A Glimpse of Glory

I had a dream the other night. In this dream, I traveled to Heaven. As I entered into Paradise, the first thing that I experienced was a party in my honor. There was a banner that said “Welcome to the life you’ve always lived, but never known.” I’m still not exactly sure what that means.

 

By far, the coolest thing about this party was the people. The party was full of ALL of the people that have had an impact on my life. It never occured to me to ask how the ones still alive were there waiting for me, but they were. My parents, lots of family, good friends from high school and college and beyond, and an extraordinary amount of teenagers. Although an embarrassing percentage were middle class caucasians, there were a few others, including some from Africa and a handful of Indian orphans that were some of the most precious to see. It was the most incredible thing I could ever imagine, to have all these people in one room and be able to thank them, to reminisce, and to celebrate the God that we all served.

 

At the end of the dream, there was a huge double door that opened and my friends stepped aside and beckoned me to go through the doors. I got that weird, super-knowledge you can sometimes conjur in dreams. which told me that I would never see these friends again. I think the realization was that once I went through that door, I would not remember any of them. It was a weird kind of sorrow. Weird because I knew that Jesus Himself was through that door. I could feel the Perfection drawing me Home, and even my fondest memories and dearest friends seemed very insignificant in the wake of it. 

 

As I made my way through the sea of people, I thought about how each of their faces were a glimpse of glory. Each of them, like looking into a sunrise or down from a mountain top, were just a hint of who God is, a blink-long taste of the feast that awaited through those big doors. I thought about singing in the mountain fog with some teenagers, talking about Scripture in the car with my brother, lunches and living room conversations with my friends, praying with Gomeli with the beauty and smell of Africa in the background, and a thousand other glimpses into glory that marked my life.

 

I knew what was awaiting me on the other side of those doors because I had seen it before. And oh, the joy of living those glimpses forever! Never straying or forgetting. Never succumbing to doubt or distraction. A sunset that never faded into night. A worship session that never grew tiresome or boring. A living room conversation that was never sacrificed to yawning eyes and the responsibilities of the next day.

 

One day, our glimpse of glory will become a gaze. We will be able to stare with unwavering eternity at that which we currently see briefly and imperfectly.

 

When I woke up form that dream this morning, I desperately desired to find more of those glimpses of glory. I want to be at as many of those waiting-room parties as I possibly can. I want to know God better, and deeper, and longer, and purer. I hate how often I complain about my surroundings, squabble about details, fear the unfamiliar, dread the uncomfortable, focus on the imperfections of others, and satisfy my insecurities rather than convictions. I close my eyes and then complain that it is dark. I run away and then grumble about being lost. I hide the truest truths from others and then whine about feeling alone. I battle for my understanding and my own fame and criticize the state of the modern church for not being God-centered. I linger too long in social convention, apathy, and worry. And none of it matters.

 

I know none of it matters because I have had a glimpse of glory. Multiple times. And in those moments, it is not about personality clashes, politically stances, or theological argumentation. It is simply about the Presence of God. So much so, that it destroys me. I bow at the knees, the hips, the shoulders, the kneck, the eyelids, precisely because, in the Presence of God, I do not matter anymore. I wither into insignificance. I want to be in that place more often. Uncertain of outcomes. Unprepared for what is ahead. Incapable of the task at hand. Needing life to be about who God is not what I could be.