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Gospel: John 6: 37-40
“Jesus said to the crowds:
“Everything that the Father gives me will come to me,
and I will not reject anyone who comes to me,
because I came down from heaven not to do my own will
but the will of the one who sent me.
And this is the will of the one who sent me,
that I should not lose anything of what he gave me,
but that I should raise it on the last day.
For this is the will of my Father,
that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him
may have eternal life,
and I shall raise him on the last day.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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What will heaven be like?
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If only we could ask those who’ve gone before us.
The truth is, we just don’t know. But I’ll share an image with you that comforted my mother during her final days here on earth.
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In college, I travelled to the Grand Canyon with my buddies. When we first arrived at the Northern Rim Trail, I was speechless.
I’d never seen anything so vast, so wide, so colorful.
But after I adjusted to the breathtaking view, I reached out to put my arms around them.
Although the canyon never changed, somehow seeing it with my friends made it all the more beautiful.
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That, I believe, is what heaven is like.
When we first enter the Kingdom of God, I’m sure we’ll be overwhelmed by its beauty – how vast, how wide, how colorful it is.
But after our eyes adjust, we’ll reach out for our “buddies” – those whom we’ve journeyed with through life – because seeing the same place with our loved ones makes it more complete.
Heaven never changes, but, perhaps, our experience of it does. Every person added makes a unique difference.
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And so, my mother reaches out for me from the “Northern Rim Trail,” as it were. Although she’s safely and peacefully in the presence of God, being there with me will change her experience of it.
Since I’ve not arrived yet, she longs for me – she prays for me – in a way that she simply couldn’t here on earth.
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Imagine this incredible chain of waiting – of loving arms reaching out from heaven. Your loved ones and mine are among the “blessed,” who are waiting for the rest of us to come home.
When the last person shuffles into heaven from earth, that chain will be complete. We’ll join hands and, together, descend into the “canyon” – into the depths of God.
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Often, we dream of heaven being a place filled with Saints – gloriously crowned, bowed in humility, praising God with the angels.
But if you look at the picture up on the screen tonight, you’ll see a familiar, perhaps more accessible, picture. That, to me, represents all people from every place and time.
I see a father and his two sons. An elderly couple, perhaps married for a half-century. A middle-aged husband, his wife, and their daughter.
Then I think of the two-hundred people who’ve I’ve commended to the Lord during my priestly ministry: World War Two veterans who fought for peace; a grandmother and her four-year-old granddaughter, a father and his son.
People who were loved deeply, and often enough, left this world too soon.
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So, who do you see on those benches along the Northern Rim Trail?
“In my Father’s house,” Jesus says, “there are many dwelling places.”
A place for you. A place for me. A place for all those whom we remember this night.
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May they pray for us as we reach out for them – and they reach out for us – that our hearts may be filled with hope and the love of God, which alone can bring us the peace we need.
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So, what will heaven be like?
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I’m not sure. But something tells me, it’ll be even more beautiful than the Grand Canyon. And Mom will be there with Jesus, waiting to welcome me home.
Just as your loved ones will be there waiting for you.
There’s room for us all.
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Image credits: (1) Farmer’s Almanac (2) Grand Canyon Northern Rim Trail, Christopher Arndt (3) Ibid. (4) Unsplash
