You Are of Heaven

If I asked you to tell me about yourself chances are you would, at some point, tell me where you were from. You would, most likely, tell me the name of your hometown or the city in which you grew up. You may tell me the name of your state. This is normal. We often associate our identity with where we are from. For the next few weeks, we will be seeing a lot of this type of identity and place association. That’s because, this weekend marks the start of the 2024 Paris Olympics.

During the opening ceremony, hundreds of athletes from countries all over the world parade into the Olympic festivities. TV hosts, reporters, and personalities will acquaint us with different individual athletes, by interviewing them or by sharing an insightful story of their fight to make it to the games. And when they introduce them to us, they will often say something like this: “This is So-and-So of Kenya” or “So-and-So of Japan” or “Such-and-Such of Czechia” or “Such-and–Such” of the United States of America.” The point is, the prepositional phrase of [Insert Name of Country Here] identifies who the athlete is. Their identity for the next two weeks is bound up with their country perhaps more than it will be at any other given time.

What’s even more interesting is that some of these athletes may be from one country but compete for another. That’s because, of course, it is possible to become a citizen of another country. That is, an athlete may have emigrated from one country where they were a natural born citizen to live as a citizen in another for which they now compete. You may be “So-and-So originally from the United States” and yet compete as “So-and-So of Mexico.” So it’s possible, then, to change your identity relative to your country. But identity is bound up with one place that cannot be changed.

What place can you be identified with beyond your country? Well, the next logical step would be planet Earth, right? So, in a very true sense, I am Jacob Smith, of Earth. In fact all of us, every human is of Earth. So you are, “[Insert Name Here] of Earth.” In one sense, this is our most fundamental identity as humans. We are humans of Earth. There is no gaining citizenship of another planet. There is no changing your earthly identity. Or is there? Well, the Apostle Paul has something to say about that.

Paul tells the Colossians that a change in their earthly identity is exactly what happened to them when God saved them. Consider what he says to them in Colossians 2:20:

 

If with Christ you died to the elemental spirits of the world, why, as if you were still alive in the world, do you submit to regulations…(Colossians 2:20).

 

By way of question, Paul essentially says to the Colossians, “You have died to the world.” Paul goes on to expound on this idea in Colossians 3:1–3:

 

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:1–3).

 

Again, by way of question, Paul says, “Colossian Christians, you have been raised with Christ, made alive with him, and your life is hid with Christ in God.” And in light of this—their dying to the world and being made alive with Jesus—Paul says, “Seek out and set your mind on heavenly things, not earthly things” (Colossians 3:1–2). Paul’s goal here is to convince the Colossians and ultimately us as Christians that our citizenship, our identity has fundamentally changed.

It’s obvious enough that our dying to the world would warrant our no longer seeking out and setting our minds on the things of earth. Having died in Christ, we are no longer citizens of the world and no longer bound by earthly things. Well, if we’re not citizens of Earth, where is our citizenship? What is our new home? Colossians 1:13 tells us:

 

He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son (Colossians 1:13).

 

We are now citizens of the Kingdom of God. And even though we don’t see the fullness of that kingdom on earth right now, spiritually, we are fully in the Kingdom of God. We have been raised with Christ (Colossians 3:1). Our life is hid with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3). And where is Jesus Christ right now? Jesus is in heaven seated at the right hand of God (Colossians 3:1). And what Paul alludes to here in Colossians, he makes explicit in Ephesians 2:4–6:

 

God…raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus (Ephesians 2:4–6).

 

Spiritually, we are in Heaven right now.

As Christians, the place most associated with our identity is no longer the world or even our planetary home, Earth, that is destined to pass away. The place our identity is most bound up with is Heaven.

If you are in Christ, You are [Insert Your Name Here] of Heaven. And because we are of Heaven we should seek out and set our minds on the things of Heaven.

The first command Paul gives the Colossians is to walk in Jesus (Colossians 2:6). The only way, we as Christians can walk in Jesus here on Earth with all that entails is to first realize that we are no longer first and foremost of Earth. We are of the Kingdom of God. We are of Heaven. Recall the example of Olympians above. They come from over 200 countries. And, to be sure, they will make known where they are from. Athletes proudly wear their national colors, wave their country’s flag enthusiastically, and perhaps even shout over and over the name of their nation. Every athlete brings their nation with them. Well, Christian, you are of Heaven. Don’t be outdone by Olympians. Make it your aim to wear the colors of Heaven and wave the flag of Heaven, as it were. Shout the gospel that is of Heaven. Christian, make it your ambition to bring Heaven to Earth wherever God sends you, for you are of Heaven.

A Picture of Mao in Hell

[Sunday February 6 we consider 1 Thessalonians 4:13-5:11, which says in part: “The day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, ‘There is peace and security,’ then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.” Randy Alcorn’s book Safely Home attempts to describe what this destruction looks like. The book tells the story of Ben Fielding, a high-powered corporate executive in a multinational firm with factories in China, and Li Quan, Ben’s college roommate whom he locates after twenty years and visits. Expecting Li to be a successful university professor, Ben instead finds that his Harvard-educated friend is a strong believer in Jesus, a leader in a house church, and – because of persecution – a locksmith’s apprentice. Li Quan’s faith, the persecution that he encounters, and Ben’s reaction to that persecution form the structure of the novel. Alcorn is not trying to write great literature; instead, he is trying to communicate biblical truth in a way that is engaging, interesting, and accessible. By that standard, this book is excellent. Alcorn is a reliable interpreter of the Word, and uses the medium of the novel to teach:

  • the reality of persecution today;
  • how to fight the fight of faith in the midst of suffering;
  • the reality of the spiritual world around us;
  • the nature of heaven;
  • the nature of hell

After reading the first hundred pages, I found myself praying more regularly and more fervently for our persecuted brothers and sisters around the world. That alone makes reading Safely Home worthwhile. I strongly recommend it.

Below find Alcorn’s picture of Mao Zedong – the founder of the People’s Republic of China – in hell. Read it – and weep – and witness – Coty]

Where is my palace? Where are my servants? Does no one know who I am?

The vast, cold darkness cut into his face. It felt like intense frostbite, burning his skin.

I was the most powerful man in Zhongguo. I created the People’s Republic. I was the revered father of my country. They worshiped me. I was god! He waited, listening to the silence. Cannot anyone hear me?

His voice disappeared into the great dark void. It did not echo, for there was nothing for it to echo off. It was immediately absorbed into infinite nothingness. His words went no farther than his blistered lips.

A parade of untold millions marched inside his mind’s eye. His sentence was to relive the suffering of each of his victims. He had been here over twenty-five years. Every minute of those years he had relived the sufferings he inflicted on others. Every torture his regime inflicted he now received, one after the next after the next. Eventually, perhaps, they would start over, so the millions he had already endured were but the first installment. The pain was unbearable, yet he had no choice but to bear it. There was no escape into unconsciousness – no drug to take, no sleeping pill, no alcohol. That which he had laid upon others was now laid upon him – endlessly, relentlessly.

He longed to pluck out his eyes, to keep from seeing what he saw, to puncture his eardrums to keep from hearing the wailing misery, to pull out his tongue to keep from tasting the awfulness he had legislated. But he had no ability to destroy himself. He had no control now over his destiny, no power over himself or others. There was no one he could command to fix the situation, no one to prepare him an eight-course meal to assuage the eternal hunger, no one to do his work, no one to punish for their errors. No one to salute him, cower at his voice, or bow heads in his presence.

Where is everyone?

Misery loves company, and he had long sought the consolation of others. But all others were still on earth, secure in heaven, or confined to their own private hells at distances immeasurable.

The aloneness was stifling. He could hear nothing but his victims’ cries, feel nothing but their pain, see nothing but their blood, taste nothing but their vomit, sense nothing but their torture. He had only himself. He could not enjoy his own company, for he saw himself as he really was. It was an ugly sight, revolting beyond comprehension.

He felt a burning. A fury welled up inside him. Anger and bitterness, unfocused hostility, frustration leading him to lash out. But there was no one to lash out at. No incompetent aide, no dissident, no Christian pastor, no helpless peasant. No one to beat or shoot or hang or starve. No one to cower in fear at the power of the great chairman, architect of the Republic. No one to shine his shoes or rub lotion upon his burning feet.

Grief and rage warred within him. His hell was a growing cancer, gnawing at him, eating away at him, devouring him. He was like a bush that burned yet was not consumed, so the burning could never stop.

He had come to death entirely unprepared – and now it was too late to prepare. If the torture was not enough, a sickening feeling of foreboding had gripped him from his first moments here. He had hoped it would subside, that he would get used to it. He hadn’t. It only got worse.

He could see now through all his rationalizations. His arguments against belief in a Creator had never been intellectual ones, as he had claimed. By rejecting a Creator he thought he could rid himself of a Judge. But it had not worked. His atheism had been the opiate of his soul and the executioner of uncalculated millions. But now his comforting atheism could no longer exist, even for a fleeting moment, for he had been forever stripped of the power to deny reality.

He had lived his short todays as if there were no long tomorrows. He had believed the lie that all were accountable to him and he was accountable to none. He had believed the lie that death would slip him into eternal unconsciousness. He knew now – how well he knew – the curse of always being awake, ever alert, unable to allay his suffering with a moment’s sleep or distraction.

The winds of hell blew upon him. On them floated sounds of laughter and joy from a place far distant. These voices were torture. Many he recognized as belonging to Christians he had persecuted, worshipers of the Carpenter he had murdered. He relived what he had done to them, this time on the other end of the cattle prod. By the time he had died, while he and all he stood for were in decline, they and all they embraced were in ascent. They had beaten him. Their King had dethroned him even in the other life – how much more in this one.

As they celebrated in their far-off realm, at first he had imagined they were cursing him, celebrating his demise. He thought of them as his eternal enemies who would forever speak of what a great foe he had been to them. But he had come to realize something far worse. They did not curse him. They did not relive his great campaigns against him. No. They simply did not think of him at all. He was unimportant. Insignificant. In the eternal scheme of things, he did not matter.

Not matter? How dare they ignore me! Don’t they know who I am?

He had said, “I want there to be no God; I want nothing to do with him.” His atheist’s prayer had been answered. The everywhere-present God had chosen to withdraw his presence from this single place, turning it into a cosmic desert. This was a ghetto of massive proportions, yet so small it could slip through a single crack in the tiles of heaven. It was located in some distant and empty place, never to be feared or even stumbled upon by the citizens of Charis. His life, with all his supposed accomplishments, was but a puff of smoke, dissipating into nothingness.

Stop what you’re doing and listen to me! Stop or I will… I will…

No power to give meaning to a threat. No reason to be listened to. And no one to hear him.

Thirst without water to quench it. Hunger without food to satisfy it. Loneliness without company to alleviate it. There was no God here. He’d gotten his wish. On earth he’d managed to reject God while still enjoying his blessings and provisions. But it was excruciatingly clear now that God was the author of good. Therefore the absence of God meant the absence of good. He could not have it both ways, not here. No God, no good. Forever.

He had wanted a world where no one else was in charge, where no order was forced upon him. He had finally gotten it. He had secretly wondered if there was something beyond death, but if he went to hell, he’d fully expected to rule there. Yet there was no king, for there were no subjects. Only one prisoner – himself – in eternal solitary confinement.

He missed the sound of laughter. There was no laughter here, nor could there be, for laughter cannot exist without joy or hope. An awful realization gripped him. There was no history here. No story line. No opening scene, no developing plot, no climax, no resolution. No character development. No travel, no movement. Only a setting of constant nothingness, going nowhere. Excruciating, eternal boredom. Nothing to distract him from the torment of the eternal now.

He had charmed his friends and cheated his enemies, but death he could not cheat, hell he could not charm. This nameless, ever-shriveling man writhed in terror. Faced with his own deeds, punished by them, he was receiving in himself the penalty for what he had done. He longed for a visit from a foreign dignitary, delivered by a courier, a request for an audience in his illustrious presence. But no. He knew now none would ever come, or even want to. He could not return to Beijing – and knew Beijing itself would soon be gone, a flower withered in a summer’s wind. Perhaps it was gone already.

No one to fear him. No one to revere him. No one to hear him. No one to think about him.

He who had claimed to be savior was forever without a Savior. Ignored and insignificant. Empty and embittered and regretful. Without a following. Without a heart. Without a hope.

Forever, time without end.

[From Safely Home by Randy Alcorn (Tyndale House, 2001), p. 327-330. The first chapter of the book is available online. Visit www.epm.org for more resources from the author, or to order the book. Note that all royalties from its sale are used to help persecuted Christians and to spread the Gospel in their countries.]

 

What is Man that You are Mindful of Him?

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him? (Psalm 8:3-4)

In comparison to God’s grandeur, we are nothing. We are infinitesimal. We are little specks of dust on a spinning ball.

Yet God grants us significance. He takes of His grandeur and stamps some portion on us. So David says He crowns us with glory and honor (Psalm 8:5).

Understand: That glory and honor is from Him – it is derived; it is not intrinsic to us. We have no glory, no status apart from what God has given us.

Many of history’s greatest tragedies – such as American slavery, such as the Holocaust – have come about because one category of mankind decided another category had no such status, no such glory, no such honor – they were subhuman.  But Scripture is clear: In this age, until Jesus returns, all humans have the status of image-bearers of God, no matter who they are or what they do (Genesis 1:27). Every person you encounter has this status – whatever their ethnicity, whatever their economic status, whatever their intelligence, whatever their education level, whether they live in utero or on a deathbed.

But Scripture hints that a time is coming when that will change. After Jesus returns, after the final judgment, there will be a class of humans without glory and honor, without the image of God. This class will not be racially based, nor based on intelligence, nor based on accomplishment. Rather, this class will consist of all those who continue in rebellion against their rightful King, those who are assigned to eternal punishment “away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might” (2 Thessalonians 1:9). And what will it mean for people to be away from His presence? David says, “I have no good apart from You” (Psalm 16:2). James tells us “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights” (James 1:17). Thus, whatever good we have, we received from Him (1 Corinthians 4:7). Indeed, God is the source even of ability and craftsmanship (Deuteronomy 8:18, Exodus 31:3).

Imagine, then, that state: No goodness remaining; no creativity remaining; no pleasure remaining; no friendship remaining; no beauty remaining; no productive work remaining; no vocation, no fulfillment. Only pride, self-righteousness, anger, hatred, and rebellion.

To be away from the presence of God is to be without any good, without any glory, without any honor. Thus it seems that those sent away from the presence of the Lord will lose whatever remains of the image of God in them. They will then eat and devour one another for all eternity.

C.S. Lewis captures this idea in The Great Divorce. He pictures those in hell as hating each other, and thus isolating themselves more and more from each other, so that hell seems to be a huge place. But when hell is seen from the perspective of eternal realities, it is a tiny, insignificant speck.

Thus we come again to the question: “What is man that you are mindful of him?” The remains of mankind consigned to judgment – having shed all glory and honor, having lost all goodness, all ability, all creativity, and all craftsmanship – will be insignificant. God will no longer be mindful of them. But those redeemed by His grace, those credited with the righteousness of Christ, those granted significance now and forever, will shine forth with His perfected image in them for all eternity (Matthew 13:43).

In this life, no one is subhuman. All have significance. All have the vestiges of the image of God.

But we all have been granted those vestiges for a reason: To glorify Him! To display that image! So: Be astounded at the significance God grants you! Repent, and humble yourself before Him! Then join the heavenly throng, and display His character, now and forever.

Reflections on a New US Citizen

Today Ed Conrad and I accompanied Janey to her being sworn in as a US citizen. Forty-eight others joined her, from thirty different countries of origin, including Congo (Janey’s former country), Vietnam, Iraq, Bhutan, Ghana, Colombia, Ecuador, and Hondurus. Most took new name’s; Janey’s legal name is now Mary Jane Rebecca. All forty-nine new citizens joined together in affirming that they:

absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom or which [they] have heretofore been a subject or citizen; that [they] will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; . . . that [they] will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law; . . . and that [they] take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion.

The mood was celebratory. Each new citizen rejoiced in swearing allegiance to the United States of America.

There are great parallels between what happened today in the US District Court of Western North Carolina and what happens in the life of every Christian. We all have been subject to a foreign power. And there is war between this power and the Kingdom of God. Indeed, we have marched in the army of this foreign power, taking up arms against God’s Kingdom. Yet now, pardoned by God’s grace through the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross, we must “absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity” to that foreign power, Satan’s Kingdom of Darkness. We must bear arms against that Satanic Kingdom, putting on the full armor of God and taking up the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God. We must battle also against the “domestic” enemy within each of us, the rebelliousness that would lead us to revolt against our rightful King and renew our allegiance to Sin. Furthermore, we can’t become citizen’s of the Kingdom of God half-heartedly, or to aim for selfish gain. We must freely offer ourselves “without any mental reservation” to our Lord and Master, for Him to do with us as He sees fit.

Those are wonderful parallels. But there is an important difference between that swearing-in ceremony and our allegiance to the Kingdom of God: Janey was born as a citizen of Congo. There was nothing wrong with that citizenship. She was right to be loyal to her country as long as she was a citizen.

Not so with us. From the creation of mankind, we humans were by right under God’s rule and authority. At Satan’s prompting, we rebelled against our rightful King.

Thus, rather than Janey renouncing her allegiance to Congo, the following would be a closer parallel: A native US citizen leaves this country, joins ISIS, and participates in terrorist acts. He even burns his US passport, and posts a video of that act on the internet. The US government revokes his citizenship. Then, coming to his senses, this terrorist freely gives himself up, accepts just judgment and punishment, and eventually takes the above oath in becoming once again an American citizen.

That’s a closer parallel. But in our case, the rebellion is even more heinous. For our Ruler is perfectly loving, perfectly good, and perfectly just.

And yet, in our case, the just punishment is not administered to us. Jesus became man, and took our punishment on Himself. When we admit our rebellion, absolutely and entirely renouncing all allegiance to Satan’s Kingdom, trusting in Jesus as crucified and risen, we are citizens in the Kingdom for which we were created – the Kingdom of Light – the Kingdom of love, joy and peace.

Praise God that He has “delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son” (Colossians 1:13) so that “our citizenship is in heaven” (Philippians 3:20). May we live out that right allegiance faithfully.