2 Corinthians 5:1-4
"For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened, not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life."
The real eternal me is spiritual. Paul is saying this body is temporary, like a tent. We're going through a foreign country in a tent. This earthly body is built from this earth, a composite of the genes of my ancestors, but my spirit is from God. This human mess that I am is not my spirit, and it's not my future home. Because Christ has secured something far better: a glorified body, eternal in the heavens, not made with hands. Not a renewing of this human earthly mess, but a glorious reunion of body and spirit.
Paul speaks about "groaning", and what he describes isn’t mere a complaint, it’s a deep, Spirit-given longing for full redemption, where mortality is "swallowed up by life." It's his hope, not a fear or a fantasy. It’s not a desire to escape existence altogether (to be "unclothed" or naked, as Paul says), but to be "further clothed" with immortality, so that death itself is defeated.
That phrase "swallowed up by life" is triumphant. Paul is borrowing the imagery from Isaiah 25:8, "He will swallow up death forever", and applies it personally. Death doesn’t get the last word; life does. Life as we know it is reversed. Mortality itself, the very power of decay and death that clings to this "tent," will one day be engulfed and overwhelmed by resurrection life.
A "building from God", like the resurrection body of Jesus Himself, "not made with hands", but "eternal in the heavens". It’s not a refurbishing of the old model with its genetic frailties, chronic weaknesses, and ancestral baggage. It’s a new creation, perfectly suited to the new heavens and new earth, bearing the family resemblance of the risen Christ. We will be like Him. Resemble Him.
We'll have warp speed sight into the universe. Omniscient beings with knowledge about the beginning and the end. When mortality is "swallowed up by life", we won’t just receive upgraded bodies; we’ll receive upgraded minds, hearts, and capacities, perfectly aligned with the mind of Christ. The earthly veil is stripped away. Then, as John says, "we shall see Him as He is" (1 John 3:2), and in seeing Him face to face, we will know as we are fully known (1 Corinthians 13:12).
Just imagine:
Exploring the farthest galaxies not as distant observers through telescopes, but as resurrected beings who can traverse God’s creation in bodies like Christ’s. Passing through locked doors, yet still touching the earth, growing food and eating it.
Out of necessity?
I don't know.
I just know that the word tells us we aren't going to be like ghosts.
I know that when we are upgraded, "further clothed" with bodies like His (Philippians 3:21), we will be able to traverse the renewed cosmos in ways that defy our current physics. We’ll walk on new earths, and plant gardens in redeemed soil. And exploring distant stars won’t be tourism; it will be worship, marveling at the boundless artistry of the Creator who declares every corner of the universe "very good" again.
And so it seems to me that we’ll do these things because we’re fully alive, fully human at last, and because sharing a meal, walking a new shore, or gazing into the depths of a nebula will be ways of savoring the goodness of God forever.
Necessity will be gone. Desire becomes holy, satisfied, and an ever-renewed and immediately fulfilled desire will remain.
The grinding "must" of survival; eat or die, sleep or collapse, work or starve, hide or be destroyed, all will vanish like a shadow at dawn. What remains is desire. Pure, holy, inexhaustible desire, no longer frustrated or twisted by sin, no longer delayed by weakness or distance.
We will eat the fruit of the tree of life not because our bodies demand calories, but because its taste sings of the glory of God. A song whose final chord resolves so beautifully that you immediately long to hear it again, only to discover the next movement is even richer.
We will embrace one another, laugh, create, rest, run, feast because we love each other like we've never loved before. Not from need, not under compulsion, not from family duty, but in the freedom of loves that are finally unchained. Desire will be holy because its object is God Himself, seen face to face. It will be satisfied because nothing will any longer come between the longing soul and the Beloved.
This is the life for which we now groan in these tents. As this year draws down and the new year looms, what a mercy to lift our eyes and say, the best is not behind us, nor even fully ahead of us in time, it is already secured for us in Christ.
Come, Lord Jesus. Come.
Heavenly Father,
In this fleeting tent of today, where burdens press and joys often feel fragile, teach us to find true joy in You right now.
Lift our hearts toward tomorrow. Renew our hope in the unbreakable promise. Keep us from clinging too tightly to the passing things of earth, yet free us from despair over its brokenness.
Today, give us joy that sustains us in the tent. And for all our tomorrows, give us hope that carries us home.
Come, Lord Jesus, be our joy today, and our hope forever.
Amen.