With the exception of Jesus’ teachings in the gospels, this passage probably informs our ideas about heaven more than any other. Physical descriptions aside (which are probably metaphorical, anyway) the last couple chapters of Revelation tells us what the EXPERIENCE of heaven is like. There will be no more crying, no more mourning, no more pain, and no more death. The nations will be healed, and we’ll no longer be subject to the consequences of sin, because sin itself will be no more. Take a moment to imagine what this would be like. It’s not that we simply won’t feel sadness or grief; it won’t even EXIST. It’s a hard reality to fathom, but even so, most of us would probably be willing to give up an awful lot for the chance to live like that.
Now, you might not have noticed, but this passage also includes a hint as to how this new world will ultimately come about. The figure seated on the throne provides a simple formula, the two things that must happen in order for the new heaven and new earth to become a reality: the former things must pass away, and all things must be made new.
In the words of my people (the millennials): “No duh.” This seems like a no-brainer. Obviously, if you want to make something new, you first have to get rid of anything that’s standing in the way. Out with the old and in with the new; got it! Can’t argue with that, so let’s get this apocalyptic show on the road, am I right? I don’t know about you, but I’m TOTALLY ready to be done with pain and death!
Not so fast. We may THINK we’re on board with this straightforward plan, but let’s take a closer look at it. God doesn’t say, “I’m making SOME new things,” God says, “I’m making ALL things new.” And if ALL things are being made new, then it stands to reason that it’s not just SOME of the former things that have passed away - they ALL have to go for the sake of the new heaven and earth. We’re not talking small-scale renovations here; we’re talking a FULL demolition and remodel. Are you still on board with this blueprint for heaven? Are there any parts of life as we know it right now that you’d be resistant to giving up - even for the sake of paradise?
You know what, you don’t even have to answer that; I already know that the answer is yes. Know how I know that? Because the Church is already supposed to be laying the groundwork for God’s kindom by following the exact plan outlined here, and time and time again, we’ve proven exceptionally bad at it. We’re spiritual hoarders. We expect heaven to just appear in the middle of whatever we’ve got going on: a cherry on top of the life we have now. So instead of clearing out the things that stand in the way of God’s kindom, we spend our time sitting on our hands, praying and waiting and calling it “faith”. Rarely, if ever, do we engage in any soul-searching to determine whether the things we cling to the most stubbornly could be the very things preventing God’s kindom from breaking through.
Now, friends, I could list thousands of things that humans resist giving up even for the sake of the new heaven and new earth - things that represent our traditions, our privilege, our material wealth - but today, there’s only one of these things on my mind. My heart is heavy with the immediate reality of yet another mass shooting. Less than a week ago in Minneapolis, students at Annunciation Catholic School were gathered for mass when a shooter fired 116 rounds through the church’s stained glass windows, killing two children and injuring 18 other worshipers. There are still many questions surrounding this tragedy, as the perpetrator took their own life and can’t provide answers about their mindset or motives. But the question looming largest in my mind doesn’t have anything to do with the shooter. It doesn’t have anything to do with politics or policy, either. The question that will not leave me alone, as we walk once more through the valley of the shadow of death, is, “How can we keep letting this happen and still call ourselves heralds of God’s kindom?”
See, public policy is important, but it’s not my area of expertise. As a pastor, I understand far less about the government’s job than I do about the Church’s job. And while I certainly have OPINIONS about Congress’ responsibility to the people they represent, I have deep, incontrovertible KNOWLEDGE about Christians’ responsibility to the rest of the world. And friends, I am absolutely heartbroken by how miserably we are failing it. We claim to believe in the already-and-not-yet nature of God’s kindom; we claim to yearn for its coming and work towards it for the sake of all people. Yet even as we proclaim the promise of a world with no more mourning, crying, pain, or even death, we refuse to give up the very things that actively cause them. Why, in God’s name, are we unwilling to tear down the obstacles to God’s kindom that are staring us squarely in the face?
Yes, I’m talking about our ostensibly Christian nation’s infatuation with guns, but that’s just a fatal symptom of the larger illnesses that keep the new heaven and earth from arriving: our glorification of violence disguised as strength, our culture of selfishness disguised as independence, and our celebration of hate disguised as patriotism. We collectively lift up these values in tandem with Christ’s contradictory message of peace, mercy, and love, and we somehow expect the new heaven and earth to emerge out of the paradox that we ourselves have created. By refusing to let these former things pass away, we’ve turned ourselves from heralds of the kindom to its greatest obstacle.
Back in 2015 - a long time ago, yet nowhere near the beginning of our nation’s pandemic of gun violence - a friend of mine from seminary wrote something that’s stuck with me for ten years. After yet another mass shooting, the Rev. Chris Broadwell wrote a social media post imagining us crying out to God as we always have, using those ancient words of lament first found in Psalm 13, “How long, O Lord?” And God responds with just two words: “Your call.”
We are not powerless here.
I’m certainly not saying it’ll be easy to let go of the old things. Societal habits are hard to break, and those of us gathered here in worship are just a tiny fraction of those participating in them. But nothing will ever change if we don’t demand it. What would it look like if we didn’t wait for the former things to pass away on their own, but began to intentionally disassemble them ourselves, piece by piece, in our own small corner of the world? What if we confronted a way of life that seems all but inevitable, and insisted - loudly - that there’s a better way? And what if it wasn’t just those of us right here, but ALL Christians? What if we ALL gave up the former things - even those that make us feel safe and comfortable - so that God could transform them into something far better?
The new heaven and earth depicted in Revelation aren’t quite as far away as they may seem. The thing that keeps them out of our reach is our own stubborn resistance. So here is my charge to you: let the old things pass away. All of them. And if they won’t go without a fight, give them one. Don’t wait for the new heaven and earth to appear; create the conditions that will make them inevitable. We don’t have to settle for lives of mourning, pain, and death - Scripture assures us of that. But we DO have to intentionally choose the alternative.
It may feel like it will take a miracle for anything to change in our lifetimes. So BE that miracle. Be the voice that insists on a better way, a way of healing and of life - the way of God.
Or don’t. Let things stay as they are and keep waiting for that paradox to resolve itself.
After all, it’s your call.
Amen.
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