Bringing Heaven to Earth
By: The Rev. Christina Miller
In our readings this morning, we are invited into the heavenly throne room, with angels, elders, and unrecognizable creatures, all praising the Lamb that was slain. We’re not just talking about a few angels. There were thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. Can you imagine all of these voices joining together, and the volume of that sound, and the strength of that vibration?
Sound is powerful. In fact, did you know that sound waves have the power to rearrange matter? My liturgy professor in seminary had us watch a video where someone was playing a piano with a tray of sand on its strings, and the vibration of the notes was rearranging the particles of sand into intricate patterns. So the music was taking this messy pile of sand and turning it into something ordered and beautiful. Sound waves have the power to rearrange, break apart, and create. Hindus believe that the word “Om” is the sound of creation—the vibration that caused all things to come into existence. And Christians believe that God created through the spoken word—words that sent out sound waves and vibrations and created a new reality.
So in our readings, we witness the vibration of ten thousand times ten thousand voices chanting praises in heaven, with sound waves carrying the beauty of worship. And this is not limited to heaven. When Jesus taught his disciples how to pray in the Gospels, he said to ask God that it may be “on earth as it is in heaven”—an image of earth mirroring what is happening in the heavenly realm, or the heavenly realm merging with our reality on earth.
This is what our Eucharist services are doing in the Episcopal Church. Our service is meant to mirror what is happening in the heavenly throne room. When the bread and wine are consecrated, heaven and earth merge, and our church is joined with the church in heaven. We join our voices with ten thousand times ten thousand saints and angels and archangels and followers of Christ, singing: “Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might. Heaven and earth are full of your glory.” In worshipping God, we are united as one body, one reality—on earth as it is in heaven. It is a reality we can’t see but that we perceive as being there, just like how sound waves and vibrations have the power to create, but we can’t actually see them in this moment.
What if we knew our worship was this powerful? That in joining our voices together, we have the power to manifest a different reality—one that is ordered around God, one that is infused with divine Presence, one that makes everyone fall to the ground in reverence. And what if we came to the Eucharist every week knowing we were entering into heaven on earth? Wouldn’t it feel like a relief? Like a place of refuge from the chaotic world we are in, and a place where the vibration of our worship will ripple out to that very world and bring change?
What if this encounter with God’s presence wasn’t limited to our Eucharist in church, but to the very ordinary, sacramental elements of our lives? We see this in our Gospel reading. When the resurrected Jesus meets some of his disciples on the beach for the ordinary meal of breakfast.
The disciples have been out in their boats all night fishing. When Peter recognizes that Jesus is calling to them, and with great enthusiasm, he jumps off the boat, swims to shore, and joins him, with the other disciples following closely behind. The disciples see burning coals and a fire, with fish on it and some bread, and Jesus, in his resurrected body, invites them to “come and have breakfast.” Huddled around the crackling fire that is keeping them warm as light is just dawning, Jesus takes the bread and the fish in his nail-pierced hands and shares it with them. When they have finished eating, Jesus has an intimate conversation with Peter, giving Peter his vocation to feed and take care of Jesus’ sheep. And Jesus gives him a glimpse of the kind of death Peter will die, preparing Peter for difficult things up ahead.
Jesus meets his disciples in the breaking of bread—not through the rituals in their Temple and Synagogues, but in something they do every day and probably don’t even think about. Jesus makes the ordinary meal of breakfast a sacred place to encounter his presence.
Doesn’t their humble breakfast on the beach mirror the heavenly realm we’ve just been looking at? The gathering of Jesus’ innermost circle of friends, Jesus at the center, and the intimacy of their conversation. Just as heaven is full of God’s glory, so are the ordinary elements of earth: the bread and fish, sand and water, burning coals and fire—all vibrating with the sound waves of Jesus’ voice and the joy of his disciples.
I wonder what would happen if we approached something as ordinary as breakfast, or work, or a conversation with a friend, or going to the beach, as a sacred space to commune with Christ. I wonder what enthusiasm we would show up with, like Peter, unable to wait another minute to be with Jesus. I wonder what intimate encounters with the risen Christ this would lead to? What guidance we would receive in areas like our vocations and the hard things we are facing into?
Approaching the ordinary aspects of our lives as a sacred space to encounter Christ could look as simple as making time in your morning routine. You might light a candle and make a cup of tea or coffee, maybe sit outside in your garden, to practice being present and “setting your mind on the things of heaven and not on the things of this world.” You could listen for Christ’s presence reverberating in the words of scripture. You could listen for God’s still small voice calling you beloved. Or you could listen to the voice of your most authentic self, helping you to uncover your own wisdom. Just in making space, you are making room for a different reality—one that is centered around the holy.
So in a few moments, as we celebrate the Eucharist, I invite you to bring the sound of your voice, knowing that we are powerfully manifesting a different reality. We are joining heaven and earth. And I invite you to come to this meal—and all the ordinary meals that follow it—expectant of how the risen Christ will meet you.
