Heaven
Like the 1928 prayerbook, American Typewriter font or typeface was the best even though it doesn’t have slant, italics. You have to underline like in the old days. But wow look at that lower case g. g g g g g
What next? What’s next? Contemplating something I read online recently, asserting that all religion is based in our fear of death, our fear that death is finality unto oblivion, so we concoct religion as our defense, and require everybody to believe what we believe. When it comes to that, I'm a Steve Jobs enthusiast.
Anyway, two things come to mind, lex orandi lex credendi, no three, as central to the theology of our church. Come to think of it, there are four things, including that fourth, pre-Christian thing that always lingers too.
Here’s the “proper preface” for the Eucharistic Prayer in the burial office.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord; who rose victorious from the dead, and doth comfort us with the blessed hope of everlasting life; for to thy faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended; and when our mortal body doth lie in death, there is prepared for us a dwelling place eternal in the heavens.
If we’re looking for Christian theology, that’s fairly basic, right out of Jesus in the Gospel according to John.
Second, the rubric at BCP page 507,
The liturgy, therefore, is characterized by joy, in the certainty that "neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
The word “certainty” always bothers the hell out of me, somebody messed up letting the word “certainty” slip into an Anglican theological statement, which that rubric certainly is. Instead of “certainty” the word should be “faith” or “confidence” or, mindful of Hebrews 11:1, “conviction” or “assurance.” “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” But never certainty. We believe, but we do not know.
Here’s that third element of our theology, a petition in the prayers of the traditional language burial liturgy:
Give courage and faith to those who are bereaved, that they may have strength to meet the days ahead in the comfort of a reasonable and holy hope, in the joyful expectation of eternal life with those they love. Amen.
That is one of my favorite theological lines in the prayerbook. But it is — fraught — is the word. That is, unless it’s just empty words of comfort for mourners, which God forbid the church should be so heartlessly vacuous. Why fraught? Because it begs further theological development. The eternal life it has in mind is the notion of heaven as we conceive it, an aware and conscious realm of perfect bliss beyond this physical realm, into which one brings along feelings, memories, affections, relationships. And old cars. Fraught: suppose those whom John loves don’t want eternal life with John? (Hey, I just noticed the upper case J is as magical as the lower case g. J J J J J). Anyway, suppose those whom John loves are longing for eternal life with Sam, and for them eternal life with John would be hell, not heaven. I mean, just suppose. This militates for theological development of that third heaven concept that Paul mentions at 2Corinthians 12:2. If heaven is perfect satisfaction for everyone, there has to be a heaven for every soul. A different heaven for every soul. Anyone who thinks this is nonsense, which it indeed is, has not thought into the personal implications of theological assertions.
The fourth thing is a recollection from reading Plato’s Phaedo as a university freshman sixty-one years ago. Death of Socrates. My recall may be faulty, but contemplating his death sentence, Socrates reflects that death will be either total oblivion, or he will be able to have discussions with all the great minds of the ages; and that either will be better than suffering the fools of this earth. I think that’s pretty good.
What gets me onto this? It’s not some preoccupation with death. It’s hearing from a friend who recently spent a week without television. I thought, “how heavenly,” because generally I despise television, especially that it talks, makes noise, intrudes on my being. So I was thinking, "no TV?!!" that’s my definition of heaven.
No television.
No political fools or political ranting.
No evil, contemptible, greedy, detestable politicians-for-self regardless of cost to country and humanity.
No evil, contemptible, greedy, detestable politicians-for-self regardless of cost to country and humanity.
No certitudinous bigots, ranting with evil malice.
No hate. No hatred.
No obsession with who other people love or marry.
No spewing words like conservative and liberal.
Steamed lobster.
Oysters on half-shell.
Lamb shanks.
Malbec.
Chicken breast sandwiches on buttered white bread.
Collards. Okra. Tomatoes. Figs. Peaches. Berries.
Fried mullet.
Chocolate.
And the list goes on.
There will be MacBooks.
And that yellow 1951 Cadillac.
And that yellow 1951 Cadillac.
Eternal life with those I love: can I get back to you on that? I'm makin' a list and checkin' it twice.
Heaven: last night’s sunset was a foretaste.
W