Yesterday I wrote about the phrase in the Creed that goes, "Maker of heaven and earth," but fell victim to the very fault I have found in others: I threw around some religious words that at best were unclear, and at worst, muddied up the waters considerably. In the second-to-last paragraph I wrote about God's creation of heaven and earth, and things went downhill from there.
I said, "We tend to think of heaven as being in the same physical category as earth, but St. Paul's use of the language in his letter to the Ephesians suggests otherwise. The "heavens" is the realm where God rules uncontested. They are that part of creation that we cannot see, but which is as real as physical matter. It is where angels and archangels...and the demonic spirits dwell." To anyone unfamiliar with Christianeze, this explains nothing, and due to the baggage certain concepts carry in our culture, I may have been more harmful than helpful. So tonight I'll try to rectify the matter.
In talking with people about heaven, it is common for people to think in purely physical terms. Heaven is up in the clouds; hell is somewhere below our feet. This is not unexpected, after all, most of us would prefer to have clouds over our heads rather than dirt. As our knowledge of the Universe has grown, we've gotten more sophisticated about it, but we still think in mostly physical terms. This is not altogether improper. Later in the Creed we speak of the resurrection of the body, a very physical matter indeed. Christianity takes this physical body and world of ours very seriously. Heaven and earth are destined to be renewed, not destroyed. In the Revelation, John sees a "new heaven and earth." Some of the cults have a better understanding of this than most Christians. But to speak of the heavens as where angels and demons reside is to miss the point and run the risk of descending into a fantastical and perhaps imaginary world that has more in common with science fiction than Scripture.
I think it would be better to think of heaven and earth in the terminology of the Nicene Creed which speaks of things "visible and invisible." To say that God created things we cannot see is different (and more) than to say he created the realm where spirits dwell. For most people today, that kind of language is meaningless at best, and misleading at worst. But to speak of things invisible is to speak of that with which we are all familiar. For example, I cannot see love. I can't touch it, can't weigh it. But it is just as real, perhaps more so, than the keyboard on which I type. Where did that love come from? Is love merely the accidental confluence of atoms and molecules in my brain? Is it limited to the electrical impulses that jump between the synapses or the dopamine that certain glands secrete? I don't know of too many people who would make such a claim, and of those that do, I can't imagine being satisfied with being told that any affection one might have towards me is merely these physical mechanisms. Can love be stripped so barren and remain love?
But if it is more than this, where did it come from? How did it evolve? When we declare that God created things invisible, it is this realm of which we speak. Of course, this invisible world also contains hatred, betrayal, lust and greed, but these are perversions and distortions of the good, not the opposite of them. It is in this invisible world where sin and salvation play out. But God created it, and deep down at its core, it is good. For that world I am thankful tonight. It is what makes this physical world beautiful. Tomorrow I'll write a bit on the angels and demons part.
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