacy.”  This makes sense when we listen to Paul use the word again in 2 Cor. 11:2: 2For I feel a divine jealousy for you, since I betrothed you to one husband, to present you as a pure virgin to Christ.  Paul envisions a day in the future when we, the church, will be presented to Jesus in the way a pure and chaste young woman is presented on the wedding day to her husband.  The same word is used in the same way by Paul in Eph. 5: 25 Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, 26that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, 27so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. Paul envisions a day in the future when we, the bride, will be presented to Jesus, the groom.  Back in 2 Cor. 4:14 Paul has the same scene in mind: God raised Jesus from the dead, God will also one day raise us from the dead, then he will present us, the chaste and pure bride, to Jesus, the groom.

 

That scene in vs. 14 prepares us for the rest of the text: 6So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, 7for we walk by faith, not by sight. 8Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. 9So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him. (2 Cor. 5:6-9 ESV).  Paul contrasts two “homes.”  First, there is the “home” we have right now: “at home in the body.”  Paul is referring to our present life, our pre-resurrection life.  Right now, that’s our home.  The problem with that home, however, is that it causes us to be “away from the Lord.”  Now, Jesus does say in Jn. 14:23 that through the Holy Spirit he is with us right now.   But in the deepest sense of the word, we are not “at home” with the Lord Jesus when we are “at home” in the body.  We are not present with Jesus right now the way a bride is present with the groom on the wedding day.  Right now, we are away from the Lord.  Thus Paul says that our lives are “by faith, not by sight.”  We don’t see the Lord Jesus.  We don’t hold the Lord Jesus, right now.  Our relationship is by faith, not sight. 

 

Yet there will come a time when we will be “away from the body” and “at home with the Lord.”  To be “away from the body” means to be resurrected from the dead, living in our new resurrection bodies.  And in those resurrection bodies we will be presented as a bride to the groom, Jesus.  And we will finally be “at home with the Lord.”

 

So, here’s the picture.  A groom and bride have endured a lengthy separation.  The bride has been forced to live abroad, to leave the country and to make a home elsewhere.  Each day the bride thinks fondly of her husband-to-be.  Each day she reads his letters and she writes her own letters, talking as it were, to her groom long-distance.  Each day she marks on a large wall calendar how many days are left until their wedding day.  And finally the day arrives.  She returns to her homeland and is face-to-face with her groom.  And they make a home together.

 

And what will that heavenly home be like?  I think it will be a place of familiarity.  Though we have never been there, it will be as if we have lived there all our lives.  David writes in Ps. 63:1: “O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you.”  He writes in Ps. 27:4, “One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple.”  All David can think about is being with God, seeing God, being at home with God.  That is our deepest longing in life.  It is so deep we may not be as aware as David was of its presence.  But when we, the bride, are presented to Jesus, the groom and we make our heavenly home with him, that deepest longing within us will be fulfilled.  His touch, his gaze, his place prepared for us will fit like the familiar pillow and mattress fit after arriving at home or like the familiar lips of a loved one after being gone for far too long.

 

It will be a place of fun.  Maybe joy would be the best word.  But “fun” also fits.  Think about the last wedding you attended.  Or think about your own wedding.  Weddings are filled with fun and joy.  Some of my fondest Memphis memories are of weddings and wedding receptions: one with a reception at the train station downtown, one with a reception at the Brooks museum, one in which the bride and groom wore pink Converse shoes.  A few months ago I attended the wedding of Clay Midyett and Sara.  The Midtown Church of Christ where the ceremony was held was festively decorated.  The place was packed.  And the reception was held at the Teton Trek, the home of the Grizzly Bears at the Memphis Zoo.  We gathered in a replica of a Yellowstone lodge and ate great food, sat in rocking chairs on large porches, and watched the animals and kids run around.  The groom even provided Gibson’s doughnuts with ice cold milk.  It was a ball!  All of that is also wrapped up in this image of our wedding day with Jesus and the new home we will make together with him in heaven.  It will be a place of fun.

 

And it will be a place of family.  Perhaps this is most important of all.  If you had a healthy home growing up filled with close connections, then for you heaven will be the ultimate experience of something you’ve experienced a little in this life.  If you had a healthy marriage, then that heavenly wedding will be the ultimate experience of something you’ve experienced some in this life.  But if you didn’t have a healthy home or a healthy marriage, then heaven will finally be that experience you never got to have.  What you most missed you’ll most find on that day.  It will be a place of family.

 

Some of us connect well with that idea, because we’ve become more and more aware of our own longing for God and Jesus.  One of the things we want most is to see God, to face Jesus, to be present with them.  We can feel it when we sing and worship.  We can sense it when we pray.

 

But not all of us are there.  Honestly, for some of us, the thought of being at home with Jesus doesn’t necessarily move our hearts.  Bill Hybels writes this:[1] I’ll never forget a Christian music instructor trying to get some of us junior high guys to behave in a music class. She finally said in exasperation, “You’d better start singing like I’m telling you to sing in this choir, because if you have any plans for going to heaven, that’s all we’re going to do there!” For a junior high kid, five or ten billion years in choir robes wasn’t my idea of a good time! You’ve heard all the harp stories, the pearly gates, the flowing robes, and you’ve probably thought heaven was about as exciting as spending your honeymoon in downtown Hammond [IN].  Not all of us jump for joy at the thought of heaven being a home with the Lord.

 

Let me address this.  In his book Heaven Randy Alcorn provides a helpful perspective.[2]  Think of some things you do take a great deal of joy in.  Maybe it’s your favorite meal.  Maybe it’s a good football game, a cozy fire, or an intriguing book.  Maybe it’s your children.  Maybe it’s your spouse.  Maybe it’s January snow or July rain.  Maybe it’s a vacation to the beach or a trip to Disney World.  Maybe it’s a beautiful sunset.  Alcorn argues that all of these joys are derivative.  These good things are gifts to us from God.  They derive from God.  And if we find great joy in the presence of these gifts, just imagine how much joy we will find in the presence of the giver!  In heaven we’ll experience the greater joy that comes by being with the giver of life’s greatest gifts.  Our groom Jesus is the one who’s supplied all these joy-giving things.  And if they make us excited, imagine how we will feel to finally be with the one who gave them.

 

In the Bible’s fullest description of heaven, at the end of Revelation, John is permitted to see this heavenly scene.  In Rev. 21:9 the angel describes the scene in this way: “Come, I will show you the Bride, the wife of the Lamb.”   It is a wedding scene.  Groom and bride finally united.  Groom and bride finally home.

 

And all of this helps explain the final verse in this morning’s text: So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him. (2 Cor. 5:9 ESV).  What will we be doing in heaven?  Paul says this: “ we make it our aim to please him.”  Now, there’s a lot involved in that phrase.  But the real focus of Paul’s words in 2 Cor 5 is relationship.  What will we do in heaven?  We’ll be “pleasing him.”  We, the bride, will be pleasing him, the groom.  Have you ever been in love?  I remember when Kendra and I first met.  We’d spend hours together—driving, walking, talking.  I am not a night person, but for those years of dating I was up so late so many nights I think I had sleep deprivation.  We’d get together and before we’d know it, hours would have passed.  Have you ever been in that kind of love—the kind where all that mattered was saying and doing things that pleased the other?  That’s heaven.  That’s home—an eternity in that kind of all-consuming and time-stopping love.

 

Pat Baily tells the story of her son and his wife leaving home for Florida to celebrate their wedding anniversary. [3]  Pat, the grandma, came over to watch the grandsons—Nate, 7, and Josh, 5.  They enjoyed a busy and energetic day.  Then, she writes: “At last, it was time for bed—bath time was over and the three of us were ready to sleep. Then, the phone rang. It was Brian and Becky, and the boys jumped up to chat. As each one took a turn talking with their mom and dad, the tears began to flow. Soon, they were both inconsolable. The whole situation had become too much. The boys were tired, their mom and dad were soooooo far away, and, as much as they love me, they wanted them.  When we finally got back to the bedroom, I tried to quiet them as best I could. Josh eventually fell asleep with his mouth wide open, still crying. Nate, being older, couldn’t stop thinking about his parents. He was like a record stuck in one spot, and he was wearing a groove so deep that I had no idea how to help him. Through the wailing, his shaking arms reached out to me, and his little voice spoke some very profound words: “Grandma, I’m homesick, and I am home. How can that be?”  I think that describes us.  We’re home, in the body.  But we’re homesick.  Because the one we love, the giver of all we enjoy, is soooo far away.  But one day all that will change.  One day we’ll all go home.  And we’ll be homesick no more.

 

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[1] Bill Hybels, “Your Ever After: Heaven,” Preaching Today, Tape 34.

[2] Randy Alcorn, Heaven (Tyndale, 2004): 177.

[3] Pat Bailey, Batavia, Illinois; TheChancel.com