Confession: Sometimes I hope that heaven will involve the reliving of earthly life, perfected.
Our sweetest moments are foretastes.
Our worst moments plead for redemption.
And those in-between moments—the beautiful-broken occupying so much of our time—what would they be like in Paradise? What flaws would He heal? What beauties would He unpack?
If I live to be 100, reliving my life x5 in glory would take only 500 years of eternity: just a snippet, a scrap. So I’m asking the Lord if this could be; if part of my joy in immortality could be backward-looking: a fixing, a healing, a rediscovering.
I wish this most, ironically, in times of worship.
Last night I sat with my community through a concert of beautiful music, a chorale singing praise to the Father and to His Son incarnate.
Harmony and beauty refreshed our souls, called us to come. One song in particular begged for response—an African lilt. There we sat, tongue-tied, swaying slightly. In glory, we would have been on our feet, thronging the aisles, hands thrown up, eyes alight, 200 voices joining in praise. The song cried for dance, for impromptu obbligato, for intricate additions.
We sat there, swaying a little. Some called a soft Amen. Some closed their eyes.
And this is good.
There are, I think, forms of worship that have not yet come of age. They are green fruit, unripe, unready. When we pluck them prematurely, we find them sour with untimeliness, freckled with problems. I await the day when we can give ourselves to worship fully, can cast ourselves headlong without fear, can cry without shame, can laugh without inhibition, can dance without violation, can sing without fault, can praise without selfishness.
I hope that in glory, we can look back and do it right.
If my wish for heaven became reality, what would you anticipate? How would Jesus illumine your brightest moments, or restore your worst?