Easter
1 John 3:1–7
1See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. 2Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. 3And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure. 4Everyone who makes a practice of sinning also practices lawlessness; sin is lawlessness. 5You know that he appeared to take away sins, and in him there is no sin. 6No one who abides in him keeps on sinning; no one who keeps on sinning has either seen him or known him. 7Little children, let no one deceive you. Whoever practices righteousness is righteous, as he is righteous. (1Jo 3:1 ESV)
One of the familiar rituals of having a child is the parade of relatives and friends who look into the face of the child and try to figure out who he or she looks like. The shape of the head, the color of the eyes or hair, the prominence of the nose, the ears, the chin, the cheekbones—they all hold forth the yet unanswered riddle of what this child will look like and who this child will look like when he or she grows up.
In our text this morning, the apostle John refuses to enter into the speculation, but he certainly understands our curiosity—not, in this case, about whom one of our children will resemble, but what God's own children, you and I, will look like for eternity. He writes, "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like . . ." (v 2). Like what, John? Come on! Give us a break!
What Will I Look like When Jesus Appears?
That question actually asks a lot more than the shape of my eyes or nose in heaven. It's really asking how my whole eternity will look—and what my life here in this world, my future here, will look like all the time we wait for Jesus to come back. What will all that look like?
I.
Time does not always bear out our predictions. Things change. Faces change. Children whom we thought looked like this relative or that parent take on different characteristics as the days come and go and their bodies mature. Sometimes, it's easy to see the face of the future in our children; other times, it's hidden, with only glimpses of what will be revealed.
That is also true of us as Christians. Scripture often reminds us that here on earth we have but a vague glimpse of what will only be revealed when Christ comes again to bring to completion all things and to make plain what is only hinted at now. Some of those passages are familiar to us. Paul describes how for now we look through the mirror dimly (1 Cor 13:12). It's not that the surprise will be different from what we've been pointed to, but that the end result is beyond our human imagination (1 Cor 2:9).
As much as we want to know and predict the future that God is unfolding in Christ, we are limited by the fact that you and I live in an earthly world and in a mortal frame. We see through eyes that have the blinders of this present moment and of sin and death on them. We look for what will be, but see only vague images. What sustains us isn't a clear picture of the future, but the promise and presence of God, who is with us now. We are now God's children. He has restored us as his own in Christ, marked us as his own in Baptism, declared us righteous and holy in Christ (though we see more clearly our sin and failures). We cannot see beyond our sin except through the eyes of faith, and even then it's not a clear vision of God's future but our confidence that he will indeed bring to pass what he's promised.
For too many of us, this is not only a puzzle, but a problem. We stand where we've always stood, insisting that God reveal everything or we'll believe nothing. We saw this in Thomas, who refused to believe what he didn't see or touch for himself. When troubles touch our lives, we become like Job, who demands to know why these afflictions have befallen him.
But God does not explain himself to us or give in to our stubborn demands. Instead, he points us to Jesus: "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when [Jesus] appears we shall be like . . . him, because we shall see him as he is." We shall be like Jesus. It's enough to see Jesus; when you see him, you see your future. It's enough to see Jesus; when you see him, you know what you'll be. Remember that when Philip asked to see the Father, Jesus insisted that if he had seen Jesus, he had seen enough. He has seen the Father as much as the Father can be seen and known until our condition changes (Jn 14:8).
It's enough to have this hope within you. It's not required that you see everything as it will be or that you know now what will be. If you have Jesus, you have enough. He is the author or pioneer who charts the course of what we shall be. He is the firstborn of the dead and the one who prefigures what we shall be. He is the glorious one in whom we hope, while here we live in this humiliation of a world still tinged by sin and death. If you have Jesus, you have enough.
In Habakkuk 2:1–4, we read: "I will take my stand at my watchpost and station myself on the tower, and look out to see what he will say to me, and what I will answer concerning my complaint. And the Lord answered me: 'Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so he may run who reads it. For still the vision awaits its appointed time; it hastens to the end—it will not lie. If it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come; it will not delay. Behold, his soul is puffed up; it is not upright within him, but the righteous shall live by his faith.'"
The vision is the canvas of our lives, and the painter is God. But the vision awaits its time—that is, God's time. Our lives do not unfold with a clear path into the future. Instead, we are left to trust in the God whose promise and presence is our hope and salvation. Because we aren't the painter, we can't always see or make out what's on the canvas of our lives. It seems terribly slow at times, and we aren't sure anyone's in charge. But God calls us to patience and to wait for his work to unfold.
It often is a hidden work. At the last few Missouri Synod National Youth Gatherings, there's been a guy they call the Jesus Painter. In jeans and a T-shirt, he comes to do his thing. With house paint, a huge canvas, and a three-inch brush, he slaps the paint on in what seems a willy-nilly, random fashion. It doesn't take forever, but the time passes slowly as he paints with brush and hand on the canvas. It seems to be nothing, but at the end, it becomes clear. It's the face of Jesus. No matter what he paints, it's always the face of Jesus.
Like the Jesus Painter whose picture was a mystery, our lives are hidden; their shape is discernible only by God and by the Spirit who is at work in us, among us, and through us. He may allow us glimpses but seldom gives us much more than that. Though it's hidden, we trust in the Lord who is painting the image of Christ on our lives. The vision is Jesus!
What God is painting on the canvas of our lives isn't some reflection of our hopes, dreams, priorities, or desires. No, what God is painting on the canvas of our lives is nothing less than Jesus Christ. The old "me" is going, and the new "me" arises by the grace of God flowing from my Baptism. That new me looks an awfully lot like Jesus—what we shall be is what he already is. This is God's work, painting on the canvas of our hearts, identities, and lives. None of us is alone in not knowing fully what God is unfolding in us and among us.
God is also painting Jesus on the canvas of other Christians' lives, giving them the same new identity you and I received in Baptism, that they might become like Christ even as we are becoming like him. Remember John the Baptist, who said, "He must increase, but I must decrease" (Jn 3:30). This is the work of God on me and my life—the gradual covering up of all that is me and the slow revelation of all that is Jesus.
All creation groans in expectation of this future, the painting being complete, and the final revelation of all that will be but isn't yet. For now, we live in this tension of waiting and trusting. You are not alone in awaiting this revelation, and neither am I. We await the revelation of what is to come and what shall be—like people waiting for the painter's strokes on the canvas to turn into a picture.
The brush of God is his Word—the written Word of Scripture and the visible Word of the Sacraments. Through these Means of Grace, God is at work in me and on me, painting Christ into my mind, heart, and life. But too often all I see are the individual brushstrokes—the twists and turns of life—instead of the completed and final picture.
Oh, we do see glimmers of his final masterpiece. Once we are in Christ, our lives do begin to look like his. John says in our text that we purify ourselves "as he is pure," that we practice righteousness "as he is righteous" (vv 3, 7). But this side of heaven, that's always imperfect.
This is also true of us as a congregation. God is painting us as well. We are not yet what we shall be, not what we were, but always becoming—as the painter's canvas slowly unfolds the image of what the picture will be. But that picture is—and always is—Jesus Christ.
We don't see how he's working or understand the timing of his work or recognize the image of what is becoming. For now, it's enough that we trust in God to bring to pass what he's promised and to reveal what he's chosen. No parent sees what his or her children will look like as adults or sees what they'll become. But parents wait in the joyful expectation of what's coming, content to see it unfold before them and to help shape that outcome as best they can. We are like those children, growing and becoming what we don't yet see. Instead of focusing on what we can't see or know, we need to focus on the God who is at work in us and through us, bringing to completion what he began in us in Christ.
So if you feel lost or confused, weary or dismayed, remember you are not the painter. God is. The image is not a montage of your hopes, dreams, or desires, but of Christ himself. God is writing him and painting him on your heart, mind, and life. This painting of Christ includes his cross as well. His painting includes the crosses we bear and afflictions of the soul we suffer as our sinful nature and impure thoughts are painted over. The righteous (meaning the faithful) live not because they see, understand, or recognize all that God is doing. Rather, the righteous live by faith, trusting in Christ and Christ alone.
So hang in there in Christ, as individuals, as a congregation of his people, as a Church in mission. We are all works in progress. We are saved in Christ—the completed act of our Savior's sacrificial death and life-giving resurrection. We are even now being saved, as through Word and Sacrament God bestows on us grace upon grace, working out in us our salvation. We will be saved on that day when this life is no more, when heaven and earth pass away and the new he has promised comes to fullness, when he returns in his glory and all creation stands before him to await his righteous judgment.
As parents bring a new child into the family and everyone wants to know who he or she will look like, we already know the only answer that counts—we shall be like Jesus. We may not see it yet, but that doesn't mean it's not underway. For now, it's enough to know we are God's children by Baptism and faith. It is our calling to wait for the rest to be revealed to us when he comes. For we know that we shall be as he is. Our future is dependent on Christ, is tied to Christ, and is revealed in Christ. He will transform our lowly bodies to become like his glorious body. He will lay to rest finally every doubt or fear that now dogs us and our lives as Christians. He will finish the sculpting and painting of our lives so that the work will be done and complete for all eternity. Finally, we shall see ourselves as God sees us, and that is the gift of Christ and the paradise of eternity. Amen.