I’d made myself a small lunch, spent 45 minutes on the treadmill, and felt like I needed a nap. Some oldies were playing on the internet radio station I had on, and I got a bit nostalgic. Images from high school and college flashed through my mind, conjured by the old songs. I laid there on the couch, allowing myself to feel the music again like I used to do when those songs were new.
Back then, I had so many visions for my life, images of the future I was hoping to build with my education, my plans. Of course, life doesn’t work that way. Things never work out like we plan — and that’s a good thing. And overall, I’ve gotta say my life didn’t turn out half bad.
I laid there on the couch, listening to those songs, and feeling a bit tired. Hey, I’m in my 60’s and just had my third heart procedure in 10 years. My energy levels are not what they used to be. Not that I’m complaining. Like I said, I’ve had a pretty good life, an interesting one, filled with adventures and loves and heart aches. With spiritual experiences and physical ones. But laying there, for a moment, a question ran through my mind. “Is this all there is?” Is this what all those years of planning and dreaming amount to? My life’s not over; I’m not being morbid. But I’m obviously closer now to the end of the movie than the beginning.
That question in my mind sounded familiar. Didn’t V’ger ask something like that in that first Star Trek movie, after fulfilling its journey through the galaxy and returning to earth? “Is there nothing more?” And it realizes its need to become one with its creator — ah, the aspiration of mystics for millennia.
I still pursue that aspiration. I’m still on my mystic quest to experience theophanies and angelic visitations, to explore the deeper depths of this thick Reality where we occupy only the shallowest of bandwidths. It’s a worthy and enriching pursuit while on this human adventure. But on the practical, “real life” level we occupy most of the time, there is also more.
Another phrase ran through my mind, somehow connected. “I tell you the truth, not one stone will remain on another …” What was that about?
Oh yeah. Jesus, pointing at the second Temple constructed by Herod the Great in Jerusalem. So impressive. A massive accomplishment. And Jesus saw it for what it was: temporary. Perhaps an exercise in the architect’s ego. An attempt to defy mortality and carve one’s name in history. Thirty to 40 years later, that Temple was destroyed by the Romans. Remnants, mostly a famous wall, have been uncovered by archeologists, but the Temple itself is long gone.
Nothing we construct for ourselves here on this planet remains for very long. And we can’t take it with us. Well, not much, anyway. Aside from ourselves, our character and cultivated experience, nothing we accumulate here on earth will carry forward into the next life. Except one thing.
The only time Jesus talked about “treasures in heaven” was in relation to what we do for other people. He instructed his disciples to give to the needy in secret, without public notice and boasting (Mt 6:1-7), and their Heavenly Father would reward them. And when the rich young lawyer came to him seeking eternal life, Jesus said “sell what you own and give the money to the poor. THEN you will have treasure in heaven…” (Mt 19:21).
What we “take with us,” whatever “treasures” we can store up in the next life, are tied to helping other people in the here and now. The only lasting “rewards,” the only things we carry on into eternity besides ourselves, are the selfless actions and generosity we’ve done for others.
Why? Because those other people, whose lives were made better by our sacrifices and actions, also live on into eternity. What impact we had on them continues on with them. Perhaps also because generosity, compassion, taking care of others is a core character of God, and when we practice those virtues, we walk in God’s character. We reflect who God truly is. And it becomes part of who we truly are. And perhaps that is eternal as well.
King Herod didn’t get to keep his monument in history. It didn’t last much longer than he did. And the life I built, through my plans, dreams, education and career, this good life that I’ve constructed, won’t outlive me either. But! The imprint that I’ve had on others, helping them out when they need it, helping to improve their lives, perhaps even at dramatic turning points — those things persist. Because those people persist. Those unique, luminous beings will one day leave their physical bodies behind and cross over into deeper dimensions of reality. And those little acts of kindness which left some imprint on their memories, their key experiences, which somehow played a role in their character formation … those they take into eternity with them. And I had a hand in that. THAT may be the “more” that remains, the “all there is.”
My massive library, my CD collection, my photos and few pieces or art … my accumulated stuff, who knows where all that will end up? “No stone will be left on another.” But that 20 bucks I secretly stuck in my college roommate’s econ textbook when he was broke. That time I helped debug an acquaintance’s programming assignment, when I was still frantically working on my own (and he ultimately got a better grade than I did). That time I bailed out someone when they couldn’t afford rent that month. Or bought groceries for someone. When I paid for their prescription when they were stretched too thin. When I stayed late to help a colleague at work. Or perhaps even when I let someone cut ahead of me in traffic when they were obviously in such a hurry (and I didn’t flip them the bird!). Just maybe that’s some eternal stuff.
I’m incredibly grateful for the good life I’ve constructed over the years. I’m aware of that long line of footprints in the sand of the One who walked beside me and held my hand when it felt like my world was falling apart. And hopefully, there are many years still ahead when I can enjoy the good things in life, the beautiful moments, unexpected discoveries in the magical nature of the universe, more mystical encounters, fresh insights and ah-ha! moments, and many many more meaningful conversations with friends. And also many more opportunities to help make someone else’s life a bit better. ‘Cuz that’s the stuff that ultimately lasts.
Temples and monuments, ballrooms and arches won’t last, won’t even make the next page in history. But little acts of generosity and compassion will echo into eternity. And while we’re here, enjoying our time in this playground sandbox, with our Eternal Guardian smiling over our shoulder, self-giving love is what ultimately matters most. Because, when it’s all said and done, acts of love are the only things we get to take with us to the other side.
For pastors and leaders concerned about people going through deconstruction in your churches, check out Steve’s new book, Pastoring Evolving Faiths: Guiding Spiritual Seekers in the Messy Process of Faith Deconstruction and Reconstruction, available on Amazon.