‘Heaven…’ and ‘Hunger…’

Recently I read two books that could hardly have been more different.

Heaven Is For Real by Todd Burpo is the best-selling, non-fiction account of a father (and pastor) whose four-year-old son, Colton, survives the nearly fatal aftermath of a ruptured appendix and afterward offers intriguing revelations from his near-death experience.

The Hunger Games, even better-selling, is a novel by Suzanne Collins and now a major theatrical film. The first book in a trilogy, it presents the reader with a kind of literary “Survivor” for teenagers, in which the losers are not voted off, but are carted off in body bags.

Heaven recounts that several months after Colton’s miraculous recovery, he starts remembering events related to his in hospital crisis. Even though unconscious in an operating room, Colton knew his father was alone in a room, pleading with God for help, while his mother was elsewhere praying with family members over the phone. Over the succeeding weeks, the boy recalls other things – about being in heaven, meeting his grandfather and his stillborn sister, and Jesus.

In Hunger Games, there is no heaven, no God, only an oppressive “Big Brother” type of government in which teens in various districts of the country serve as pawns, for entertainment value and for state control. Using guile, instinct and innate abilities, randomly selected contestants in the Hunger Games compete in a literal fight to the death, in which only one person can “win.”

Reading Heaven Is For Real, I found myself wondering, “Is that exactly how it is in heaven? Is Colton’s story ‘for real,’ without embellishment or explanation outside of the supernatural?” It would be – and will be – nice if this account is accurate. I suppose there is only one way we all will find out. But the underlying element in this book can be summed up in a single word: Hope.

Not a “hope-so” we often use in everyday life, wishing or desiring for something to be so – “I hope it won’t rain today.” “I hope I get that promotion.” “I hope she gets better.” No, the hope expressed in Heaven Is For Real is based on confident assurance, the earnest expectation that the promises of the Bible that there is life after death are true, whether the details look exactly as Colton describes them or not.

The Hunger Games, admittedly a very entertaining and relatively inoffensive saga, suggests no hope. In it humankind is the pinnacle, and the tale focuses on humans at their best and worst. Timeworn elements – the hero (or heroine) triumphing over great odds; love conquering all; and determination assuring victory, all are there. But for the most part the spiritual dimension of life is absent – either deemed unnecessary or unwanted by the author.

If anything, Hunger pay homage to the human spirit, the “we can do it if we try” type of mindset. And to an extent, that’s good – hard work, resolve, and refusal to give up are qualities too often lacking in our society. But to insist it’s all up to us, there is nothing else – or no One else – to turn to in times of crisis, is a conclusion I cannot accept.

Before reading Burpo’s book, I was already convinced heaven is for real. If Colton has given us a glimpse of what’s to come, that’s great. But even if it’s very different from what he described, I’m looking forward to it nonetheless.

Giving a Reason for His Hope

As you get older, you start turning to the obituaries each morning to see if anyone’s listed you might know. One comedian used to quip he’d read the obits every day to make certain he wasn’t in them – if not, then he would proceed with his plans for the day.

This morning I read the obituary of a man I hadn’t known until I heard him a couple of weeks ago, telling a lunchtime group the story of how he had committed his life to Jesus Christ. As he spoke, the man – whose first name was Porter – acknowledged his time on earth was short. He’d already reached the most optimistic limit of the doctors’ prognosis after being diagnosed with terminal cancer.

But he communicated no sense of fear, despair or anger. Having devoted much of his life to alcohol and self-indulgence, Porter was thankful for years of sobriety, new purpose in life, and most of all, assurance of life after death.

His objective in speaking was not to “earn points” with God in his waning moments. He wished only to share with friends and colleagues the difference Jesus had made in his life – and encourage them to embrace Him as well. Porter had prepared himself, as the Bible exhorts believers, “to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have…with gentleness and respect” (1 Peter 3:15).

Despite earlier failings, Porter had become reconciled with his family. As he spoke, he resonated “hope,” which the Bible defines as confident assurance, earnest expectation. He wasn’t seeking more time, or a miracle of healing. This man just wanted to share the “good news” he had discovered one more time, urging others to receive it as well.

In sports, an athlete recovering from an injury is often described as “day to day.” In reality, we are all day to day. The question is what will we do with the day we have? And if we knew with certainty we had only weeks, perhaps days left to live, how would we use them?

Porter, having been saved from the shipwreck that had been his life, spent his last moments throwing a life preserver toward anyone that would take it. And now he’s experiencing the full reality of what Jesus meant when He said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10).

Precious in the Sight of God

In June I wrote about my friend Karen, a former coworker who had been dealing with cancer. Last week I went to her memorial service, a true celebration of a remarkable woman who loved her God, and who also loved and served people the Lord sent her way.

During the service I recalled a peculiar Bible passage: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints” (Psalm 116:15). At first glance, this verse makes God seem like a sadist. How could He enjoy seeing people die? As I’ve pondered it over the years, however, this declaration seems true – and right.

Imagine a baby in the womb: Climate-controlled, continuous food supply, the soothing cadence of mother’s heartbeat. What a life! For the baby, that’s all the world there is. Suddenly things begin to change. The cozy living chamber contracts, pushing the little one toward a narrow opening and into another, unknown world.

If the infant could choose at that moment, it certainly would say, “No, thanks. I’m fine right here.” But the womb world, as comfortable as it’s been, isn’t all there is – far from it. There’s a vast, unimaginable, wondrous world it’s about to encounter for the first time. Soon this new world will be all it knows – or wants.

I believe it’s the same for God’s children. We cling to this visible, tangible, temporal, finite world like it’s all there is, but one day God will introduce us to a world we could never imagine. In 1 Corinthians 2:9 we read, “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.”

That's why the death of His saints is precious to God: He has prepared something wonderful, far beyond comprehension, for each of us. Like a parent eager to unveil a special, unexpected surprise for a beloved child, the Lord waits in great anticipation to say, “Welcome, child. Look what I have for you!”

During Karen’s memorial service, the pastor noted one of her last words, with eyes wide open and looking up, was a gentle, “Wow!” Who knows what she saw? I don’t. But I’m convinced with every fiber of my being that for each of us who are God’s children, trusting in “the blessed hope – the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ” (Titus 2:13), a “Wow!” awaits us, too.