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And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Revelation 21:3-4)

Yesterday’s sermon talked about how the Song of Songs looks forward to the restoration of the relationship we had with God and one another in the Garden of Eden.  Some of that picture is captured again here in Revelation 21.

It’s the culmination of the Bible’s long love story—the story of God’s passionate pursuit of his people.  At the end of all things, all of our anger, frustration, sadness and shouting at God’s apparent absence and silence melts away in the blessed embrace of a long-lost lover’s reunion.  At long last, God’s dwelling place is here, with us.  He comes home and so do we: close enough to touch as he wipes the tears from our eyes.  Never to be separated again.

Not only that, but the creation and our very bodies are renewed to fullness of life, no longer knowing pain, disease, decay, or death: only the vibrant living joy of life itself.  And with it: intimacy.  Love.  Vulnerability without shame.  Knowing and being known, seeing and being seen, and still loving and being loved even though we are fully known and fully seen.  God’s perfect love finally drives out all fear on that day as we find ourselves finally at rest and peace.    

This full depth of intimacy we were created to know and experience only exists in the first and the last two chapters of the Bible, with only glimpses and hints in between: like in the Song of Songs, the best pictures of the prophets, or in the presence, miracles, and resurrection of Jesus. 

But even now, I think we still catch glimpses of that day when we’ll be reunited with Christ.  Maybe those glimpses are further and fewer between in these days of pandemic lockdown, stuck at home or out with half our faces covered, but I think they’re still there. 

C.S. Lewis talked about those glimpses as something we might call nostalgia.  A song that transports us to a different place, if even just for a moment.  A scent of a flower or fresh baking that brings us back to a home we haven’t seen in ages.  A connection with someone, however brief, that melts our anxieties and fears away. 

Sometimes it takes some work to attend to those moments to see in them a glimpse of that long-lost intimacy we really long for, and to let that fleeting moment do its work in us to lift our eyes to Christ and his coming.  But that’s the intimacy our hearts pine after and that all those moments and all our lives point forward to. 

When you catch them—through the Spirit, at the Lord’s Super, in a song or a call from an old friend—savour them, and let them draw your heart to prayer: Come, Lord Jesus, Come.