longing for another world
View of Lake Como from Villa Monastero // Photo by W Brian Duncan
"... don't drop a single anchor, we're almost home; the sun is setting yonder, we're almost home..." - Matt Boswell + Matt Papa, Almost Home
I long for Home.
Not home in the sense of being at our house with the ones I love, but Home in the sense of leaving this earthly habitation and returning to my Eternal Home.
This isn't a new longing, it's a slow, steady, persistent ache that resurfaces from time to time.
Sometimes the longing is strong - when I notice evil, darkness, and despair all around me. Life wasn't supposed to be this way.
Sometimes the longing is more of a dull feeling. It's noticing that there must be something more. The joys of this life are fleeting, and it doesn't seem right.
Life can be a lot. It's easy to feel discouraged, helpless, and hopeless. We may know this is not the life that Christ has for us but our emotions are very convincing sometimes. And grief doesn't dissipate, as much as we'd wish it to.
One of my coworkers died this year, and it hit me like a punch in the gut. She was young. She got engaged the same week I did. She was full of energy and life. The day before her passing, we said "see you tomorrow" to each other in the corridor at work.
But it was not to be.
Processing the grief of that experience is slow. Sometimes little moments or benign experiences will trigger grief afresh. It can be hard to go on, to keep putting one foot in front of the next. In many ways, her death felt like a robbery. And going on felt almost dishonorable, because how could life continue as normal without her in it? How could she be here one day and gone the next, leaving no trace but a huge, invisible gash in the lives of those who knew her?
Whenever I feel the overwhelming sorrow that results from fixing my eyes too much on worldly things, it makes me want to quit this earthly abode and join my Heavenly Father in that place where He will "wipe away every tear," and "death, sorrow, and crying will be no more" (Rev. 21:4).
When I discuss this with my mum, she is quick to remind me that I cannot choose when to die and that I must make the most of the time I am given here, but sometimes my despondency is deep and I struggle with counseling my heart in the truth. I long to go where pain and sorrow will be no more, where God Himself will wipe the tears from our sore eyes, take us into His arms, and whisper, "welcome Home, little one."
Please don't get me wrong on this. I fully believe that God is good! I also fully believe that life is a good gift. But it can be so hard because the effects of sin run so deep. And the longing for Home is strong. Whenever I look around at the entropy, the tendency to decay all around me, I feel this sense of pervading hopelessness. What can one small human do? Likely you've felt this way before too. Thoughts run through your mind like how can I possibly make a difference? The problems in my own life are too big for me, let alone the problems in the world. I long for something different.
Interestingly, it's not only the grief and pain that cause this longing for another world. Often it's the most beautiful of experiences that somehow leave us wanting a little more. It's the restlessness at the end of August, the harmonies in Planet Earth Suite II, and the scent of a freshly picked bouquet of sweet peas graced with raindrops. The bold, spicy flavor of chicken vindaloo with fresh naan and listening to the roaring wildness of a waterfall swollen with rain.
This longing penetrates the deepest part of the heart and leaves even these lovely experiences feeling slightly hollow like we've missed the whole point somehow. Like something is missing.
I first learned that this longing for another world was universal to the human experience from the dear author C.S. Lewis. He writes “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”
This strong longing and desire for this "other world" became conscious in 2021, but even before then, I had a playlist, Pinterest board, and journals dedicated to this inexplicable nostalgic feeling for something I had never experienced. Certain books, movies, and experiences would elicit such a feeling of déjà vu or "almost there" that I would be brought to tears but couldn't explain why I was crying or even differentiate between the intermingled joy and sorrow.
There's actually a word for this in German, sehnsucht, and it means to long or yearn for something inexpressible. Through the course of my research, I stumbled across this composition by Subby Szterszky, which articulates the basics of this longing for another world.
Lewis argues that every person experiences this sehnsucht at one point or another and that it is a divine gift from God to draw us to Himself. Until we taste the emptiness or fleeting joy that this world has to offer, we won't fully comprehend the fullness and lasting joy that God offers us. As St. Augustine famously remarked, "you have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you."
In early January of this year, I wrote in my journal the following entry:
Today I was thinking of my "longing for Home" (heaven) and how I just want to go be with Jesus. It reminded me of the song Almost Home by Matt Boswell and Matt Papa. The first line goes "don't drop a single anchor, we're almost home." It struck me how foolish it would be to drop anchor a few miles from port or a few minutes' travel from home.
No one would do so because THEY'RE ALMOST THERE. They can already feel the familiar floorboards beneath their feet. They can smell the scent of home. They can perhaps see the rooftop rising above the horizon and feel the bedsheets on their skin. They are full of hope and joy at the prospect of being back where they belong.
Heaven is the same.
We cannot turn back. We won't drop anchor in some nameless port. We won't deviate from the course. It's full steam ahead because we can see the lights twinkling in the distance, we can hear the voices singing praise, we can feel the change in the air, and smell the fragrance of wildflowers carried along by the breeze.
We're almost home.
We're almost back where we belong.
Each day that passes brings us closer to our true and eternal destination, which we await with eager anticipation.
This year, starting in November of 2022, I spent a few moments almost every day reading or listening to 2 Corinthians 4. I'm not sure how many hundreds of times I soaked in the words, but I want to encourage you with a few of the verses that have refreshed my soul countless times.
"We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed;
We are perplexed, but not in despair;
Persecuted, but not forsaken;
Struck down, but not destroyed...
Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient (temporary), but the things that are unseen are eternal."
Take heart, friend. This isn't the end of your story. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. A new day will dawn, and God will show up with fresh mercy sufficient for each moment. He will hold your hand as you continue to trek towards home, clambering over rocky mountains and trudging through deep, muddy valleys. He will sit with you in your grief, binding up your gaping wounds with love that is too great for words. He will carry you when you feel like you just can't go on, ever closer to the Home you long for.
One day, you will arrive at Heaven's doorstep, empty-handed, grubby, and tired. You know that you deserve nothing, but because of Jesus, you are beloved, so you are assured of a warm welcome. God Himself will usher you inside, wiping your tear-stained face and anointing you with the oil of joy. And suddenly, nothing will matter except knowing that God loves you and He has made everything right that was once wrong.
Take heart.
You're not alone.
Wonder of wonders, you are beloved.
And you're almost Home.
♪ - listen to Almost Home by Matt Boswell and Matt Papa and the longing for another world playlist.
Originally published December 15, 2023.
