Hope Of Heaven And The Church’s Mission

My favorite character in John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress isn’t Christian, the main protagonist, but Hopeful, his steady companion. Bunyan’s allegory of the Christian life follows the twists and turns of Christian’s journey, from his spiritual awakening in the City of Destruction to his home in heaven, the Celestial City.

Christian is the one whose steps we’re meant to follow, but Hopeful is beside him on the way, reminding him of the truth of the gospel, building him up when his spirits are low, warning him when he’s tempted, holding him up when he’s weak, and keeping his eyes always on where they’re going.

My favorite scene is when the pair has finally reached the gates of the Celestial City, separated from it only by the rushing river that represents death. On the banks of this river, Christian is overwhelmed by doubt. As soon as they step into the water, he goes down. His feet can’t feel the bottom. He’s bobbing up and down, gasping for air. He’s utterly convinced he won’t be able to reach the other side.

But just as he’s losing his grip on hope, Hopeful is there, right next to him, guiding him all the way through. He assures Christian he can feel the bottom, though Christian cannot. He reminds Christian of the promises he’s struggling to remember. And he tells Christian what he can see of their destination, until once again Christian sees it for himself. Hopeful’s friendship carries Christian through the river and all the way home.

Bunyan’s vision of Christian friendship fits perfectly with how the author of Hebrews frames our mission in each other’s lives: “Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called ‘today,’ that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin” (3:12–13). The writer assumes we’re vulnerable to deception and unbelief. But he also assumes we’ll know that about one another, pay attention to each other’s lives, and be willing to guard each other against threats we may not see by ourselves.

There’s a whole world of hard conversations built into those simple verses. It’d be so much easier to pass the time talking about baseball than flagging danger, confronting sin, or facing up to someone else’s probing questions. But if we see one another as pilgrims together in a dangerous time, trudging through our wilderness like Israel before us, vulnerable on our own just as they were, we won’t be able to live with what silence might mean for the ones we love.

To make it to heaven, we all need friends to keep our eyes on the promise and to guard our hearts against any alternative in the meantime. That’s what a local church is for. It’s simply a group of Christian friends who promise to help each other follow Jesus from here to glory. Our goal in the church is to help each other make it across the river as we face whatever confronts us along the way.

Heavenly Perspective Kills Consumerism

Can you see what the perspective of heaven does to the consumerism that so often cripples local churches in America? In our church’s class for new members, I often compare what it is to board a cruise ship to what it is to join a crew team.

To make it to heaven, we all need friends to keep our eyes on the promise and to guard our hearts against any alternative.

If you’re thinking about boarding a cruise ship, you’re evaluating various benefits and services, doing your best to get the most bang for your buck. Is there a well-credentialed chef on board, and what are the options on each menu? How large are the rooms, how soft are the beds, and how many swimming pools are onboard? What are the entertainment options during the voyage, and will the ship be stopping in cities you want to visit? Your focus is on what you hope to get and whether the benefits outweigh the costs.

With a crew team, everything is different. What matters are your responsibilities, not your amenities. You’ll have an oar in your hands. This boat will rely on the strength of your back to get where it’s going. Your team will depend on you as you depend on them. What matters most is where you’re headed and how you’ll help each other get there.

In the consumeristic, choice-saturated culture where I live, it’s all too easy for us to approach our churches as if they were cruise ships. We scrutinize the services and amenities, and even after boarding we can stay in evaluation mode in case another ship comes along offering a better fit for a better price. We can turn our churches into yet another venue for living our best lives now.

The perspective of heaven is a precious gift to guard us against such worldliness. When we see our churches for where we’re headed and why we’re needed, we’ll know better. We’re not here for the amenities. We’re here on the mission given to us by the King who died and rose for us. Who cares whether the band plays our favorite songs in just the way we like them? Who cares whether there’s a climbing wall for our kids in the youth wing? Who cares whether we’re getting as much as we’re giving in our relationships? We’re not here to live our best lives now. We’re here to represent Jesus to each other and to make sure our friends make it across the river.

Heavenly Perspective Creates Community

I don’t know of a better text for perspective on the life of the local church than the prophecy of Isaiah 25:6–8. It begins as a picture of heaven and ends as a conversation among friends.

On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine, of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined. And he will swallow up on this mountain the covering that is cast over all peoples, the veil that is spread over all nations. He will swallow up death forever; and the LORD God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the LORD has spoken.

The world to come is like a party fully stocked and never-ending, where death itself is swallowed up in the feast. There will be no more tears because God will wipe them away himself, and there will be no more reason for crying again. It’s the prophecy behind the beautiful language of Revelation 21, at the center of our hope for a better world.

But look how Isaiah’s image of heaven concludes: “It will be said on that day, ‘Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us. This is the LORD; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation’” (Isa. 25:9).

It concludes with a conversation among friends who have waited together. We have waited for him. Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation. This day of celebration will be irreducibly communal because our hope in the meantime is communal too.

When I imagine the conversation of Isaiah 25, I think of specific people with whom I’ve shared life in my church. I think of my friend Eric, a dear and faithful brother who trusted the Lord through years of excruciating pain that made it impossible for him to work.

I think of Ms. Sue, who joined our church in the 1950s. She taught Sunday school for decades, discipled generations of women, and kept showing up, pulling her oxygen tank behind her, because she saw the day drawing near.

The world to come is like a party fully stocked and never-ending, where death itself is swallowed up in the feast.

I think of Mitchell and Amanda, who chose to have their first baby in a Central Asian city thousands of miles from their families and friends, hoping to share heaven’s joys with people whose names they don’t yet know.

I think of single friends who have waited on the Lord in their longing for a family. Of brothers in the fight against porn they love and hate—falling, rising, and fighting on in the hope of perfect holiness to come. Of friends who have suffered inexplicable depression and anxiety, who hate the way they feel but have forged ahead under the clouds, watching, praying, and longing for the day when there will be no more sorrow or pain.

I think of my church’s membership directory, where every smiling face belongs to a personal story of sin and salvation, of joy and sorrow, of suffering, hope, and groaning for the world to come. And as we share our life together now, I’m thinking of the day when Jesus will return, and we’ll say to each other, with knowing looks and hearts full of joy, “This is the Lord! We have waited for him together, and he’s here! Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”

Our mission in the church is to hold out the hope of that day so we can share in its joy with a multitude from every tribe and tongue and nation.