Eternal Community

My seven-year-old came home from church on Sunday with lots of new information about heaven. He told us he knew just what heaven was going to look like — gold streets, gates made out of pearls, no sun, no ocean. In fact, he was pretty accurate. Kudos to our friend Joy McDonald who teaches his small group.

One thing my little Bible scholar didn't mention, however, was heroes of our faith who would be there. Peter and John, Paul and Barnabas, Moses, David, Joseph, Abraham — it seems none of them were in his lesson about heaven. Doesn't that seem like a significant omission? Wouldn't you expect any description of heaven to include some mention of its inhabitants?

Imagine you're writing the heaven scene for a Hollywood production — the resolution where all the great men and women of the story are saying good-bye, or possibly hello, forever. Think of Luke and Han getting their medals from Princess Leah. Think of the newly-crowned Aragorn and Arwen kneeling with Gandalf and Legolas and all the others to honor the unlikely hobbit heroes.Think of Arthur and Lancelot and Galahad taking their seats at the round table. If you're writing these scenes, you include each hero. You appreciate each victory and each scar. This is their moment. They are the resolution. They are the characters who endure.

There is Legolas with his bow and Aragorn with his crown. There is little Frodo with his bare feet and his heart of gold. There is Gandalf in his beard and gown and wry, knowing grin. There is Chewbacca growling and Gimli glowering and Indiana with his whip and Forrest with his blissful smile and Atticus with his law books and William Wallace in face paint and Huck and Jim on their raft and a shirtless, bloody Rocky still wearing gloves.

But when John gave us the clearest glimpse of heaven ever recorded, he didn't write the scene that way. His Revelation isn't a Hebrews 11-style parade of who's who. In fact, there are no names mentioned, only a faceless multitude of worshippers. Even those smaller groups who are described in detail aren't identified. The four creatures and the 24 elders aren't named. Are they patriarchs and apostles? Angels? We aren't told.

What we are told is what those unnamed heroes are doing — worshipping. The glory of the One who sits on the throne so overshadows the heroism of any of our stories that John can concentrate on nothing else.

But there's another lesson here besides our relative dullness in the presence of God. In Revelation as in Acts, we common creatures have all things in community. Scot McKnight says of Revelation, "Alongside such visions, of course, is the obvious: humans themselves are joined in fellowship with one another. One is not treated to a blow-by-blow account of 'who sits where' and 'who gets to sit next to whom,' which was the foolish question of James and John. Instead, eternity is so corporate that individuals simply are unrecognized…"

The worshipping throng is so healed of its self-consciousness, so united in humility, so unconcerned with any sort of hierarchy that even the greatest heroes among them blend into the crowd.

I expect (and don't ask me to prove this) that we'll know David and Peter and all the rest when we get to heaven. I hope to spend many a sunset dinner listening to their stories. But I'm also grateful that heaven won't be an eternal episode of The Apprentice, jockeying for attention from the Big Guy. We will be equal with our heroes, not in elevated honor, but in unified humility before the throne which, my son will tell you, has a rainbow around it.

Unity and equity. Worship and joy. I'm so glad my seven-year-old is giving me a clearer picture of heaven.