We speak of heaven as a distant, perfect, glowing place. But if God feels all our feelings, then the pain of the world is present in heaven, just as a parent who is safe and free feels the suffering and bondage of their child a thousand miles away. There is anguish in heaven over every person who believes untruths about who they are. We all believe lies, for one reason or another: abandonment, abuse, rejection, holding secrets. If God’s Spirit is in us, and He is present to all the pain in the world, then there is sorrow in heaven.

But there is also hope in heaven—not for what will be, but what is done. Jesus experienced the identity-mangling human life (including being lied to by Satan, abused, and rejected) and followed it to its deadly end. In so doing, He gifted us a life without death. The hope in heaven is born of a freedom for God’s children that is already true. God feels our pain, but He also knows who we are. When we know whom we are and Whose we are, pain and sorrow find union with hope.

But what about everyone who doesn’t know? It’s easy to look at the world and believe God has let some fall by the wayside; He has done a lot, but He couldn’t save everyone; He has shone a light, but it is a pinprick in the darkness of starvation, war, neglect, and oppression.

In many ways I’d be more comfortable with a Savior who removes us from our circumstances instead of entering into them. How is He saving us by surrendering to the dark side and letting them kill Him? Where is the Savior who stops the rapes happening as I write this, the starvation toll steadily climbing? What good is a God who showed up long enough to be brutally murdered and then went back to heaven after He was resurrected? And if His angels are really here ministering to us, how do they choose whom to deliver and whom to walk by?

I don’t know what or where heaven is, or why earth is dark. I think it’s okay to wonder. Paradox and tension are permissible. Questions keep me curious. Doubts save me from Pharisee-like certainty. God is bigger, and I know this, even as I am asking if He is too small.

Jesus chose to climb into the filth with us, rather than stay safe on the mother ship and throw us a life ring. Jesus can embody love in an untidy world; perhaps I can too. My heart is untidy, my kitchen is untidy, my husband, my neighbor and my world are untidy. If Jesus is any indication, my job is not to tidy things up, but to bend down and love.