So, yesterday was my 50th Birthday. Fifty years is a significant milestone. For half a century, I have navigated life’s ups and downs and grown and expanded in knowledge and understanding. I have had great joys and struggled through some dark times of uncertainty and fear. I am not one who fears getting older. I do not mind the added year, the pains in my joints, or the gray hairs which are becoming increasingly more dominant. But every year on or around my birthday, I do get gripped with thoughts of the meaning of my life, the purpose of it all. Am I doing what I want to be doing? Am I happy with how my life has turned out? Does it matter? Perhaps it is time for a change, maybe not a major change, but a shift in what I have been doing, a reconsideration of the use of my time. After all, a birthday is a reminder that time moves on, regardless of my intentions in how I use it.
For all of us, we have these moments when we wonder about the goal of our lives. I recall several years ago speaking with a woman who found herself trapped in a cycle of suffering and fear, moving from broken relationships of dependence to addictions of escapism. Her life seemed to be consumed by real suffering and a desire for revenge. In the midst of all her anger and tears, she would occasionally rise up gasping for air and longing for something more, something beyond this age of heartache and disappointment. We all do that from time to time. We have these little moments where we take it all in, we examine our past, account for the present, and try to imagine the future. And certainly, that future must offer more than we struggle with now, more joy, more love, more contentment, and rest than we currently enjoy.
So, where is it going? What is the aim or goal of this life? What does the passing of the years actually mean? The closing images of Saint John’s great revelation offer us a place for our imagination to wander, to get caught up in the promises of our God. After all, throughout the pages of Scripture, we are given insight into the unfolding story of God’s redemptive work. Time is surely rolling on, but it is not aimless sorrow without meaning. It is leading somewhere. There is a goal and end to this age. There is the ushering in of something new.
John says, “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw a holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.” He see a new heaven and a new earth, the old things have passed away, and the new has been established. We know well the story of our Lord’s miraculous birth, of the Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us. We know how He who knew no sin took up our sin, the sin of all men, and embraced it as His own. For that sin, Jesus was crucified. After all, the wages of sin is death. We celebrate the empty tomb and the victory over the grave. And here, we are reminded that all this ushers in the remaking of Heaven and Earth itself.
A new thing is promised. John hears a voice from the throne crying out loudly, declaring, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be their God.” The work of our Lord to save sinners brings reconciliation between God and man. The new thing is not just a new creation but is an eternal reunion where the separation between you and your God is dissolved, where He will dwell in your midst. And your presence in this reality is not established by how good you have been, how much wisdom you have acquired, or how devout your life has been. No, it was established by the blood of Christ, by His sacrifice. The certainty of your hope lies in the abundant mercy of your God.
The image of what this new thing will look like is powerful and beautiful. It speaks to the longing that fills our hearts. Of all the funeral services I have done throughout the years, this is an image I regularly grab hold of. For when we gather together, in tears and full of heartache, when we grieve the loss of a brother or sister in Christ, what better promise can we hear than this one? That, “God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” The old things, the things of your life, the things that grip you with fear, sorrow, and pain, they will be done away with. The almighty God, the maker of Heaven and Earth, will wipe away all your tears. This is the goal. This is the promised end for the people of God.
“And He who is seated on the throne said, ‘Behold, I am making all things new.’” New indeed. This is the day we long for and pray for. And then our Lord says to John, “I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment.” You are invited to drink deep from the spring of the water of life, to drink in all the blessings and benefits given by your Lord. Life, salvation, resurrection, these are the things given to you, poured out and overflowing. And it is given without payment. It is free. Again, the gift of the new and all that is envisioned is not acquired by your work, by the sweat of your brow. The payment has been made. You are simply invited to come and drink.
This is the redeeming of time itself. We grow older, we suffer loss and heartache, we struggle and face one setback after another, but your life is full of meaning and hope, for we are headed toward the new thing. This is not the end. This is not all there is, for you are the baptized, the saints of God, and He is making all things new for you.
So, what we do here and now, what we do this very morning, is the practice of the eternal. It is a foretaste of the real and unchanging new thing. We come together to receive from our God His gifts, to hear His Word, to repent and believe in the Good News of Christ crucified. Here, your sins are forgiven as God’s grace is declared to you. For here, God comes to dwell with you. He comes in Word and sacrament. He comes in, with, and under bread and wine. He comes so you might know you are loved, you are forgiven, and you are bound for a new thing beyond this age of tears, an eternal rest in the glory of God for all eternity. And so, we pray, “Come, Lord Jesus, come.” Amen.
