All people.

The nations.

Every person, every knee, every tongue.

Psalm 22 echoes these promises: "All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the LORD, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him."

But then it adds a number of details: "All the rich of the earth will feast and worship; all who go down to the dust will kneel before him-"

So everybody who dies will kneel before G.o.d, and "future generations will be told about the LORD. They will proclaim his righteousness, declaring to a people yet unborn: He has done it!"

This insistence that G.o.d will be united and reconciled with all people is a theme the writers and prophets return to again and again. They are very specific in their beliefs about who G.o.d is and what G.o.d is doing in the world, constantly affirming the simple fact that G.o.d does not fail.

In the book of Job the question arises: "Who can oppose G.o.d? He does whatever he pleases" (chap. 23). And then later it's affirmed when Job says to G.o.d, "I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted" (chap. 42).

Through Isaiah G.o.d says, "I will do all that I please." Isaiah asks, "Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear?" while Jeremiah declares to G.o.d, "Nothing is too hard for you" (Isa. 46; 59; Jer. 32). is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear?" while Jeremiah declares to G.o.d, "Nothing is too hard for you" (Isa. 46; 59; Jer. 32).

This G.o.d, in Psalm 145, "is good to all; he has compa.s.sion on all he has made."

This G.o.d's anger, in Psalm 30, "lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime."

This G.o.d, in Psalm 145, "is gracious and compa.s.sionate, slow to anger and rich in love."

In the Bible, G.o.d is not helpless, G.o.d is not powerless, and G.o.d is not impotent.

Paul writes to the Philippians that "it is G.o.d who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose" (chap. 2).

Once again, G.o.d has a purpose. A desire. A goal. And G.o.d never stops pursuing it. Jesus tells a series of parables in Luke 15 about a woman who loses a coin, a shepherd who loses a sheep, and a father who loses a son. The stories aren't ultimately about things and people being lost; the stories are about things and people being found. The G.o.d that Jesus teaches us about doesn't give up until everything that was lost is found. This G.o.d simply doesn't give up. Ever.

Now, back to those church websites, the ones that declare that ultimately billions of people will spend eternity apart from G.o.d, while others will be with G.o.d in heaven forever.

Is history tragic?

Have billions of people been created only to spend eternity in conscious punishment and torment, suffering infinitely for the finite sins they committed in the few years they spent on earth?

Is our future uncertain, or will G.o.d take care of us?

Are we safe?

Are we secure?

Or are we on our own?

Is G.o.d our friend, our provider, our protector, our father-or is G.o.d the kind of judge who may in the end declare that we deserve to spend forever separated from our Father?

Is G.o.d like the characters in a story Jesus would tell, old ladies who keep searching for the lost coin until they find it, shepherds who don't rest until that one sheep is back in the fold, fathers who rush out to greet and embrace their returning son, or, in the end, will G.o.d give up?

Will "all the ends of the earth" come, as G.o.d has decided, or only some?

Will all feast as it's promised in Psalm 22, or only a few?

Will everybody be given a new heart, or only a limited number of people?

Will G.o.d, in the end, settle, saying: "Well, I tried, I gave it my best shot, and sometimes you just have to be okay with failure"?

Will G.o.d shrug G.o.d-size shoulders and say, "You can't always get what you want"?

Now, on to some specific responses.

There are those, like the church websites quoted at the beginning of this chapter, who put it quite clearly: "We get one life to choose heaven or h.e.l.l, and once we die, that's it. One or the other, forever."

G.o.d in the end doesn't get what G.o.d wants, it's declared, because some will turn, repent, and believe, and others won't. To explain this perspective, it's rightly pointed out that love, by its very nature, is freedom. For there to be love, there has to be the option, both now and then, to not love. To turn the other way. To reject the love extended. To say no. Although G.o.d is powerful and mighty, when it comes to the human heart G.o.d has to play by the same rules we do. G.o.d has to respect our freedom to choose to the very end, even at the risk of the relationship itself. If at any point G.o.d overrides, co-opts, or hijacks the human heart, robbing us of our freedom to choose, then G.o.d has violated the fundamental essence of what love even is.

The question that flows out of this understanding of love, then, is quite simple. Lots of people in our world right now choose to be violent and abusive and mean and evil, so why won't they continue to choose this path after they die?

That question leads to another idea, one rooted in the dynamic nature of life. We aren't fixed, static beings-we change and morph as life unfolds. As we choose evil, it often leads to more evil. Tell a lie, and moments later you find yourself telling another lie to cover up the first lie. And so on.

When we choose to reject our G.o.d-given humanity, we can easily find ourselves in a rut, wearing grooves in a familiar path that is easier and easier to take. One lie leads to another, one act of violence demands another, and on and on it goes, gaining momentum all the while. This is how addiction works: something gets its claws into us and, as it becomes more and more dominant in our life, it becomes harder and harder to imagine living without it.

What makes us think that after a lifetime, let alone hundreds or even thousands of years, somebody who has consciously chosen a particular path away from G.o.d suddenly wakes up one day and decides to head in the completely opposite direction?

And so a universal hugfest where everybody eventually ends up around the heavenly campfire singing "k.u.mbaya," with Jesus playing guitar, sounds a lot like fantasy to some people.

Although we're only scratching the surface of this perspective-the one that says we get this life and only this life to believe in Jesus-it is safe to say that this perspective is widely held and pa.s.sionately defended by many in our world today.

Others hold this perspective (that there is this lifetime and only this lifetime in which we all choose one of two possible futures), but they suggest a possibility involving the image of G.o.d in each of us. We can nurture and cultivate this divine image, or we can ignore, deny, and stifle it. If we can do this now, becoming less and less humane in our treatment of ourselves and others, what would happen if this went on unchecked for years and years? Would a person's humanity just ebb away eventually? Could a person reach the point of no longer bearing the image of G.o.d? Could the divine image be extinguished in a person, given enough time and neglect? Is there a possibility that, given enough time, some people could eventually move into a new state, one in which they were in essence "formerly human" or "posthuman" or even "ex-human?"

An interesting question.

And then there are others who can live with two destinations, two realities after death, but insist that there must be some kind of "second chance" for those who don't believe in Jesus in this lifetime. In a letter Martin Luther, one of the leaders of the Protestant Reformation, wrote to Hans von Rechenberg in 1522 about the possibility that people could turn to G.o.d after death, asking: "Who would doubt G.o.d's ability to do that?"

Again, a good question.

And so s.p.a.ce is created in this "who would doubt G.o.d's ability to do that?" perspective for all kinds of people-fifteen-year-old atheists, people from other religions, and people who rejected Jesus because the only Jesus they ever saw was an oppressive figure who did anything but show G.o.d's love.

And then there are others who ask, if you get another chance after you die, why limit that chance to a one-off immediately after death? And so they expand the possibilities, trusting that there will be endless opportunities in an endless amount of time for people to say yes to G.o.d.

As long as it takes, in other words.

At the heart of this perspective is the belief that, given enough time, everybody will turn to G.o.d and find themselves in the joy and peace of G.o.d's presence. The love of G.o.d will melt every hard heart, and even the most "depraved sinners" will eventually give up their resistance and turn to G.o.d.

And so, beginning with the early church, there is a long tradition of Christians who believe that G.o.d will ultimately restore everything and everybody, because Jesus says in Matthew 19 that there will be a "renewal of all things," Peter says in Acts 3 that Jesus will "restore everything," and Paul says in Colossians 1 that through Christ "G.o.d was pleased to . . . reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven."

In the third century the church fathers Clement of Alexandria and Origen affirmed G.o.d's reconciliation with all people.

In the fourth century, Gregory of Nyssa and Eusebius believed this as well.

In their day, Jerome claimed that "most people," Basil said the "ma.s.s of men," and Augustine acknowledged that "very many" believed in the ultimate reconciliation of all people to G.o.d.

Central to their trust that all would be reconciled was the belief that untold ma.s.ses of people suffering forever doesn't bring G.o.d glory. Restoration brings G.o.d glory; eternal torment doesn't. Reconciliation brings G.o.d glory; endless anguish doesn't. Renewal and return cause G.o.d's greatness to shine through the universe; never-ending punishment doesn't.

To be clear, again, an untold number of serious disciples of Jesus across hundreds of years have a.s.sumed, affirmed, and trusted that no one can resist G.o.d's pursuit forever, because G.o.d's love will eventually melt even the hardest of hearts.

Could G.o.d say to someone truly humbled, broken, and desperate for reconciliation, "Sorry, too late"? Many have refused to accept the scenario in which somebody is pounding on the door, apologizing, repenting, and asking G.o.d to be let in, only to hear G.o.d say through the keyhole: "Door's locked. Sorry. If you had been here earlier, I could have done something. But now, it's too late."

As it's written in 2 Timothy 2, G.o.d "cannot disown himself."

As Abraham asked in Genesis 18, "Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?"

Which is stronger and more powerful, the hardness of the human heart or G.o.d's unrelenting, infinite, expansive love? Thousands through the years have answered that question with the resounding response, "G.o.d's love, of course."

As John reminds his church in his first letter, "The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world" (chap. 4); and Paul declares in 1 Corinthians 13, "Love never fails."

At the center of the Christian tradition since the first church have been a number who insist that history is not tragic, h.e.l.l is not forever, and love, in the end, wins and all will be reconciled to G.o.d.

To reflect on these perspectives we've briefly covered, two observations and then a picture from the end of the Bible.

First, an obvious but unfortunately much needed observation: People have answered these questions about who goes where, when, why, and how in a number of ways. Or, to be more specific, serious, orthodox followers of Jesus have answered these questions in a number of different ways. Or, to say it another way, however you answer these questions, there's a good chance you can find a Christian or group of Christians somewhere who would answer in a similar way.

It is, after all, a wide stream we're swimming in.

Many people find Jesus compelling, but don't follow him, because of the parts about "h.e.l.l and torment and all that." Somewhere along the way they were taught that the only option when it comes to Christian faith is to clearly declare that a few, committed Christians will "go to heaven" when they die and everyone else will not, the matter is settled at death, and that's it. One place or the other, no looking back, no chance for a change of heart, make your bed now and lie in it . . . forever.

Not all Christians have believed this, and you don't have to believe it to be a Christian. The Christian faith is big enough, wide enough, and generous enough to handle that vast a range of perspectives.

Second, it's important that we be honest about the fact that some stories are better than others. Telling a story in which billions of people spend forever somewhere in the universe trapped in a black hole of endless torment and misery with no way out isn't a very good story. Telling a story about a G.o.d who inflicts unrelenting punishment on people because they didn't do or say or believe the correct things in a brief window of time called life isn't a very good story.

In contrast, everybody enjoying G.o.d's good world together with no disgrace or shame, justice being served, and all the wrongs being made right is a better story. It is bigger, more loving, more expansive, more extraordinary, beautiful, and inspiring than any other story about the ultimate course history takes.

Whatever objections a person might have to this story, and there are many, one has to admit that it is fitting, proper, and Christian to long for it. We can be honest about the warped nature of the human heart, the freedom that love requires, and the destructive choices people make, and still envision G.o.d's love to be bigger, stronger, and more compelling than all of that put together. To shun, censor, or ostracize someone for holding this belief is to fail to extend grace to each other in a discussion that has had plenty of room for varied perspectives for hundreds of years now.

Now, on to a picture we're given in the last few chapters of the Bible.

The last book in the Bible is the Book of Revelation, a complex, enigmatic letter from a pastor named John filled with scenes of scrolls and robes and angels and plagues and trumpets and horses and dragons and beasts and bowls and prost.i.tutes and horses.

Women sit on scarlet beasts, swords come out of mouths, and in a "lake of fire" death and Hades experience a "second death."

This letter is written in an apocalyptic, heavily symbolic way that has given people much to discuss over the years, beginning with the question: How did the first readers of this letter understand it? Because it's written by a real pastor in a real place to a real congregation going through very real suffering. They were living at the time the letter was written under the oppressive rule of a succession of Roman Emperors who demanded they be worshipped as the "Son of G.o.d." Christians who refused to acknowledge these Caesars as Lord were being executed, simply for being followers of Jesus.

This kind of tribulation raised very pressing questions for these people in this church that John pastored about how G.o.d runs the world and how long G.o.d would let this injustice continue. And so, at the heart of the letter he paints a picture for them of G.o.d acting decisively to restrain evil and conquer all who trample on the innocent and the good. In the end, wrongs are righted and people are held accountable for the destruction they have caused.

But the letter does not end with blood and violence.

It ends with two chapters describing a new city, a new creation, a new world that G.o.d makes, right here in the midst of this one. It is a buoyant, hopeful vision of a future in which the nations are healed and there is peace on earth and there are no more tears.

This vision we're given here in the final words of the Bible tells us all kinds of things about the big story, the one Jesus invites us in to, the one rooted in, driven by and permeated with G.o.d's love.

First, we read that there is no place in this new world for murder and destruction and deceit. There can't be because this new world is free from those evils, which means that it is free from those who would insist on continuing to perpetuate those evils.

This is important, because in speaking of the expansive, extraordinary, infinite love of G.o.d there is always the danger of neglecting the very real consequences of G.o.d's love, namely G.o.d's desire and intention to see things become everything they were always intended to be. For this to unfold, G.o.d must say about a number of acts and to those who would continue to do them, "Not here you won't."

Love demands freedom. It always has, and it always will. We are free to resist, reject, and rebel against G.o.d's ways for us. We can have all the h.e.l.l we want.

Let's pause here and ask the obvious question: How could someone choose another way with a universe of love and joy and peace right in front of them-all of it theirs if they would simply leave behind the old ways and receive the new life of the new city in the new world?

The answer to how is "Yes."

I see this every day, and so do you. People choose to live in their own h.e.l.ls all the time. We do it every time we isolate ourselves, give the cold shoulder to someone who has slighted us, every time we hide knives in our words, every time we harden our hearts in defiance of what we know to be the loving, good, and right thing to do.

Have you ever been in an argument and you knew exactly what not to say? You knew exactly what would most wound the person, what would unnecessarily drag the past up, what would get right to the person's heart in the quickest, most hurtful way-and yet you said that very thing anyway? Me, too.

We see people choose another way all the time. That impulse lurks in all of us. So will those who have said no to G.o.d's love in this life continue to say no in the next? Love demands freedom, and freedom provides that possibility. People take that option now, and we can a.s.sume it will be taken in the future.

Second, we read in these last chapters of Revelation that the gates of that city in that new world will "never shut." That's a small detail, and it's important we don't get too hung up on details and specific images because it's possible to treat something so literally that it becomes less true less true in the process. But gates, gates are for keeping people in and keeping people out. If the gates are never shut, then people are free to come and go. in the process. But gates, gates are for keeping people in and keeping people out. If the gates are never shut, then people are free to come and go.

Can G.o.d bring proper, lasting justice, banishing certain actions-and the people who do them-from the new creation while at the same time allowing and waiting and hoping for the possibility of the reconciliation of those very same people? Keeping the gates, in essence, open? Will everyone eventually be reconciled to G.o.d or will there be those who cling to their version of their story, insisting on their right to be their own little G.o.d ruling their own little miserable kingdom?

Will everybody be saved, or will some perish apart from G.o.d forever because of their choices?

Those are questions, or more accurately, those are tensions we are free to leave fully intact. We don't need to resolve them or answer them because we can't, and so we simply respect them, creating s.p.a.ce for the freedom that love requires.

This s.p.a.ce leads to a third observation about the new creation in this new city in the world we see at the end of Revelation: G.o.d announces "I am making everything new." At the end, something new. The last word, it turns out, isn't a last word but a first word. Or more precisely, another first word in an endless succession of first words. That's what G.o.d's love does: it speaks new words into the world and into us. Potentials, possibilities, and the promise that G.o.d has an imagination and is not afraid to use it. Hard and fast, definitive declarations then, about how G.o.d will or will not organize the new world must leave plenty of room for all kinds of those possibilities. This doesn't diminish G.o.d's justice or take less seriously the very real consequences of sin and rebellion, it simply acknowledges with humility the limits of our powers of speculation.

Now back to that original question: "Does G.o.d get what G.o.d wants?" is a good question, an interesting question, an important question that gives us much to discuss.

But there's a better question, one we can answer, one that takes all of this speculation about the future, which no one has been to and then returned with hard, empirical evidence, and brings it back to one absolute we can depend on in the midst of all of this, which turns out to be another question.

It's not "Does G.o.d get what G.o.d wants?"

but "Do we get what we want?"

And the answer to that is a resounding, affirming, sure, and positive yes.

Yes, we get what we want.

G.o.d is that loving.

If we want isolation, despair, and the right to be our own G.o.d, G.o.d graciously grants us that option. If we insist on using our G.o.d-given power and strength to make the world in our own image, G.o.d allows us that freedom; we have the kind of license to that. If we want nothing to do with light, hope, love, grace, and peace, G.o.d respects that desire on our part, and we are given a life free from any of those realities. The more we want nothing to do with all G.o.d is, the more distance and s.p.a.ce are created. If we want nothing to do with love, we are given a reality free from love.

If, however, we crave light, we're drawn to truth, we're desperate for grace, we've come to the end of our plots and schemes and we want someone else's path, G.o.d gives us what we want.

If we have this sense that we've wandered far from home, and we want to return, G.o.d is there, standing in the driveway, arms open, ready to invite us in.

If we thirst for shalom, shalom, and we long for the peace that transcends all understanding, G.o.d doesn't just give, they're poured out on us, lavished, heaped, until we're overwhelmed.

It's like a feast where the food and wine do not run out.

These desires can start with the planting of an infinitesimally small seed deep in our heart, or a yearning for life to be better, or a gnawing sense that we're missing out, or an awareness that beyond the routine and grind of life there's something more, or the quiet hunch that this isn't all there is. It often has its birth in the most unexpected ways, arising out of our need for something we know we do not have, for someone we know we are not.