Revelation 21:4 tells us that Jesus will wipe away all tears and banish mourning and crying. But have you ever wondered, How? Does this mean that God erases our memories of all the tragedy and sadness that happened on earth? You know, like in Men in Black—Jesus pulls out one of those flashy sticks, snaps it, and then we can’t remember anything from before. Is that it?
I don’t think so. After all, in heaven our awareness of things is increased, not decreased. What this means is that in that moment, we cease our mourning not because we know less, but because we see that God has transformed all our pain into good, just like he promised.
One of my favorite images for how we’ll see our past pain in heaven is what Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:54: “Death is swallowed up in victory” (ESV). Paul could have simply said that the resurrection overcame death, or that God’s victory triumphed over death. But he used an interesting metaphor here instead—swallowed up. Just think about that: When you swallow something, it becomes part of you. That burger you ate last night? Literally a part of you (for better or worse). And now, that thing you swallowed becomes the power by which you go throughout your day.
What Paul is saying, then, is that our experiences of pain and mourning become a part of us, deepening our capacity for joy and serving as fuel for living out God’s purposes for eternity. It’s not merely that God finally wins and overcomes the tough parts of our lives; it’s that he wins and overcomes in and through the tough parts of our lives. He uses them, metabolizes them into something greater than we could have experienced without them.
It makes me think of the ancient Japanese art form of kintsugi. In kintsugi, the artist fashions a beautiful, ornate pot, but in the final step, he shatters it into pieces. Then he mends it back together with a precious metal—silver or gold—in the seams. The end result is that the value of the pot is exponentially more after it’s been restored than it was before it was broken.
There will come a moment when we realize all our pain was God expanding our capacity to know and enjoy him. God wipes away all our tears as we see death swallowed up by victory, and Jesus has used it to create something stronger and more beautiful than we could have ever imagined. I sometimes struggle to know how he could do this. But I have seen him transform smaller graves into gardens, so I trust he can do it in the bigger ones too.
That brings up an uncomfortable question for me: “What about our loved ones or friends who don’t make it to heaven? How can heaven be a place of ‘no more tears’ in light of that?” I have to tell you, honestly, I don’t fully know the answer to that. It can’t be that we simply don’t care about them anymore—because in heaven, our capacity for love is increased too, not decreased. J.I. Packer offers an answer that helps: He says that maybe in heaven our moral compass will be so fully aligned with God—we’ll see his glory and justice like he sees them—that our questions will then be resolved.
In his book The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis says that hell is chosen by those who refuse God—and people in hell may hate hell, but they hate a place dominated by the rule of God (that is, heaven) even more. In heaven, Lewis says, our affections will be so purified that we will agree with God’s justice and rejoice in his goodness, even when it means acknowledging the self-chosen ruin of others.
That’s where I think the answer is. Beyond that, I don’t know. I just know I trust him. He’s the God who died for me and rose again, and I know I can trust him with this. Revelation 15 says that in heaven, we will rejoice in the righteousness and justice of God. Nobody’s going to be saying, “But God, what about … ?” or “How could you … ?” I know that when I look backward from eternity, what will amaze me is not the severity of his judgment but the magnanimity of his mercy. So for now, I trust him, and I plead with everyone around me to come to him.
