Letters From Home

If you were pressed to keep one book of the Bible at the expense of all the others, which book would you choose? Would you opt for the lyrical heights and emotional depths of the Psalms? Or might you lean more towards the theological riches found within Romans or Hebrews?

An interesting question, is it not? While all of God’s word is just that, His word, it nonetheless remains true that some books reveal more about Him than others. We know more about God and His character after having read Ephesians than if we only ever had access to Genesis. And as such, some books endear themselves to us more than the rest.

For example, the gruesome butchery of animal sacrifices and painstaking precision of law in Leviticus is of the utmost importance in our understanding of God’s holiness. However, the need for atonement in light of God’s righteousness as revealed in Leviticus is made only the clearer when stood up against a book like Hebrews. Both Leviticus and Hebrews are equally the word of the Lord, but Hebrews represents the fullness of God’s revelation through Jesus Christ and His finished work on the cross, and in that way, I find it only reasonable that we gravitate more towards the final word on the matter—a reality that Leviticus dimly, though still accurately, points to.

So while we should make it a regular practice of reading through the entirety of God’s revelation to us in the Bible, I do not think it wrong by any means to admit that some books hold a particular sway over our heart.

And if I had to live out the rest of my days with only one book from God’s word, I for my part would pick the Gospel of John. Indeed, the Lord walks mightily among the pages of John’s Gospel. “In the rustling grass” of those 21 chapters, “I hear Him pass, He speaks to me everywhere.” And if I were further pressed to pick only a few chapters from the Gospel of John at the exclusion of the rest, my heart would have to settle on chapters 13 through 17. It is there that the heart of the Lord burns hottest and where the aroma of home is most present.

And among chapters 13 through 17, I have always felt a particular affection in my heart for chapter 14. Augustine once said that the “Holy Scriptures are our letters from home.” In no place do I feel this statement to be more true throughout all the Bible than in John 14. Indeed, how could any of our hearts not grow weary with homesickness upon reading our Lord’s words when He says,

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in Me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also” (John 14:1-3).

As a man who tends to be more quiet and reserved in nature, I’ve never been the kind of person who found their home in large crowds. For this reason, my thoughts about Heaven and what it might be like would sometimes distress me back when I was a young Christian—all those crowds of people, you see. My heart has always been most full of joy in those settings which are more intimate: long, peaceful walks throughout the countryside with my wife, deep conversations with a close friend or two over some well made coffee, or sharing a good meal with family.

When I consider Heaven now, however, I can’t help but think that it will be a more natural, perfect continuation of these very kinds of moments. To say that Heaven will be all singing and commotion and the unending bustling of fellowship seems at odds with many our very real and very good experiences here below, tainted by the Fall as these experiences may still be. Indeed, this notion of constant busyness seems to go against the very life that our Lord lived while He was here below. Jesus did far more than just sing and meditate; and yet at the same time all He ever did was engage in obedient worship of the Father. His very life was worship; it was bread to Him. And sometimes that worship took the form of simply withdrawing from the crowds to be alone with His Father.

In considering our time here below and how it might translate into that age to come, we must, of course, take into account the nature of sin and what it means to live in a world that is fallen. Sin warps not just our actions, but all of nature around us, every relationship we enjoy, and even our very way of thinking about these things as we try to understand them. All traces of the Fall will all be done away with when the Lord returns, but until then we must admit that our thinking on this matter of eternal life is somewhat faulty. All our lives we’ve been immersed in a fallen creation, so much so that even our highest thoughts of Heaven have a thick layer of unredeemed thinking settled upon them like dust on a bookshelf. And yet there persists this unspoken, deep quality within the more quiet moments of life. A quality that, though subtle, seems to speak with clarity and force to some key dimension of that new reality which is to come once we awake in Heaven from this long sleep.

While there will be worship unending in Heaven, we would be shortsighted to think of worship solely in terms of singing, praise, and verse in a corporate setting. In 1 Corinthians 10:31, Paul instructs us to do all things—whether eating, drinking, working, or whatever else we find ourselves doing, whether alone or with believers—as unto the glory of God. It makes little sense that this would somehow cease or be lessened upon our arrival in Heaven.

Heaven is described as a place of rest and refuge after the Christian’s battle with sin, suffering, and death. The writer of Hebrews puts it this way: “So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from His” (4:9-10).

When I consider John 14, Jesus’s words only seem to reinforce my suspicions—and deepest longings—about the nature of Heaven. Indeed, there will be rest from sin and death, for these former things have all passed away, but there will also be the profoundest sense of rest and peace we have ever known because we will have finally made it home at long last. And not just a home, but our home. A home carved out in the very heart of things by the One who made us and paid the highest price imaginable for our salvation.

And it is not just a home that the Lord has waiting for us, but a room made for us in particular. There is staggering depth to the sheer intimacy hidden in Jesus’s words when He says there are not only many rooms in the house His Father, but a room made, prepared, and fashioned for us individually—“If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?” For you, believer.

C.S. Lewis unpacks this glorious reality beautifully when he writes,

“But God will look to every soul like its first love because He is its first love. Your place in Heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it—made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand.”

I am thankful that the Lord wrote us letters from home. Love letters that are intended to comfort and keep us as His beloved children until that day when He comes back for each and every one of those who love Him. Until then, fasten your heart on Him and on that unique place He has, with His own hands, prepared for you individually. “Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing” (2 Timothy 4:8).

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Photo by Alice Triquet, Unsplash

Author’s Note: If you were encouraged by this article, I cannot recommend highly enough this video by Gavin Ortlund, titled “You Should WANT Christianity To Be True.” Gavin’s work has blessed me tremendously in recent months, so much so that this particular video of his set my heart on writing the piece you just finished.