Home
Tonight my heart aches---not for myself, but for others whom I love who are weary and pressed down. I notice how, when circumstances crowd in and begin to weigh, they have the effect of compressing our spheres of consciousness to a single thought or belief which we hold absolutely. We retreat before the waves, like people deserted on a sandy spit at rising tide, until the water forces us to that one high place, that one bit of rock where we come to stand and in which we believe.
It need not be a hopeful belief. For some, I know, it is a belief that leads to despair. When pressed, a person may be forced to recall that the one belief they hold absolutely is their own utter worthlessness or guilt. That is a terrible belief, because it is part (but not all) of the truth.
Weariness drags at the heart; troubles confuse it; shame or the possibility of shame makes it bleed. Physical pain, too, adds its voice to the clamor of evil clicking and humming and whispering, until the sufferer wishes only to be released into sleep or death or anything, just so it stops.
I don't know what you do at times like this, gentle reader. For myself, it is one of two things. Either I begin at the beginning and tell myself the whole story of the Bible, or I unlock the place in my mind where my mental picture of Heaven lives. For the latter purpose, Revelation 21 has long been a favorite of favorite passages. It tells how the city of Jerusalem has the "glory of God" and a "radiance" like a rare jewel and is "clear as crystal." It tells about the bigness of the city wall and of its twelve gates and the twelve angels that guard the gates. And it tells how the foundations of the city are made of jewels, and the walls of jasper, and how each gate is made of a single pearl.
In another place Scripture explains that there is a rainbow around God's throne, and again in another one reads that the river of the water of life flows from that throne, "bright as crystal," and goes through the middle of the city street, and the tree of life is on either side of it, bearing twelve kinds of fruit every month, with healing leaves.
And this isn't all, for I have not mentioned the glassy sea, nor the lack of temple, nor the fact that the gates are never shut by day and there is no night there, nor the inscriptions on the twelve foundations and at the twelve gates, nor the twenty-four elders, not the streets of gold, which are "transparent as glass."
Don't you find it rather remarkable that God tells us so much about our home? It almost seems to me that He wants us to picture it, to try to imagine what it will be like to live there. Since I was a little girl, I've been doing that---trying to imagine.
One of my favorite pretends was that the bed of that river is all made of jewels instead of pebbles, but that they are soft and squishy like gummi bears, and don't hurt your feet. Another that I like to imagine is that there are flying horses (we know that there are at least a few horses in Heaven) of all colors and that you can ride about on them and have mock battles.
Another favorite idea is that the city is a sort of water-city, almost like Venice, with the river flowing through every street and those groves of trees of life giving shade all up and down them. I like to pretend that the twelve gates, each made of a single pearl, are hollowed-out pearls and that some of them at least are water-gates, so that you can float through the milky center of the pearl and into all that splendor of crystal and gold.
One of my dearest imaginings is that the streets, being transparent as glass, have huge moving murals painting underneath them which show all of the universe's history from God's perspective. By now of course I am beginning to be a little dazzled at it all: the transparency and shiningness, the white and gold and green and slap and rush of water, the singing and the throngs of laughing dancers, the delicate carvings, perhaps, and gorgeous dress of the people who live there, and all that blaze of jewels---sapphire, ruby, emerald, carnelian, lapis lazuli, diamond, topaz, amethyst---and the rainbow.
I am beginning to be overwhelmed, but I don't want to stop. So I go on, and now I see the palaces rising turret on turret. Now I see how at the top of the holy hill (is it a hill, I wonder?) there is no temple, but rather the Lord's throne. The glory of it humbles me to the dust (is there dust?) and exalts me to rapture. And then there is the Christ, and the Father, and the Holy Spirit....
Then I really do get dizzy. Then all at once, my heart is beating high for joy. Then I realize, that when everything presses down and in on me, and I must retreat to one place, that place is this: He is. That would be enough, but He is as Scripture says He is. That is more than enough for Scripture says He is the sum of all perfection, all delight.
Home is not even the city. Home is His heart, for which my soul longs. And that I can have here, now, on earth. Lovers call one another "Love" and "My heart" and "Darling" and so on; I have been much struck by their tendency to describe the beloved either as one's own other self or as love itself. God is not my other self, for He is utterly other than I am. But He is love itself, truly, and His being utterly other does not prevent Him from touching my soul more nearly than any human being ever could.
Welcome, heart's desire---darling love! Make Your home here, poor as it is, and I will make You this home's home.
It need not be a hopeful belief. For some, I know, it is a belief that leads to despair. When pressed, a person may be forced to recall that the one belief they hold absolutely is their own utter worthlessness or guilt. That is a terrible belief, because it is part (but not all) of the truth.
Weariness drags at the heart; troubles confuse it; shame or the possibility of shame makes it bleed. Physical pain, too, adds its voice to the clamor of evil clicking and humming and whispering, until the sufferer wishes only to be released into sleep or death or anything, just so it stops.
I don't know what you do at times like this, gentle reader. For myself, it is one of two things. Either I begin at the beginning and tell myself the whole story of the Bible, or I unlock the place in my mind where my mental picture of Heaven lives. For the latter purpose, Revelation 21 has long been a favorite of favorite passages. It tells how the city of Jerusalem has the "glory of God" and a "radiance" like a rare jewel and is "clear as crystal." It tells about the bigness of the city wall and of its twelve gates and the twelve angels that guard the gates. And it tells how the foundations of the city are made of jewels, and the walls of jasper, and how each gate is made of a single pearl.
In another place Scripture explains that there is a rainbow around God's throne, and again in another one reads that the river of the water of life flows from that throne, "bright as crystal," and goes through the middle of the city street, and the tree of life is on either side of it, bearing twelve kinds of fruit every month, with healing leaves.
And this isn't all, for I have not mentioned the glassy sea, nor the lack of temple, nor the fact that the gates are never shut by day and there is no night there, nor the inscriptions on the twelve foundations and at the twelve gates, nor the twenty-four elders, not the streets of gold, which are "transparent as glass."
Don't you find it rather remarkable that God tells us so much about our home? It almost seems to me that He wants us to picture it, to try to imagine what it will be like to live there. Since I was a little girl, I've been doing that---trying to imagine.
One of my favorite pretends was that the bed of that river is all made of jewels instead of pebbles, but that they are soft and squishy like gummi bears, and don't hurt your feet. Another that I like to imagine is that there are flying horses (we know that there are at least a few horses in Heaven) of all colors and that you can ride about on them and have mock battles.
Another favorite idea is that the city is a sort of water-city, almost like Venice, with the river flowing through every street and those groves of trees of life giving shade all up and down them. I like to pretend that the twelve gates, each made of a single pearl, are hollowed-out pearls and that some of them at least are water-gates, so that you can float through the milky center of the pearl and into all that splendor of crystal and gold.
One of my dearest imaginings is that the streets, being transparent as glass, have huge moving murals painting underneath them which show all of the universe's history from God's perspective. By now of course I am beginning to be a little dazzled at it all: the transparency and shiningness, the white and gold and green and slap and rush of water, the singing and the throngs of laughing dancers, the delicate carvings, perhaps, and gorgeous dress of the people who live there, and all that blaze of jewels---sapphire, ruby, emerald, carnelian, lapis lazuli, diamond, topaz, amethyst---and the rainbow.
I am beginning to be overwhelmed, but I don't want to stop. So I go on, and now I see the palaces rising turret on turret. Now I see how at the top of the holy hill (is it a hill, I wonder?) there is no temple, but rather the Lord's throne. The glory of it humbles me to the dust (is there dust?) and exalts me to rapture. And then there is the Christ, and the Father, and the Holy Spirit....
Then I really do get dizzy. Then all at once, my heart is beating high for joy. Then I realize, that when everything presses down and in on me, and I must retreat to one place, that place is this: He is. That would be enough, but He is as Scripture says He is. That is more than enough for Scripture says He is the sum of all perfection, all delight.
Home is not even the city. Home is His heart, for which my soul longs. And that I can have here, now, on earth. Lovers call one another "Love" and "My heart" and "Darling" and so on; I have been much struck by their tendency to describe the beloved either as one's own other self or as love itself. God is not my other self, for He is utterly other than I am. But He is love itself, truly, and His being utterly other does not prevent Him from touching my soul more nearly than any human being ever could.
Welcome, heart's desire---darling love! Make Your home here, poor as it is, and I will make You this home's home.
posted by Praelucor at 9:43 PM
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