H. Michael Brewer
Crescent Springs Presbyterian
November 6, 2005
HOW BIG IS HEAVEN?
Revelation 21:9-21
It goes back many centuries, the practice of setting aside a Sunday at this time of year to remember
those who have died in Christ. The Reformers got rid of the custom because it was associated with
praying to the saints, but in the last decade or two more Protestant churches are reviving the idea in a
Protestant fashion.
And why not remember those who have finished the race and gone ahead? It’s not as if my
grandmother left my heart the day she left this world. That dear woman is still part of me and surely I
can bring that part of myself into the presence of God in worship. If we have loved ones who have gone
to be with Christ, then we have much to be thankful for, we have much to rejoice in. Why not set aside
a day on which to celebrate that joy here with the family?
Some of you remember Keith Cardwell who was a student minister here years ago. Keith is a good
friend and we still keep in touch. A while back he told me a story about a member of his church; we’ll
call him Mitch. Mitch often stopped by the church, usually to see the secretary about some financial
matter or something. If Keith was around, Mitch might stick his head in Keith’s office and pass a few
words. But one day Mitch came specifically to see Keith, to talk to his pastor. He came to Keith’s
office with a question. He’d been reading Revelation and he wanted to get clear about something. He
wanted to know if Revelation was right about the size of heaven.
He opened a Bible to Revelation 21, part of the Scripture reading that you heard a few minutes
ago. Let me refresh your memory. “The angel who talked to me had a measuring rod of gold to
measure the city and its gates and walls. The city lies foursquare, its length the same as its width; and he
measured the city with his rod, fifteen hundred miles; its length and width and height are equal.”
According to these verses, heaven is a cube, the width, breadth, and height of heaven are all equal,
each 12,000 stadia. Or in more familiar terms 1,500 miles long, 1,500 miles wide, 1,500 miles high.
Mitch pulled from his pocket a paper on which he had jotted some numbers. Mitch said, “This means
that heaven calculates to be a city of over two million square miles, and if you extend that city another
1,500 miles into the air, then heaven occupies 3,375,000,000 cubic miles. So what about it? Is that
right? Is that the true size of heaven?”
At this point, Keith gave the kind of answer I would probably have given, the kind of answer
seminary trained us to give, a theologian’s answer. I wasn’t there, but I can fill in the blanks.
“Revelation is a highly symbolic book, a visionary glimpse of heaven. A book like Revelation isn’t
interested in mathematical precision. John was trying to write the truth in bold, vivid strokes to capture
the heart and imagination of his readers. In the ancient world, many people considered the cube as a
symbol of perfection: balanced, symmetrical, equal on each side and each face. To describe the new
Jerusalem as a cube is to say that heaven is perfect. There’s nothing lacking, nothing missing, nothing
out of kilter in heaven. Everything is just as it should be. The perfect measurements symbolize perfect
joy, perfect peace, perfect harmony. Why 12,000 stadia on each side? Because twelve symbolizes the
twelve tribes of Israel and the twelve disciples of Jesus, the people of God gathered in the city of God.”
That’s what I would have said, and I suspect it’s pretty close to what Keith said. I also suspect that
Mitch smiled politely and went home feeling that his question hadn’t really been answered.
About a week later, Mitch showed up again at Keith’s door. He said he’d spent some more time
thinking about the size of heaven. He had a fresh piece of paper with even more numbers. He said, “I
figure the average human being takes up about ten cubic feet of space. That might be a little generous,
but it should be in the ballpark.”
He pulled out a calculator and began to punch in numbers.
“If heaven is 1,500 miles long and 1,500 miles wide and 1,500 miles high, and if each person takes
up ten cubic feet of space then how many people will fit into heaven? My calculator can’t even handle a
number that big, can’t even get close. What do you make of that? What does that mean?”
Perhaps it crossed Keith’s mind that Mitch was contemplating his own mortality. Or maybe Mitch had
a friend who was entering that last stretch of life, nearing the finish line. Or maybe he was remembering
a loved one who had gone on ahead, out of sight now but never out of mind. Maybe Mitch was trying
to get his head and his heart around the hope of heaven.
At any rate, this time Keith gave him, not a theologian’s answer, but a pastor’s answer. He smiled
at Mitch, laid a hand on his shoulder, and said, “It means that heaven is big—big enough for every
sinner who kneels at the cross, big enough for every heart-broken wretch who lays the wreckage of life
before the mercy seat, big enough for the whole, vast family of Christ across the nations and through the
ages. It means there’s room in heaven, room for you, room for me, and God will never turn his own
away. It means there’s a place waiting for us.”
At least, that’s what I would have said to Mitch. It’s what I have said so many times at sickbeds, at
grave sites. And I say it again to you today. The life entrusted to Christ is never lost, and the promise of
Christ cannot be broken. “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, I
would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will
come again and take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also,” (John 14:2-3 NRSV).
I give thanks today for that promise and for every broken heart that has clutched that promise like a
life preserver. I fully expect to feel Grandma’s big bear-hug again one of these days and taste her
buttermilk biscuits again, and I praise God for that. I give thanks that those who have laid themselves
down in the arms of Christ are not lost, so many I have buried through the years—Charlie, Dottie,
Harry, Celeste and Pete, Evelyn—so many, but room enough for all of them, room enough even for me
by the grace of a faithful Savior.
Perhaps you thought we were here today to remember the dead. We’re not. We’re here to
remember the living and to rejoice that in that great, bright city there is a place saved for you and for me.
Soli Deo Gloria!