Beyond Heaven and Earth

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Beyond Heaven and Earth Page 81

by Steven H. Propp


  “I’m with you there,” Jobran said. “So I guess it goes without saying that you believe that when you die, you will go to Heaven?”

  With absolute assurance, Kevin replied, “Absolutely. Every day, I’m looking forward to going there, and spending eternity with my Saviour.”

  Jobran hesitated slightly before asking, “And you believe that in Heaven, you will be made physically whole again?”

  “No doubts whatsoever. Paul said of our resurrection body, ‘The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body.’ (1 Corinthians 15:42-44;) Paul also said that ‘the Lord Jesus Christ…will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.’ (Phil 3:21) That’s good enough for me.”

  “Do you think you will have a literal human body, with two functional legs, two functional arms, and such?”

  Kevin rolled his eyes, thinking, then said, “2 Corinthians 4:16-17 says that ‘Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.’ So if our bodies are wasting away, like mine—and even able-bodied people gradually lose the use of their bodies, eventually—then God will have to renew them in Heaven.” He kind of scrunched up his face, as if he were shrugging his shoulders, and said, “At least, that’s how I currently imagine it, but who knows? Paul quoted Isaiah, and said, ‘No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.’ (1 Corinthians 2:9) Once again, to me, the important thing is that the Bible says that ‘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.’” (Revelation 21:4)

  “And that faith sustains you, through your difficult times?”

  “Again, absolutely,” Kevin said, his chin set firmly. Then he laughed gently, and teased, “Why? Do you have any hope to offer that is better? Am I missing out on something?”

  Jobran laughed too, and said, “No, I guess not.”

  Kevin’s eyes turned serious, and he said, “I’ll admit that I have my ‘low’ moments, when I wish that I could just ‘fast forward’ until the time when I’m in Heaven. Many times, I wish that the Rapture had taken place in the 1980’s as I’d hoped, and as a lot of Bible scholars taught. Quite frankly, it was a lot easier to be patient waiting for heavenly glory when I believed that the Rapture was just a year or two away, and that ‘It Won’t Be Long,’ as our worship songs said—you can make it through almost anything if you think it’s only going to last for a year or two.” He grimaced slightly, and said, “The prospect of living on for decades— with a body that is going steadily downhill—is a much more depressing prospect.”

  “Suppose that they could give you a drug—to make you sleep for the remainder of your life—so that when you woke up, you would be in Heaven,” Jobran asked, earnestly. “Would you take the drug?”

  Kevin’s brow furrowed, as he thought deeply. Finally he said, “I guess it’s like when you work at a boring job: I remember that when I was young and working during the summer, I always wished that I could just ‘fast forward’ my life to get to the weekends, which I felt was the only time that I was really ‘living.’ Yet now, I realize that if I could have really done that, it would have been a tremendous disservice to myself. Although life is boring, redundant, and exasperating much of the time, there is still something about every moment of it that is so infinitely precious, that the idea of squandering any of it seems repugnant to me.” He blinked, and said in a voice of resignation, “So even though I’m daily looking forward to Heaven, I’m going to make the most out of my time here on earth. There must be some higher purpose for it all, since God makes us go through it.” He laughed, then said, “Besides, the Bible says that we will be entitled to crowns for our righteous service on earth; personally, I’m hoping to pick up one or two.”

  Jobran nodded, then said softly, “Has the idea ever occurred to you that maybe God isn’t planning the whole thing? Or at least, isn’t planning every detail of our lives? That maybe things ‘just happen’?”

  Kevin shook his head as vigorously as he was able, and said, “That’s not what I believe, or what my experience shows. Although I may not know at the time, I find that there is always something I should be learning from all of the experiences of my life. As it says, ‘in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.’” (Rom 8:28)”

  “That’s probably a comforting faith to have,” Jobran said quietly.

  Kevin’s eyes looked troubled. “You don’t have faith, Jobran?”

  “No; not at all.”

  “You don’t believe in God?” Kevin was concerned.

  “No, I believe in God,” Jobran corrected. “It’s just that I have difficulty in having ‘faith’ in things; I would much rather know things, than believe in them without evidence.”

  Kevin replied, “Hebrews 11:1 says that ‘faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.’”

  Jobran replied, “For me, the things that I don’t see, I can’t believe—unless there’s some clear evidence.”

  In a softer voice, Kevin said, “How about someone that you love? You can’t always have ‘proof’ of their love, so don’t you sometimes just have to trust them?” He paused before continuing, “And isn’t that a form of faith?”

  Jobran shook his head, and said, “It’s not the same thing. The trust you have in another person isn’t something that comes into existence fully-formed: it’s something that grows and develops over time. Through experience, you learn that you can trust someone, and that’s why you trust them. With some other people, you learn that you can’t trust them, so that’s why you don’t have any faith in them. In both cases, it’s based on experience.”

  “And your trust in them is based only on the evidence of your experience?” Kevin asked. “It never goes beyond your direct experience?”

  Jobran nodded, and said, “Sure, it goes beyond your direct experience, as if you’re extrapolating from what you have experienced. But for me, it’s always based on your actual experience; it isn’t some kind of ‘hope’ for something bet-ter—for me, that would just be a fantasy. Suppose that someone came to you and said that he had evidence that your wife was cheating on you; you wouldn’t initially believe him—it would contradict too much evidence you have to the contrary, of your wife’s fidelity and trustworthiness. But if the person produced real evidence, like photographs, recordings of telephone conversations, and so on, then you would reluctantly have to accept the evidence of your own senses.”

  Kevin said quickly, “But that’s only because our human relationships are tainted by our sinful natures.” Earnestly, he added, “Our relationship with God isn’t like that; it’s not done in such a ‘calculating’ manner. God wants us to trust him completely, and lean not upon our own strength and understanding.”

  In an agitated voice, Jobran asked, “But why does God seem to want to make such a virtue out of ‘faith’? If he’s really there, why doesn’t he just give us sufficient evidence?”

  “The evidence he gives us is always sufficient,” Kevin replied. “It’s just our human concepts and expectations that God doesn’t always seem to meet.” He wrinkled his brow, and said, “It’s like the old saying, “God always answers prayer—but sometimes the answer is ‘No’!”

  Looking down at the ground, Jobran said, “Unfortunately, that makes if very difficult to tell whether a given event was caused by God, or whether it ‘just happened.’ It destroys any sort of rational conception of proof.”

  In a sharper voice, K
evin said, “Maybe God doesn’t think he needs to always have to be ‘proving’ himself to us.” He rolled his eyes to take in the entire room, and said, “Isn’t there some point at which God can just say, ‘I created all the universe, and I sustain your own life every day by my power. Therefore, you should be able to simply trust in me.” Strongly, he concluded, “In other words, can’t God just say, ‘Enough’!?”

  In a voice tinged with agony, Jobran said, “But aren’t there situations in which the evidence actually seems to be pointing in the direction away from God? Aren’t there times and situations where it’s a complete mystery to you why God acts the way he does? Or why things turn out the way that they do?”

  Kevin’s eyes softened, in sympathy. “Sure, lots of times. When I first lost the use of my arms and legs, I went through some horrible times of doubt.”

  His voice hovering between incredulity and repugnance, Jobran said, “And yet you still believe.”

  “I can’t not believe. There’s too much evidence of God’s love,” Kevin replied, passionately.

  “And you don’t think this is just, say, wish fulfillment?”

  Kevin seemed to be trying to shrug with his eyes and neck, and said, “So what if it is? If my beliefs make me happy, happier than believing the contrary, why shouldn’t I believe them? Have you got anything better to offer?” He waited for a moment, then added, “Haven’t you ever heard of Pascal’s Wager?”

  Jobran smiled slyly, and said, “I’ve heard of Pascal’s Wager; two versions of it, in fact.” Then seriously, he added, “And you can really practice and maintain these ideals and beliefs?”

  “Absolutely!” Kevin said. “Look at me: A lot of people in my situation might find reasons to doubt God, but not me.” He looked at Jobran in an expression of sympathy, and said, “I know it’s difficult, though. Strong faith is a gift of God, Jobran.”

  Jobran shook his head, and said, “Faith doesn’t seem like such a ‘gift’ to me, or such a blessing. People can have ‘faith’ in all kinds of contradictory things, but that doesn’t make these contradictory ideas true.” Earnestly, Jobran said, “I’m more interested in actually knowing the answers, than I am in simply believing something for which there is insufficient evidence.”

  Softly, Kevin said, “You know, you can pray and ask God to help you with your very unbelief. In the 9th chapter of Mark, for example, the father of a sick child said, ‘I do believe; help me to overcome my unbelief!’ You need to ask God for the gift of faith.”

  Jobran smiled slightly, and said, “The Mormons tell me the same thing—they want me to pray to ask God to reveal to me the truth of the Book of Mormon, and of God’s revelation of the golden plates to Joseph Smith.”

  Indignantly, Kevin said, “That’s totally different! The Mormons are a non-Christian cult! The only ones that would answer a prayer such as that would be demonic forces. I’m suggesting that you ask God for true, biblical faith.”

  “If there really is a valid reason for why troubling things happen, then I would certainly be satisfied by just knowing what the reason is; that would be sufficient for me, even if I didn’t like the reason.” His head downcast, he added, “When my wife passed away, I agonized over it over and over, and called out to God for answers, and there were none.” Jobran could see Kevin’s eyes widen, in surprise and sympathy.

  “Kevin!” came a voice from behind us. Jobran turned, and saw that Kevin’s family was approaching.

  “That’s why you need faith,” Kevin said quickly, fixing his eyes on Jobran’s. “Faith gives you the assurance that ‘It is well with my soul.’” Looking Jobran earnestly in the eyes, he said, “Jobran, I really hope we can continue this conversation the next time we meet; you’ve given me a lot to think over. And be assured that I’ll remember you in my prayers.”

  As Kevin’s family came up, Jobran said, “Thanks for the conversation, Kevin—and for your positive thoughts and prayers.”

  As he walked away, Jobran thought, I’d much rather have someone praying for my good, than raining down curses upon my head.

  * * *

  As Jobran reached the door, he turned back and stole a glance at Kevin’s family, who were gathered all around him. Jobran heard some indistinguishable words, and then Kevin’s mother broke down in tears, falling to her knees, as she embraced her son’s limp body, as next did Kevin’s father and sister; they were all kneeling pitifully around Kevin’s chair. Jobran could hear the sounds of their sobbing all the way across the room, and it brought sympathetic tears to his own eyes, even though he didn’t know the reason for their sadness.

  And indistinctly, he could hear strong words; words of reassurance and consolation.

  From Kevin…comforting his family.

  37

  THE TRANSITION

  Jobran knocked softly at the door of the hospital room, before entering.

  “Come in,” said a weak voice from inside.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wendham,” Jobran said. “I’ve brought some fresh flowers. Would you mind if I changed yours?”

  “No, not at all,” the old man said, his voice very soft. Jobran entered, and softly began to remove the old flowers and replace them with fresh, new ones. (Part of the Hospice’s program was to keep patients surrounded by flowers and other things of beauty, to relieve the tedium of the normal hospital environment.) When he finished, he asked, “Would you like me to open the drapes, and let the sun in?”

  After a moment, Mr. Wendham answered, “Sure…I think I’d like to see the sun for one last time.” Jobran opened the drapes to let the early morning sun in, but was alerted of a possible problem by Mr. Wendham’s last remark, so he pulled up a chair, and sat beside him, and asked, “So how are you doing, sir? Is there anything I can do for you?”

  He gestured, apparently unable to speak, until he was finally able to whisper, “…glass water…,” and Jobran got up swiftly to get it for him. Upon returning, Jobran helped Mr. Wendham to sit up a bit, then to sip the water from a straw; he choked slightly after drinking, but appeared to be relieved by it. He began coughing.

  “Are you OK?” Jobran asked, in a concerned voice. “Want me to get a nurse?”

  Wearily, the aged head shook, indicating “No.” After waiting a moment for the coughing spasm to pass, he said, “I’m…it’s all right. It’s just that the end is finally here…”.

  “Oh my gosh!” said Jobran, jumping up. “I’ll get the doctor…!”

  “Please, no!” Mr. Wendham said, the effort of speaking costing him some distress. Finally, he said, “No, I didn’t mean that; it’s not that bad. I’ll let you know if I want the doctor called,” and he lay back on his pillows, exhausted by the effort of speaking. Not wanting to disturb him further, Jobran sat back down, watching Mr. Wendham intently. After a few moments, Jobran he went to the bathroom, and returned with a damp towel to wipe Mr. Wendham’s forehead.

  The cool towel seemed to revive Mr. Wendham, and he opened his eyes again.

  “Are you in any pain, or discomfort?” Jobran asked.

  “No…I feel surprisingly peaceful,” Mr. Wendham replied. “I used to wonder what it would be like to die…and now, I’m finding out.”

  Concerned, Jobran asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get…” but Mr. Wendham shook his head again. Jobran knew that there was nothing medically that could be done for Mr. Wendham; his various organs were all beginning to malfunction or shut down—simply a matter of old age. They were basically “waiting for him to die,” as they say. “Do you…have anyone—family or friends, you want me to contact, Mr. Wendham?” Jobran asked.

  Mr. Wendham said softly, “Call me Paul, please.” Then he shook his head, and said, “No; my wife Miranda and I never had any children, and I’ve already said my final goodbyes to my other relatives, and friends. Frankly, I’ve outlived most of the people from my generation, so
I feel like I’m last one of my circle to pass away.” He paused, gathering the strength to speak again, then said, “Since my wife passed away some eleven long years ago…it just hasn’t been the same. My desire to live left me, when I lost my Miranda; it feels like I’ve just been waiting to die since that day.”

  “Unfortunately, I know how you feel,” Jobran said. “My wife died nearly two years ago, and I’m still trying to deal with it.”

  “What a shame,” Paul said. “You’re so young. Your wife: was she pretty?”

  “Very.” Jobran felt his eyes tear up, and he added, “And intelligent; and the sweetest, most loving person I ever knew.”

  They were both silent for a few minutes. Finally, Jobran asked softly, “Do you have any sort of religious or spiritual beliefs? Or would you like to talk with anyone, such as a priest, minister, rabbi? Anyone?”

  The faintest of smiles crossed Paul’s lips, and he said, “What for? So I can make some last-minute confession? No thanks, that’s not for me.” And he closed his eyes again.

  Jobran knew the guidelines that they had for hospice volunteers about conversations about religion with patients, and realized that he was going beyond the guidelines, but he couldn’t help asking, “Suppose that there is some kind of life after death?”

  With some life coming back to his voice, Paul said, “I have no real apologies for the way I’ve lived my life: I’ve done some right things, and some wrong things; the wrong things I tried to make amends for, where I could. If some sort of God wants to punish me in Hell eternally for my life, then I’m reconciled to that.”

 

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