But more often than not, the thoughts that troubled me about the afterlife had nothing to do with Satan or weeping and gnashing of teeth, but heaven. Yes, heaven. The crux of my anxiety at the time--and part of what accounts for my ambivalence now--was the impossibility of wrapping my mind around eternity. Oh, sure, I had no reason to doubt that heaven as I heard it depicted was indeed a "wonderful place, filled with glory and grace," but the idea that my time there would go on and on and on unendingly struck me as a rather frightening thought rather than a comforting one. I distinctly remember lying awake one night when I was around nine or ten, trembling as I thought about eternity, crying quietly to myself that I didn't want to die. My dad heard me and came in my room to console me. I never did explain to him that it wasn't exactly death that was troubling me but what would follow.
I still shudder at times when I think deeply about eternity, but as I've grown older, other things have contributed to my ambivalence toward heaven as well. Though I can believe strongly--or try to compel myself to believe strongly--that heaven exists or that it will include certain things, my beliefs do not make it so and only when I die can I hope to know the validity of those beliefs. Ah, but someone may be saying, "But, Jason, it's a matter of faith." Yes, it is, but the Bible does not provide a clear or consistent view of life after death. Much of the Old Testament says nothing of an afterlife besides sheol, which is far from being described as a land of bliss. Only in later OT books do intimations of heaven arise. In the New Testament, Christ himself spends little time discussing heaven in the gospel accounts, and in other NT books, the writers offer varying descriptions of heaven, which are usually conveyed in metaphorical language. Many of our popular ideas of heaven are comforting colloquialisms that have little, if any, scriptural basis. Even the notion of the soul is cloudy one. The term isn't used in the OT as we've come to understand it, nor is it used in that way many times in the NT. Some biblical scholars, including some conservative ones I know personally, suggest the idea of the soul developed in Christian thought due to Greek influence. Advances in neuroscience have also made the notion of a soul increasingly difficult to defend.
But soul or no soul, the dominant view of heaven in the NT, particularly in Paul's writings, is not one of bodiless spirits but of resurrection, of a new heaven and a new earth. Of course, this view still brings with it a host of questions. When I think of a resurrection and a renewing of the cosmos, I can't help but ask some "how many angels can fit on the head of a pin" questions, as silly as they might be. How can I be resurrected if my body has completely decayed? What about people who were cremated? People blown to bits? How exactly could everyone fit on the planet? Will people still eat? Sleep?And then there are deeper questions, questions of identity, free will, and theodicy. Consider the conclusion from James Wood's piece "Holiday in Hellmouth" from The New Yorker a few months ago:
For Heaven must be a place where either our freedom to sin has been abolished or we have been so transfigured that we no longer want to sin: in Heaven, our will miraculously coincides with God’s will. And here the free-will defense unravels, and is unravelled by the very idea of Heaven. If Heaven obviates the great human freedom to sin, why was it ever such a momentous ideal on earth, “worth” all that pain and suffering?
The difficulty can be recast in terms of the continuity of the self. If we will be so differently constituted in Heaven as to be strangers to sin, then no meaningful connection will exist between the person who suffers here and the exalted soul who will enjoy the great system of rewards and promises and tears wiped from faces: our faces there will not be the faces we have here. And, if there were to be real continuity between our earthly selves and our heavenly ones, then Heaven might dangerously begin to resemble earth. This idea haunted Dostoyevsky, who wrote a chilling fable about it called “The Dream of a Ridiculous Man,” in which the protagonist, on the verge of suicide, has a dream in which he has died and ended up on a pristine Greek island, a heavenly utopia where there is no sin. Then this man tells his first lie, and eventually utopia is corrupted: Heaven is just Eden all over again, and man is busy wrecking it.
'Come quickly, Lord' is the great refrain of both the Old Testament and the New. But the problem for Jews is that the Messiah never came, and everything stayed the same (or got worse), while the problem for Christians is that the Messiah did come, and everything stayed the same (or got worse). Jews and Christians are dependent, in different ways, on an always deferred Second Coming. Heaven—because it comes next and is not now—is, as so often in religious thought, a solution that merely creates another problem. If God supposedly wipes away all tears from our faces in Heaven, why does he not do it now? Why does God not now establish paradise on earth, as the Jehovah’s Witnesses believe he will do? And what is the purpose of these eighty or so years we spend on earth not having the tears wiped from our faces?
In response to Wood's closing questions, I humbly respond, "I don't know."
In my most skeptical hours, I wonder whether our time on earth is the sum of our existence. After all, death has been part of the world long before people showed up on the scene.Still, I hope.
I hope for a heaven not only that I might reunite with departed loved ones (if there is indeed truth in that popular belief) or that I may see God or that all I am will not simply dissolve into oblivion but also because if God is just and merciful as I believe Him to be as seen in Christ, then only in heaven could justice and mercy prevail and God make all things new.