The end of the Sacraments?

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It has long been a fascination to me that Jesus tells us that “in the resurrection they are neither married nor given in marriage but are like the angels in heaven” (Matthew 22:30; Mark 12:25; Luke 20:34-35). Marriage is fundamental to the building of a healthy society, which is one of the reasons that it is worth fighting for. It is a gift that God establishes in creation, most notably in Genesis 2:24, prior to the fall. So why would it be something absent from heaven? Paul tells us in Ephesians 5 that marriage is an icon of the love between Christ and His Church. We are saved through our marriages — the one and only thing that the New Testament directly calls a Sacrament, musterion (Ephesians 5:32). If marriage imparts that kind of grace, why would it cease in the life to come where grace is to abound?

This question struck me anew this week in reading The Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis. The fourth book is entirely taken up with devotion to Christ in the Holy Eucharist, yet early in Chapter 11 Thomas says that for all its gloriousness, the Eucharist is but a temporary gift:

In truth, I possess and adore Him Whom the angels adore in heaven — I as yet by faith, they face to face unveiled. I must be content with the light of the true faith and walk in it until the day of eternal brightness dawns and the shadow of figures passes away. When, moreover, that which is perfect shall have come, the need of sacraments shall cease, for the blessed in heavenly glory need no healing sacrament. Rejoicing endlessly in the presence of God, beholding His glory face to face, transformed from their own brightness to the brightness of the ineffable Deity, they taste the Word of God made flesh, as He was in the beginning and will remain in eternity.

Thomas is saying that there will be no Mass in heaven because what the Mass gives us is only a foretaste of what heaven offers all the time. We need the Mass here and now because of our separation from God and our need for the merits of His Son to be applied to us. Once we are in heaven, there will no longer be any separation between us and God because we will have been washed clean and made holy. We will not need the Mass because every moment will be like the Mass, filled with the presence and gift of God.

To a certain extent, I see the point that Thomas is making. It applies equally well to all the Sacraments, including marriage. If the reason for marriage in this world is to draw us into the intimate life of family and reveal to us the love between Christ and His Church, than heaven need not have marriage because everyone will exist as one family and everyone will know the true intimacy of being one with Christ as His Bride. It is like asking whether or not there will be art in heaven.  What all great art points to abstractly will be there concretely. There will not need to be art because everything will be what art exists to point out to us.

Yet I cannot help but feel like this is an incomplete picture for reasons both personal and theological. The personal reasons are admittedly more pressing. The Mass is the most beautiful and holy thing there is. How can there truly be a heaven without it? Marriage, for all its hard work and its ups and downs, is an amazing adventure. I dare not imagine a heaven in which I will not know my wife as my wife, in which she will just be one more of an endless line of holy sisters and brothers.

The personal reasons are the ones that keep me awake at night, but the theological reasons are the ones that keep me from thinking my objections are merely sentimental. The Scriptures do not tell us as much as many people would think about what heaven will be like, but what they do tell us paints a picture that is hard to describe as anything other than sacramental.

Scott Hahn wrote a wonderful little book some years back called The Lamb’s Supper: The Mass as Heaven on Earth. In that book, he argues fairly persuasively that the complex picture of heaven and the life-to-come presented by the Book of Revelation is best understood in liturgical terms. There is a constant Eucharistic feast going on in heaven that will one day be translated back to earth when the two come together at the end. The Mass that we participate in now is more than just a foretaste; it is an actual participation in this never-ending heavenly liturgy.

The same argument, it seems to me, can be made for what marriage will be like in the age to come. There will be no new marriages contracted, but that does not have to mean that marriage itself will be swept away like a glass of water being poured into the ocean. Rather, the marriages of the faithful will be redeemed and perfected and thereby shown the part they have always played in the overwhelming reality of the married life of heaven in which Christ is constantly being made one with His Bride.

We can extend this out to the other Sacraments as well. I need not act as a priest in heaven since the great High Priest who is Our Lord will have it covered, yet the truth is that my priesthood here and now is a participation in His and I do not expect that to disappear once I am with Him. Baptism will not be needed in heaven, yet the mark of the Baptized will remain the sign of our citizenship in the Kingdom. Even Anointing of the Sick and Confirmation will have some place of crossover, though our faith will not need strengthening there nor will there be any more sickness to heal.

Heaven may be the end of the Sacraments, but in the here-and-now the Sacraments are the beginning of heaven. The Sacraments are not merely tools for the conditioning of our faith but real and true places of entry into the life of God. There may not be set Mass times on Sunday mornings in heaven, but that is only because all of heaven is singing the Mass all the time. There may not be weddings in heaven, but that is only because every marriage finds its perfect place in the marriage feast that is forever celebrated at God’s table.

Photo from Southern Orders here.

God’s memory

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The Lord has remembered us. He will bless us. He will bless the House of Israel. He will bless the House of Aaron.
– Psalm 115:12

We have a funny relationship with memory in western culture today. There is a massive market for nostalgia. Old television shows and movies are remade constantly. We have at our fingertips more ways of photographing, recording, and documenting life events than ever before. There is a constant craving to capture the past, to bottle it and dip our toes in it from time to time.

Yet this great nostalgia does not include a desire for continuity. We dislike the idea of tradition in any form. If an idea cannot be demonstrated to be useful by contemporary sensibilities, it is instantly tossed aside without a second thought. The same past that we view with misty-eyed sentiment when it comes to things like pop culture and fashion is seen as a tyrant when it comes to how we live our lives, our values, and the seeking of life’s true meaning.

Memory is far more than what we think it is. Memory is not just an assortment of images and recollections. To remember is to know something and make it real. It is to bring a person or an idea into the narrative of life. If I remember you, I know you. You are a part of me, and I am a part of you. This is what makes memory loss so tragic, not that it just robs us of our past, it robs us of our present as well. If I cannot remember you, I cannot know you.

Fr. Stephen Freeman, in this wonderful reflection on prayers for the dead, remarks that the divine memory is an important and central part of the Orthodox burial service. He says, “Funeral services conclude with the ancient hymn, ‘Memory eternal!’ in which the Church prays that God will forever remember the departed. To be remembered by God is nothing less than life eternal.”

This is ultimately what salvation is. It is to be remembered by God. Our memories are finite. They eventually give out. When we die, our memories die with us. Even the most famous and well known people will eventually be forgotten by history. But God remembers eternally. When He remembers you, you live. When He calls you to mind, that very action calls you into being. God chooses not to remember your sin, only your light, which is ultimately His light shining through you. Your sin is forgotten through the blood of the cross, but your life is remembered eternally through the love of God.

This is the power of the biblical concept of memory. Whenever God “remembers” someone, blessing follows. When God remembers Noah, the waters subside (Genesis 8:1). When God remembers Ruth, He opens her womb (Genesis 30:22). In remembering Ephraim, despite his sin, the Lord’s heart is warmed and He has mercy (Jeremiah 31:20). Examples abound. Whenever God remembers His covenant with Israel, He restores Israel. When He remembers us, He restores us as well.

On the cross, the thief who has faith in Jesus says to Him, “Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom!” And Jesus replies, “Today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:42-43). He doesn’t say, “Sure thing, Buddy. I’ll think about you all the time.” He tells him that he will be with Him. That is the power of memory for God. That is what it does. It makes things real.

This is also one of the many reasons why the mystery of the Eucharist makes no sense to the world. Jesus takes bread and wine. He tells us that they are His Body and Blood. And then He says, “Do this in remembrance of me.” Remembrance – the biblical word is anamnesis – is far more than just a nice reminder. Jesus is not asking us to think sweet thoughts about Him whenever we gather for a light snack. He’s telling us that as we remember Him, He remembers us. The bread and the wine may not look any different than they did before they were blessed, but they are different. Remember Him because He is what we receive at the altar, regardless of what our senses are telling us.

And this, of course, is also why we pray for the dead, not because we expect to change God’s mind about a sentence already passed, but because we long to know that those whom we love are alive in the mind and heart of God. We pray for the salvation of the dead for the same reason that we pray for the salvation of everybody else, because it is only in the light of the eternal memory of God that we live forever. His memory is our future.

Image from here.