The Lord’s rescued ones will return. They will enter Zion with singing—their heads crowned with everlasting joy. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away. “I, yes I, am the one who comforts you.” Isa. 51:11–12
Oh Father, right out of the worship-gate, I love the “will-ness” of these promises. You’re not describing things that might happen, but will happen. Hallelujah, and thank you. Nothing and no one will keep us from arriving safely Home.
But right now, because you have hidden our lives in Jesus (Col.3:1-4), we live in the eternal year of your favor, in the rarified air of your delight, in the perpetual embrace of your grace. The saints in heaven are certainly more happy and whole than us, but they are not one bit more secure and loved.
Even we non-singers are destined to sing—“crowned with everlasting joy”—what’s that going to be like? We know what it feels like to be overtaken by guilt and shame, but we can hardly imagine being “chased down,” inundated, overtaken by “gladness and joy.” Right now, our feet are firmly standing in grace, but we will enjoy the unfettered freedom of “leaping, frolicking, well-fed calves” (Mal.4:2).
Abba, we crave that Day when all sorrow and sighing will flee and fly away—vanquished and vaporized by the arrival of our beloved King Jesus. Until that Day, thank you for being the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort (2Cor.1:3-4)—in the messes we’re in, and the messes we make. Forgive us for bypassing you and seeking our comfort elsewhere. So Very Amen.