And I John saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven.’ [Revelation 21.2]
John’s image of the holy city is often thought to be heaven – but that’s not what he wrote. He says he saw the city ‘coming down from God out of heaven.’ It’s a glimpse of what some New Testament writers call ‘the Kingdom’ – that longed-for future when God’s will is done on earth as well as in heaven, and God is all in all.
But as soon as we start thinking of such things, we meet a problem. Christians are encouraged to look forward in the light of Christ’s Resurrection – but to what? A new life, following this one, in ‘heaven’? Some kind of perfected future where (as we sing in the Easter Exultet) ‘heaven is wedded to earth’? We’re not at all sure. Inevitably, we want more information – some idea of what the future we hope for might be like. And what’s the reality behind any of our ideas?
Some people see science as the only reliable guide to reality. For them, religion is not about reality. At best, it’s poetry. So they see Christians asking impossible questions, inherited from pre-scientific ways of thinking. But it’s not self-evident that non-scientific models for understanding the world are all delusions.
For one thing, science itself is not as clear-cut as some scientists claim. Much science is deeply counter-intuitive. Sub-atomic particles can be found in two or more places at the same time – and they’re not really ‘particles’ at all. In fact, no object is really solid. Everything is made of atoms; and atoms are made of – energy! But what’s that? Electricity? Magnetic attractions? Just what are sub-atomic particles? Physicists often say that anyone who thinks they understand, almost certainly doesn’t!
The ancient world, where much of our religious imagery was born, was not benighted, as some moderns assume. St Augustine, no less, reminded people that Genesis must be read, not as history, but as theology. The ancients used analogies, just as we do; but they generally knew they were doing so! We moderns have become so literal-minded that we can fail to see analogies for what they are.
How can anyone talk about God, except by analogy? It’s impossible! But do theological analogies refer to a supposed reality that’s just not there? One of my best friends is a firm atheist. He sometimes asks, ‘Even if there is a God, how could you ever know?’
My friend’s question is rhetorical. He assumes the answer must be, ‘There is no way we can know if God exists.’ But I ask myself a similar question about heaven, eternal life, John’s holy city. If these are real, how would we know? But my question is not rhetorical.
Like all of you, I share many of the assumptions of our culture – not least, its epistemological assumptions. So I naturally wonder if there’s any ‘evidence’ for claims about heaven, or eternal life whether there’s any reasonable foundation for my personal hopes as a Christian?
We have just five senses through which we apprehend the world. Anything we ‘know’ that doesn’t come directly through our senses, we infer. In fact, the whole of science is a great web of inference. Newton may or may not have seen an apple fall. If he did, that’s a sensory experience. (If it hit him on the head, that’s another!) But his theory of gravity is pure inference.
We all infer things that aren’t immediately obvious. A child at school may hate a particular teacher; but over time, taking many factors into account, that child may reach the inference that the teacher actually had a high regard for his ability, and gave him just what he needed. I’m sure you can easily think of similar inferences of your own.
What can we infer from the life and death of Jesus? (Leave the Resurrection on one side for a moment.) Well, we can infer that Jesus refused to be deflected from his project of selfless, self-giving love, even by death. When we recall that he said, ‘My father and I are one,’ the inference is clear. Self-giving love is what God is like. It’s a close analogy for God. Jesus himself is that analogy.
A strict materialist will say this is self-delusion – both on Jesus’ part, and on ours. The strictest materialists have even said that love itself is a delusion: that there is only sex – the urge to reproduce – coupled with our biological instinct to survive.
Belief in God is not derived from argument; and no argument will ever convince a strict materialist. Belief comes from – well, what? I sometimes wonder if it’s not a kind of inference that happens in our sub-conscious. Traditionally, faith has been called a gift of God. The fact is, some of us just believe – and then struggle to make sense of our belief.
So what can we reasonably hope for? Is there any reality behind the images of the holy city, or heaven, or whatever analogy we use? Well, think of the weird reality that Heisenberg tried to describe with his Uncertainty Principle. In the end, all we can ever do is form hypotheses. For theologians, as for scientists, hypotheses are the closest we can get to ‘truth’. But even St Paul knew that! ‘For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away…. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face….’ [I Corinthians 13.9-12a]
When theology, fearful of not being taken seriously, apes the supposed certainties of scientific materialism, it loses the plot. Faith demands living with uncertainty, as we seek to grasp a reality larger than anything we can experience directly. Christian models for this deeper reality are always inadequate, and sometimes contradictory; but they still provide the basis for a life richer with possibilities than the thin doctrine of strict materialism.
Science, like theology, says that time is part of creation. If God exists, he must be outside, as well as inside, time. With God, everything will always be now. Jesus – crucified and risen – lives with God in this eternal ‘now’.
And if God can raise Jesus, he can raise me. ‘Heaven’, ‘eternal life’, John’s ‘holy city’ – these are all halting attempts to catch the mystery of being loved by God in this intense, open-ended way, transcending all the boundaries of our senses, and even our powers of inference.
Atheists will say I’m deluding myself. Well, too bad! I believe; and I’m convinced that it is reasonable to believe – in God, in the Resurrection of Christ, and in the hope of sharing that new life. As Hamelt says, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio.’ I stand with Paul: ‘Now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known.’ [I Corinthians 13.12b]
Of course, I may be proved wrong; but I’m willing to take the risk – thanks be to God!