Deconstructing Heaven — Our Bible App

Day 1 of 7: Deconstructing Heaven

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life.
Revelation 21:3-7 (NIV)
Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Psalm 23:4-6 (NIV)

“So, what’d you talk about in youth group tonight?”
My 12-year-old daughter let out an unintelligible grunt as she pulled the car door closed behind her.

“C’mon, what did you talk about?”
“I don’t know, just the end times.”

Sigh. Here it was—the first week of a new youth group. I had been hoping it would be at least a few weeks before I had to start the rapture/earth evacuation theology deconstruction work.

“So, what did she say about the end?”
“I don’t know; it was kinda scary.”
“It’s ok, what did she say.”

My daughter paused for a moment—deep breath. I could almost see her puzzled look from the back of my head.
“She said that Jesus was going to come back and burn the whole world up and turn it into hell.”

Palm to forehead. Looks like we have some work to do tonight.

That night, we read three chapters from the book of Revelation. Revelation 19-21, straight through—no pauses, no skipping verses. We read about the New Jerusalem coming down out of the clouds, descending to the Earth. We read about the old order of things passing away and a fresh infusion of newness into creation. We read that the dwelling place of God is now with humanity, not the other way around. And at the end of it all, she said, “So you mean, I’m standing in future-heaven right now?”

I nodded. “I’m not quite sure, but I think that’s what it might be saying.”

Imagine the implications of this kind of paradigm shift. If my ultimate hope is evacuation—soul ripped from body, carried off to a far-away ethereal paradise—then what is the point of anything I do in this life? Why care for a creation that is destined to burn or alleviate suffering among people whose eternal destiny is to become fuel for the fires of a terrifying hellscape?

But if I’m standing in “future heaven,” everything that happens here and now is significant. My concern for creation and the work I do to alleviate suffering, poverty, and loneliness has eternal significance. If my final state is both physical as well as spiritual, my emotions, desires, and passions are immediately infused with fresh eternal significance.

Our popular conceptions of heaven as a purely spiritual and distant realm are based more on the ancient Greek philosopher Plato and the fifth-century theologian Augustine than anything else. And while many people still view this imagery as the only legitimate depiction of heaven, a closer look at Scripture and tradition tells a different story, or (to be more precise) they allude to several different stories.

An honest look into what might lie beyond the unthinkable reveals varying and nuanced metaphors—seemingly contradictory imagery that is both beautiful and confusing. It will challenge us to rethink metaphors we used to understand as propositional, as well as propositions we once viewed as metaphors. We’ll end up slipping out of our former rock-solid certainty and then snicker at the narrowly defined categories with which we used to see the afterlife. In short, it will probably leave us with more questions than answers.

But that’s the beauty of deconstruction. We get to ask the questions. We are free to explore the options and then sit in the uncertainty of it all, considering its implications, rather than smothering it under the weight of pat Sunday School answers. And God might meet us in the uncertainty with a vague hope that goodness and mercy probably await us beyond the unthinkable. This vague hope, which has the power to infuse our here-and-now existence with a fresh jolt of cosmic purpose and eternal significance.

Think about your own ideas of the afterlife. As best as you know, where did they originate from? What about your understanding of eternity have you been uncomfortable with in the past? Are there elements of it that don’t make sense?

How have you witnessed someone’s view of the afterlife impact their decisions and actions right here and right now? How can certainty regarding the nature, or even the existence, of an afterlife be harmful or destructive? What practices can give you hope and comfort in the face of the unknown?

Jason Koon

Day 1 of 7: Deconstructing Heaven

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