"Have the gates of death been opened unto thee? Or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death? Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth? Declare if thou knowest it all." (Job 38:18)

There was an interesting cartoon in the New Yorker a while back. God is seated upon His throne in Heaven, and there's a tiny little man down in the corner who, upon coming into the presence of the Almighty says: "I've been hearing some really neat things about you!"

The caption at first seemed somewhat patronizing. Imagine coming into the presence of the Deity and saying: "Wow, I've been hearing some really nifty stuff about you lately!" "Perhaps you're really just as awesome as they say!" On the other hand, what if the cartoonist meant for it to sound patronizing? Maybe he wants us to think about the almost casual way we all approach God at times.

I remember hearing a song in church once (not a hymn) called "Our God is an awesome God." I suppose it's innocent, but it made me uncomfortable. I recognize that no matter what wonderfully brilliant and edifying terms we manage to describe God, with I guess we can always count on sounding a little bit patronizing. In Mark, after the first two healings, people say "We've never seen anything like this!" Our God is an awesome God. Gee God you're nifty. (You are God!)

Perhaps one reason for this attitude stems from the number of books which describe how God will act and what He will do when we get to Heaven (should we be so fortunate) - or the number of books that attempt to describe the devil, or the beast, or the serpent, or the books which deign to tell us how the world will end.  Maybe we can say to some extent that a "supposed" familiarity of God does breed contempt in the form of patronization. 

I've lost track of the number of volumes in the "Left Behind" series. The first two have already been made into movies. I forced myself to read the first one (someone told me this week that neither of the authors is even Christian!), but given the number of people hooked on soap operas, I can see why so many really are obsessed with those books -- because they describe everything leading up to Heaven as one big soap opera. Those books pretend to breed familiarity providing us answers and details of the after life - which really none of the traditional theological books (including the Bible) supply.

And yet, with so much activity directed toward heaven and the Hereafter, there seems to be very little if any increase in real spirituality among the people reading them, not to mention in the world in general. That is, there seems to be very little spiritual and emotional energy directed to how grand and glorious God truly is. Indeed, with so much of this energy it seems as if the most powerful thought we can generate is nothing more than: "Gee, I've been hearing nothing but good things about you!", as we might say to someone at a cocktail party - which may be what the cartoonist meant to say.

How sad and foolish for us to be concerned about the details of Heaven. How in the world must God feel - or what does He think at all about us being so hung up on the pleasures of Heaven, when we hardly think about the truly unspeakable aspect of simply being in His presence - simply because that's what one wants. One wonders, of all the people that have read all the volumes of the Left Behind series, how many have actually read the Book of Revelation, not to mention a single one of the Gospels!

And yet, given the consumer driven society which we are, I guess our hang-ups are really not all that surprising, especially when so many congregations do everything they can to enforce the consumer mentality: like having a menu of activities where members can pick and choose just how much of the Kingdom of Heaven they want to deal with. All Saints has tried to resist that, given that God's offer to us of the Kingdom of Heaven comes more under the guise of "All of Me: Why not take All of Me" - or "All, or nothing at all" - rather than to pick and choose.

Another more important reason however, for a parish church not to cater too much to individual desires is that being able to pick and choose one's way through religion tends to make one the center of all things rather than God. And if I am the center of all that is, then I'm naturally going to be more concerned about Heaven's details and creature comforts for me, than I'm going to be interested in loving God simply because He is God.

Given such fascination with the hereafter, coupled with our frenzy to know exactly what all in particular is in it or me, makes me appreciate C. S. Lewis; "The Great Divorce" even more. The ending is a little frustrating, for here was one other man's attempt to describe what Heaven might be like.

Granted it was a refreshingly different if not a disturbing picture that Lewis chose to paint. But at the end he resisted the temptation which so many others dealing with this topic succumb to. That is, he resisted the temptation to make us all believe that this really was the way it was. So at the end, he told us that all his thoughts had simply come to him in a dream, and that no man dare presume to pretend to know all there is about God and His Kingdom.

Lewis chose to keep God as the Great Central Orb, rather than himself. And no matter how wonderful or how poorly he might picture Heaven, in the end Lewis throws us back upon God, not upon himself.

Today's First Lesson throws us back upon God. It is one of the great pieces of poetry in the Bible, and comes at the end of the fairly long Book of Job. The central character and very godly man Job, has lost all that he has. Most of the book shows us Job's friends trying to convince him how God must have gotten angry at him - or that Job must have done some really horrible things - for all these terrible things to have happened. And throughout, Job has resisted mightily this temptation to blame God for all his woes.

Finally the friends get to him, and Job pours forth to God all his righteous anger and indignation: blaming God for all the terrible things which have transpired. And for the most part, we think Job has every right to do this, and the passage before us is God's response - out of the whirlwind no less - with a warning to us of the dangers of seeing ourselves as the center of the universe. Because seeing ourselves as the Center reduces God to the measure of man.

Essentially God is telling us here to get our minds off ourselves: to get our minds off details like the make-up of Heaven that need not concern us now or ever. Very directly, He tells us to put our minds upon God and to let God be God. Dwell on the greatness of God as opposed to the limited insight and understanding of man:

"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding. Have the gates of death been opened unto thee? Or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death? Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth? Declare if thou knowest it all."

Tell me if you, a mere human being, can really pretend to know any of this.

What God is saying to us is that if we allow our faith in God and the Hereafter to be based upon our now very clouded vision, then God and the Hereafter becomes nothing more than what mankind might be able to make of Him. We reduce God to the limits of our own comprehension and ultimately, make God and Heaven something less than they really are. And there lies the danger in any of these books which presume to tell us what Heaven is going to be like, breeding in us a sort of "quasi-familiarity" leading God to respond: "Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Have the gates of death been opened unto thee?"

Speaking of "things" which might point us toward the Kingdom of Heaven: I think the Shroud of Turin is for real. To me, it is endlessly more fascinating than any of the "Left Behind" books, or someone's account of a near death experience. The mere possibility of the Shroud being real strengthens my faith. But this is what is important. I don't believe in God, Jesus, or Heaven because of the Shroud. I believe in the Shroud because of God, Jesus, and Heaven.

Likewise we don't (or we shouldn't) believe in God and Heaven because of the "Left Behind" books. It's only because we believe in God, that we can assign any credence to any of the content of those books. Again, God and Heaven can be and are so much greater than we might imagine, so we don't want to allow our experience of God to be short-circuited by our very limited ability to understand all there is - or to have our experience of God not to mention our expectations of Him to be cut short by our preoccupation with ourselves. If God's words in Job don't get that point across this morning, nothing can.

Job had, understandably, begun to see himself as the center of the universe. And God, at the end of the book, pretty well puts him back in his place. He allows Job to see himself in respect to God. And it is this passage: where God allows Job to see himself in respect to God, which brings about Job's confession, repentance, and restoration. Seeing himself in respect to God, takes his mind off himself, enabling him to see God as the Center - as he had at the beginning of the book.

So what is the point of this sermon? Should you read "Left Behind" or any of the other tomes pretending to offer the last word on Armageddon? Sure, go ahead. Be aware that most of those authors seek Heaven not for God, but to escape hell, and at least read the Gospels as well. Or if you haven't read the Gospels, read them first. Then read the Armageddon stuff in light of the Gospels. Let the Gospels' greatness take your mind off the details of Heaven. Let the Gospels' details allow you to dwell on the greatness of God.

The Bible says very little about the after life, other than that there will be one, and that it will be more glorious than we might ever imagine. And as far as details are concerned, remember when the lawyers asked Jesus about a man who had seven wives on earth and wondered which wife he'd be married to in Heaven? Jesus simply said don't worry about it. Because it really doesn't matter.

At the end of Revelation, when St. John sees the Holy City coming down out of Heaven as a bride adorned for her husband, he looks and realizes that there is no Temple in Heaven. Imagine, not even a church! Just as there is no need for the sun or moon to shine there, the need for a place of worship is unnecessary, because "the former things (the details of life) are passed away." The bride is the Church, and the Groom is Christ. And He is all the Temple we need. He is all the Light which we need, and He is all the Heaven we need.

When we can read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest this truth, perhaps then we can say of God along with this cartoonist, and so in all familiarity and without the slightest trace of patronization: "I've been hearing nothing but really good things about you." -- or better yet: "My God, how wonderful Thou art!"