Shall We Gather at the River?

When I was a child, I thought as a child. One of the Bible verses that gave me the most trouble in my mind was one that spoke of the Resurrection. I remember that my mother was the teacher of the Sunday School class I attended and seemed somewhat astonished when I, at age six, asked the question, “How can the dead rise first from the graves when Jesus comes? What about those people who drowned in the sea or those who were burned to death? Their bodies are not in the graves to rise up.” My exhausted parent, who was a single mother working as a waitress and only moonlighting on Sunday morning as a real Sunday School teacher at Second Baptist Church in Greenville, Mississippi, simply said, “Lisa, we’ll talk about this later, but that’s a good question.”
Another annoying habit I developed as a child was actually to think about the meaning of the song lyrics my grandmother beside me in church was singing, along of course with the other members of the congregation. After my mother became too tired and depressed to raise my sister and me, at age 16 and 12 respectively, we lived with our grandmother in a small town of 1,000 people in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. We attended her Baptist church with her every Sunday. I continued to think about the idea of our being possibly resurrected since Jesus had promised it both for Himself and for us, His followers. After all, my life had been rather traumatic to this point with an alcoholic father, a clinically depressed mother, temporary homes with relatives, sexual abuse as a three-year old, poverty, and so on. I certainly wanted to believe in the idea that this life was not all there was.
One of the songs our church congregation frequently sang was “Shall We Gather at the River,” which again raises the idea of resurrection. My grandmother’s sixty plus year old voice broke as she sang the hymn, “Yes, we’ll gather at the river, / the beautiful, the beautiful river; / gather with the saints at the river / that flows by the throne of God.” The verses spoke of a “crystal tide,” a “silver spray,” a “golden day,” happy hearts,” and “peace.” The song described a beautiful picture of life after death, and I was comforted by its promises.
As I grew older, I found myself skipping more services of the church as a typical teenager is prone to do. I no longer raised any hard theological questions with myself. Instead, I concentrated on becoming as popular as I could and set my sights on becoming recognized in such roles as homecoming maid, class favorite, and the ultimate one: Miss West Tallahatchie High School. I still believed in eternal life and the resurrection of Christians after death, but I gave up the hard questions of my childhood. In short, “I put childish ways behind me” (I Corinthians 13:11).
I have to confess that, since my teen years, I still am rather erratic as a seeker of life’s big questions. As a result of my prior spiritual quests, however, I at least now know how to describe my spiritual beliefs to others: I am biblically conservative and socially liberal. It’s an odd combination that still makes me somewhat of an outsider in both wings of our Christian faith. I am now sixty-five years old and still looking for plausible answers--but not so much as before.
Since Easter is approaching in another week, the focus of our spiritual formation class over the past few weeks has been on the last few hours of Christ’s life before His Crucifixion. Our teacher Larry has encouraged each of us to reflect upon this question: What does the Resurrection mean to you?
In response to this question, I am challenged to once again seek an answer to the age-old question. In short, the Resurrection of Christ means to me that He was truly the Son of God, His promises are true, and He is preparing a place for us in Heaven. Otherwise, He would have told us as He says in the Word in John 14:2 (NIV): “In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you.” I also long to be reunited with all the women of my family who have gone on before me: my mother, my grandmother, my aunt, and so on.
Since I am now attending an Episcopal Church, which tends to interpret the Scripture liberally, I am challenged to believe that perhaps the Resurrection of Christ was only symbolic and metaphorical. For me, it is not a stretch to believe that, if God created the world, He can also supernaturally put back together our bodies to meet Christ in the air for a second coming. It is also possible that the universe is filled with places we cannot see—a perfect place for a literal heaven. I believe that a metaphorical view removes all hope of the heaven described by Jesus. Even at this moment I am listening to an NPR presentation by author Lisa Miller where the statistic was just given that 80% of all believers, whether Jewish, Christian, or Muslim, believe in a literal heaven and that it is God’s home. I am happy to include myself in the majority opinion. Shall we gather together in eternity? I believe we will, and it will be with the other “saints at the river.”