10
Heavenly Minded
I will reject myopic, earthbound plans
and embrace grand, eternal destinies.
Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.
C. S. Lewis1
Mom’s end came fast. Her cancer diagnosis had come less than a year before, and now we were gathered with family and friends waiting with her in my parents’ living room. Waiting for death.
Hospice care is an odd thing. I’m sure generations before saw death and the nearness of it as normal. But to our Western world with all its hospitals and hideouts, bringing a soul into her home—the very center of her home—well, it just seems strange. And I was afraid.
My dad’s call came just ten days before we said good-bye. He asked me and my sister to come. We each threw whatever we thought we’d need in our bags, I drove to Missy’s house, and we were on the road within hours. We joked later that Missy had packed enough clothes for both of us to take a cruise, and I had enough books for us to read nonstop for a month. We were new at this.
And now a week later, we found ourselves in the middle of the strangest mix of sorrow, reunion, laughter, heartbreak, fear, and peace. This was death up closer than we’d ever seen it before, and it was intimidating. We rearranged furniture in the living room to accommodate Mom’s hospital bed, made dozens of calls, learned about saying good-bye from nurses and social workers, and even met with funeral directors before Mom was gone—a necessary task no one likes to talk about.
But there was a profound sense of hope as well. The house was overwhelmed with food that comforted our bodies and weary hearts almost as much as the kind souls who delivered it. We became hosts. As friends arrived, we helped them become comfortable with the foreboding shadow that had settled in the living room right beside Mom’s bed. Then we introduced them to this newfound and unexpected visitor—hope.
As we gathered around, praying and singing Mom’s favorite hymns, I was struck by how many of the familiar songs speak of heaven in their last verse. Although I’d heard these hymns most of my life, I’d never heard these heavenly verses.
The hope and sure confidence in these words moved me. They sounded as if those who’d penned them knew what they were talking about, and they helped me not to be afraid.
Then shall my latest breath whisper Thy praise;
This be the parting cry my heart shall raise;
This still its prayer shall be,
More love, O Christ, to Thee,
More love to Thee, more love to Thee!
Elizabeth P. Prentiss, “More Love to Thee”
Let goods and kindred go,
This mortal life also;
The body they may kill:
God’s truth abideth still;
His Kingdom is forever.
Martin Luther, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”
While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyelids close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.
Augustus M. Toplady, “Rock of Ages”
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I’ll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.
William Cowper, “There Is a Fountain”
And when my task on earth is done,
When, by Thy grace, the victory’s won,
E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee,
Since God through Jordan leadeth me.
Joseph H. Gilmore, “He Leadeth Me”
When was the last time you heard a sermon about death that wasn’t at a funeral? I’m not sure why we’ve become so estranged from heaven, but I believe living with the sober reality of both our mortality and the hope of eternity has the potential to fill our lives on earth with purpose, freedom, and joy!
Nearsighted Faith
I think perhaps the reason we’re so prone to neglect thoughts of eternity and heaven is because we’ve become spiritually nearsighted. Our hearts, and therefore our ambitions and plans, have ceased to see beyond what’s right in front of our short lives.
myopia—nearsightedness; lack of foresight or discernment2
myopic—nearsighted; shortsighted3
The glasses prescription for spiritual myopia is a submitted and humble heart. We put them on, and everything comes into focus. Our knowledge of this universe testifies to the glory of a brilliant Creator God. The large and small joys of life begin to instruct us in the ways of love. Our best efforts and even our worst failures serve to demonstrate our need for someone beyond ourselves to help us live good lives. And most importantly, we know this isn’t all there is.
Heavenly Minded
There’s an old saying, “Some people are so heavenly minded that they are of no earthly good.” It’s not meant to be a compliment. It arouses images of prissy piety and harsh judgment. Someone who spends so much time in religious pursuit that they’re obnoxiously ignorant of the “real world.” Maybe you’ve known someone like this. Sadly, the reputation of the body of Christ has been marred and often unfairly judged based on just such a person. There’s no question that “faith without works is dead” (James 2:20 NKJV). We must give more than lip service to the gospel.
But not to be heavenly minded is by default to be earthly minded. It’s one or the other. If we reject an eternal and heavenly perspective of success and purpose, we will embrace this world’s perspective, and our actions will follow. Fame, numbers, wealth, people’s approval, and so on will define the effectiveness of our efforts.
A popular quote by C. S. Lewis tells us, “Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither.” But what precedes it both informs the quote and gives us a practical understanding of what it means to be truly heavenly minded.
A continual looking forward to the eternal world is not (as some modern people think) a form of escapism or wishful thinking, but one of the things a Christian is meant to do. It does not mean that we are to leave the present world as it is. If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next. The Apostles themselves, who set on foot the conversion of the Roman Empire, the great men who built up the Middle Ages, the English Evangelicals who abolished the Slave Trade, all left their mark on Earth, precisely because their minds were occupied with Heaven. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither.4
Thirty Years
As we drove onto the campus of my alma mater, I had that disorienting feeling you get when you know you’ve been here before but hardly anything looks the same. I searched for familiar landmarks, but they were hidden among larger, newer buildings and even newer construction. Joe directed us to his dorm. These were my old stomping grounds, but my son knew his way around better than I did. We went around the circle and something began to feel familiar.
“Take your next right,” Joe said.
Jeff complied, and then I saw it.
“That’s my dorm! Number 27!”
It looked just the same! I toned down my enthusiasm, not wanting to rob Joe of his exciting new college experience with his mom’s trip down memory lane. But when we pulled up to Joe’s dorm, just two buildings over from his dear old mom’s, and walked in, I couldn’t help myself. The halls still looked the same. The pay phones had been replaced, but other than that (and the fact that we were in a male dorm) it was the fall of 1985! I could practically see the big hair and hear Amy Grant and Carmen in the halls (it was a Christian university). I held my tongue, as the memories poured from their vaults like a flood.
The next couple days were spent getting Joe settled and exploring the new face of my old campus. Since Jeff and I had gotten married while I was still in school, the town held many memories as well. We found some of our old haunts and continued to be amazed by all the memories.
We were also humbled as we considered God’s love and faithfulness through all that had happened in our lives over the last thirty years. Was it really thirty years ago?
As we drove away from town, my mind began to wander toward the future and the next thirty years. What might they look like? And then came the sobering thought, Would there be another thirty years to look back on one day? When we started our journey, we naively took the future decades for granted, but now we know better. While we plan to be around as long as we can, we’ve sat in too many hospital waiting rooms, attended too many funerals, and said good-bye to too many people to know for sure that we have three decades still ahead of us. And just in case we forget the reality of our mortality, our bodies are happy to remind us. These days they demand more attention, are pickier about what we eat and what we lift, and generally require less abuse and more rest. There’s no denying the finiteness of our days on this earth.
So teach us to number our days
that we may get a heart of wisdom. (Ps. 90:12)
We don’t know if we’ll even have tomorrow. Living with this reality isn’t morbid; it’s wise. And it focuses our minds and hearts on what we have been promised—eternity with God in heaven.
Fixed
In a world full of distractions and a life full of trials that demand our immediate attention, how are we to keep a heavenly mindset? I believe the answer is simple and hard at the same time. Here’s the simple part: “fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith” (Heb. 12:2 NASB). The hard part is figuring out how to keep this eternal focus.
In the Christian classic Your God Is Too Small, author J. B. Phillips asserts just that—our culture’s estimation of God is too small.
It is obviously impossible for an adult to worship the conception of God that exists in the mind of a child of Sunday-school age, unless he is prepared to deny his own experience of life. If, by a great effort of will, he does do this he will always be secretly afraid lest some new truth may expose the juvenility of his faith. And it will always be by such an effort that he either worships or serves a God who is really too small to command his adult loyalty and cooperation.5
Phillips goes on to explain how a “god” like this is unsatisfactory to a thinking culture.
Many men and women today are living, often with inner dissatisfaction, without any faith in God at all. This is not because they are particularly wicked or selfish or, as the old-fashioned would say, “godless,” but because they have not found with their adult minds a God big enough to “account for” life, big enough to “fit in with” the new scientific age, big enough to command their highest admiration and respect, and consequently their willing cooperation.6
Clearly, this is not the God of the Bible. But our efforts to make God relatable often make him too much like us. We are in danger of losing our awe with regard to the incarnation of God in Christ. Because we are no longer amazed, our estimations and expectations of God have shrunk. Timothy Keller describes this “minimizing” of God in his book Hidden Christmas:
In Jesus the ineffable, unapproachable God becomes a human being who can be known and loved. And, through faith, we can know this love.This does not stun us as much as it should.7
Keller then tells of hearing a conference speaker describe the majesty of Creator God:
If the distance between the Earth and the sun—ninety-three million miles—was no more than the thickness of a sheet of paper, then the distance from the Earth to the nearest star would be a stack of papers seventy feet high; the diameter of the Milky Way would be a stack of paper over three hundred miles high. Keep in mind that there are more galaxies in the universe than we can number. There are more, it seems, than dust specks in the air or grains of sand on the seashores. Now, if Jesus Christ holds all this together with just a word of his power (Heb. 1:3)—is he the kind of person you ask into your life to be your assistant?8
God is hardly an assistant. The author of Hebrews tells us “our God is a consuming fire.”
Therefore, let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire. (Heb. 12:28–29)
Reverence. Awe. Keller writes:
Anytime anyone drew near to God it was completely terrifying. God appears to Abraham as a smoking furnace, to Israel as a pillar of fire, to Job as a hurricane or tornado. When Moses asked to see the face of God, he was told it would kill him, that at best he could only get near God’s outskirts, his “back” (Exod. 33:18–23). When Moses came down off the mountain, his face was so bright with radiance that the people could not look at him (Exod. 34:29–30)—so great, so high and unapproachable is God.9
Protocol
The invitation came on official United States Naval Academy stationery. I could tell right away that this was something special, not like the other mail we’d received as parents of a midshipman. It was an invitation to an awards banquet for finalists in an ethics department essay competition. I remembered Josh briefly mentioning something about an essay he’d written and his professor’s request to enter it. It seemed he’d done well.
I was extremely proud of Josh’s attendance at the Naval Academy. Any mom would be, but when you homeschool there’s something especially affirming about your child’s accomplishments. I’ll be the first to confess to vicarious feelings of success! But I was superintimidated by the academy. They had a protocol for everything—where to walk, how to speak, who to speak to. Even though very little of this protocol applied to civilians, every time we visited Josh on the yard (USNA talk for campus), I felt nervous.
As the day of the banquet drew near, I checked and rechecked the invitation for time, dress, and details. The dress was business casual. Finally, the big day came. Jeff and I had taken our kids to his family’s river house for a few days and had just enough time to get home, freshen up, and get back on the road for the hour drive to the academy. Now something you need to know is that Jeff and I are very casual dressers. So when I read “business casual,” I thought his short-sleeve, collared shirt, khakis, and five o’clock shadow and my almost miniskirt, beach hair, and dressy slides would be just fine.
About twenty minutes into our trip, I remembered how detailed military protocol can be and almost panicked. “What if ‘business casual’ means something different in the military than it does in the civilian world?!” Sure enough, I googled military civilian dress protocol and up came a detailed dress chart for civilians attending military functions. We did not pass muster. Jeff was missing the required blazer, and I could only imagine his five o’clock shadow wasn’t up to code either. And my skirt was certainly too mini, my hair too beachy, and my slides too—well, just not right at all.
We considered stopping and making some quick clothing purchases, but it would make us late. I wrestled with my imminent embarrassment for a while but then decided we’d just try to sit near the back where we wouldn’t stand out.
When we finally arrived, Josh greeted us and led us to the table to check in. The woman manning the table found our name tags, smiled, and said “Congratulations!” Josh introduced us to a couple more people as we entered the ballroom and looked for a seat in back. They also congratulated us.
“Josh, why are these people congratulating us?” I asked.
Josh smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Because I won the essay contest. Surprise!”
I was so proud and excited for both Josh and me. Another homeschool mom notch!
“And we are sitting at the Naval Academy superintendent’s table!” said Josh.
My excitement and pride turned to quiet panic. So much for being inconspicuous.
Sure enough, we sat at the superintendent’s table. In the front of the room. And stood in front of the entire ballroom with Josh and the superintendent for pictures when he was given his award.
We survived, but it was an epic protocol failure.
As my story illustrates, protocol is still alive and well in the military. It’s worth considering why. Ultimately, the military retains protocol because it knows what is on the line—security, freedom, life, and death. Yes, sir. No, sir. This is how/what/when we do, sir. These simple responses reflect an understanding not only of protocol but also of rank, authority, and power, all necessary for security.
Culturally, we aren’t much for protocol. It seems stuffy and meaningless. We celebrate our freedom and dare anyone to tell us how we should dress, talk, or live our lives. Maybe in part our cultural distaste is understandable. When protocol becomes detached from what it represents—its meaning—and only serves people’s pride, it becomes useless. On the other hand, protocol can serve as a powerful reminder of vital truths.
Protocol is found throughout Scripture. God’s perfect holiness requires perfect righteousness. In order to approach him, one must be pure. The Jewish priests who represented the people before God would purify themselves before they entered the Holy of Holies. Even then, they would enter with bells and ropes tied around their ankles. If the bells went silent, the people would know that the priest had died before the presence of God, and they would drag him out with the rope.
Let’s sit with that a moment. It’s not the image of God we’re accustomed to hearing about. Remember Hebrews 12:29? “Let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.” As Keller reminded us, this is the God whose presence would kill even Moses, the man he himself had chosen.
Where religious pride has usurped meaningful traditions meant to symbolize and remind us of the unseen spiritual world, religious protocol loses its meaning. However, when in our modernity we dismiss tradition and protocol from our worship, we risk losing the awe and reverent fear of a holy God.
Jesus gave us the sacrament of communion to continually remind us of our sin and his holiness. When we receive communion, we have the opportunity to be awed once again by the perfect righteousness of God even as we are embraced by his love and grace in our imperfection. “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21).
Sin. This is the intersection where a perfect God meets our imperfect lives. The perfect fellowship of Eden is restored. Our inescapable imperfection paves the way for remembrance. At the foot of the cross that was necessary because of my sin, I am reminded of this great Creator God incarnated in flesh that drips the blood by which I’m cleansed. His perfect holiness and love inspire awe, reverence, intimacy, and joy.
It’s here, in the face of sin and death, where eternity begins to take hold of my heart and mind. And at an empty tomb, my eternal security is sealed.
Grand, Eternal Destinies
We must embrace the reality of our eternal lives and live with a long view of today. This switch in perspective has the power to take us from a life consumed with what we can see and know and cram into one short, frustrated lifetime to a life lived out of the potential to affect eternity every single day. Living with eternity in mind puts our temporal lives on earth into perspective and gives us the vision we need to live courageously as strangers on our journey home.10 It causes me to realize my actions today have eternal implications and to live like it.
When my life is consumed with myopic (shortsighted) earthbound plans and I fail to look to what’s eternal, I accept only the gifts that I call good. But when I take off the blinders and look with spiritual eyes, I can see the beauty in what otherwise I would consider bad. I can see hope in things that without Christ would crush me. I can see how he uses the trials and circumstances of my life to create eternal peace. And I can look at my loved ones and see beyond the challenges right in front of me.
I have to take the blinders off every day. Some days I forget and see only my and others’ failures and shortcomings. But when I remember we are created for eternity, I can see the potential and opportunity in conflicts. I can see the gospel’s relevance in the struggles. I’m okay with not knowing and waiting on God. Because if he’s willing to work out his good will for all eternity, then I can take the struggle, trial, and heartache. When my heart embraces this hope, I can grasp why there is trial, and James’s instructions to rejoice when trials come make sense.11
If it was just about the here and now—my comfort on this earth and building my own kingdom—life’s struggles would be the antithesis of my heart’s goals. But when I look at the cross and God’s kingdom, I know I could be a failure in the world’s eyes but a heroine in his.
It’s ironic. Keeping both our mortality and our eternity in focus actually brings a deeper sense of purpose to our living days. It frees us from the deceptive traps of living for temporary things—the kinds of things that don’t matter once we die. And it opens the doors to courageous choices, dreams, and pursuits that will live long after we have relocated from this world to the next. As Lewis said, our heavenly mindedness will enable us to leave our mark on this world.
God has a grand, eternal destiny for each of us. He has written an amazing story. No one ever before or ever after will have your story. May God give us eyes of faith and hope so that we can look at our days, weeks, months, and years with an eternal perspective.
I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?
Jesus (John 11:25–26)
QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION
How much do you think about heaven? Is doing so uncomfortable or hopeful? Why?
In your experience, how would you describe the connection between humility and a proper perspective of God?
How do you think being heavenly minded can increase your influence for good on earth?
How do you think numbering our days makes us wise?
What practical things can you do to keep focused on Jesus?
How has religious protocol and tradition influenced your faith for good or bad?
What inspires reverence and awe of God in you?
How might embracing an eternal perspective encourage you in your life on earth?