What Will Heaven Feel Like?

A few years ago, I spent a summer studying abroad in Cambridge, England.

It was a long trip over. The flight alone involved two transfers and took nearly two days, and after that there was a train ride and then a bus ride and then about a mile-and-a-half walk across town with my backpack and two duffel bags to campus.

There’s something you should know about duffel bags: they fray really easily. Which means that if you accidentally scrape one against the sidewalk for more than a minute or so, you’ll look back to see your shower accessories strewn along down the side of the street. I ended up carrying one bag over each shoulder and my largest duffel bag upside-down cradled in my arms, with my reclaimed shower items stacked on top of it. It made for a long walk.

My first thought when I finally arrived, registered, took my room key, and walked in the gate of King’s College was: well, thank goodness that’s over. I made it.  I set my bags down for a rest. And then I looked up.

I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things in my life, but King’s College still took my breath away. I must have stood gaping (and catching my breath) for a good five minutes, fully aware of my sweat-streaked face and hastily-stacked bottles of conditioner. Oh, my gosh. Oh my gosh. I get to go here. I get to live here. I have a place here.  I thought, trying to take it in.

The next few hours were filled with pleasant discoveries. I climbed the stairs to my room and found it was actually a suite, complete with a queen bed, two fireplaces, and a piano. I went walking around town and discovered a fresh fruit market and several churches and monuments that needed exploring. I looked up tourist attractions nearby and went to see the other colleges, where tourists weren’t allowed but students were. Every corner turned presented new delights.

Finally, to see more of the town, I went out for a jog and ended up in Jesus Green. Topping the crest of a hill, I came upon a perfect English countryside scene. I stopped jogging abruptly as my breath caught in my throat.

You see, I grew up on King Arthur and Robin Hood and Narnia and the Hobbit. I was always dreaming about having tea and crumpets cozily at home or downing brown October ale at the Blue Boar, regardless of the fact that I’d never actually had those things. And when I crested that hill, nearly five thousand miles from my parents’ house, I suddenly realized I’d come home. This is Narnia; this is Sherwood; this is the Shire. I know this place. I grew up here.

It was a delicious feeling, the sense of discovering a whole new world and coming home all at the same time. The world was so big – there were so many adventures to be had! And yet at the same time it was a small world, a personal world, a world where I had a place.

I strongly suspect that our experience of Heaven will include this delicious feeling. We have lived our whole lives in exile; one day, we shall go home. I haven’t done much explaining in this post, because feelings aren’t really something you can explain; they have to be experienced. I hope this story has helped you taste a bit of what I think Heaven will feel like.

As C. S. Lewis put it, in a book that has defined my expectations of Heaven ever since:

“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!”