Heaven at Last by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Jan 16, 1912

Heaven at Last

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

I PRESUME that quite a large per cent of those who read these lines, have at least some hope of reaching heaven at last.

With some, thank God, the hope is strong. It is an anchor to the soul; it cheers and invigorates the heart, and makes the life which now is, worth living.

But with some, the hope is vague and shadowy and uncertain. Yet even this is better than the utter blankness and void of that life which sees no ray of hope, however feeble, to light the dark abyss of eternal night.

What is the hope of heaven worth to you and me? — Well, what does it do for us?

It is natural for the human heart to hope for something. It is only when this plant of heavenly birth is nipped in the bud, — when there is absolutely nothing left to hope for, — that despair seizes the poor wretch, and the newspapers chronicle a suicide, or the dreaded portals of the insane asylum open to receive the hopeless, shrieking victim of despair.

What is the hope of heaven worth to mankind? Go with me to the factories and sweat-shops of the nation. See the gaunt faces, white and pinched with hunger, and the pleading, sorrowful eyes of the poor victim of greed. From morning till night the pitiless taskmasters urge them on. The red sun rises and sets. The weary toiler still toils on. What has he to live for? Earth holds scant happiness for such as he. Take away his hope of heaven, and you have taken all.

Visit with me the couch of suffering. The days are long and weary, and pain and anguish lengthen out the dim hours of night, and fill them with unspeakable misery. Fierce fevers rack and burn the wasted body; and sharp pain, with cruel touch, lays trembling fingers upon lip and brow. Speak to the weary sufferer about heaven; read to him a description of that land that is very far off; and if his heart has ever been touched by the blessed fire, you will see it kindle the sunken eye with heavenly flame. Let not the unhallowed fingers of atheism and unbelief snatch from the heart of the suffering sons of earth the blessed hope of heaven.

The death-bed of infidelity is bitter and awful. The mysterious future is black and uncertain. The curtain which hides the dim unknown, is never lifted by the fingers of hope. No ray of blessed sunlight pierces the inky blackness of the tomb. To him who subscribes to its awful creed, the door of hope and heaven is closed. Death is an endless night; and the trembling “farewell” whispered with spent breath into the listening ear of love, is an eternal one.

The hope of heaven is one which appeals to the human heart, compassed about with the sorrows of earth, with tremendous power. And still there are countless multitudes to whom such a hope is a stranger. Multitudes of men and women intelligent and clear-headed upon every other subject, are recklessly and wantonly spending the moments of a life which they know too well is uncertain, and are plunging along, careless of the certain knowledge of the precipice at the end of the road. They are like a locomotive without headlight or engineer, rushing blindly along, heedless of pitfall or chasm.

But the hope of heaven must not be dim and visionary. It is a hope which must be built upon a firm foundation — even the Rock, Christ Jesus. “Well,” says one, “I am certain of heaven, for I feel such assurance in my prayers. I just feel like shouting every moment. It makes me so happy whenever I think of heaven! O, I’m just sure of going there, because I call on the name of the Lord, and ask Him to save me.”

But O, what a bitter disappointment it would be to find yourself mistaken after all! There is a class, you remember, to whom it will be said, “I never knew you!”

“But He will never say that He doesn’t know me, because I call upon Him often in prayer.”

That is good so far; but still, it alone is not a sure passport to heaven. “Why?” — Because He says, “Not every one that saith unto Me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven.”

Who then? Is there any one who may feel an assurance which has a strong foundation? — Yes; listen: “But he that doeth the will of My Father who is in heaven.” “And this is the love of God, that we keep His commandments: and His commandments are not grievous.”

Here is a test that will try the spirit of man. Do you find yourself willing to obey God? Is there any one of the commandments which He gave you as the rule by which you are to order your life, that you are not quite willing to obey — any one which you find “grievous”? The first and second are grievous to the idolater. The eighth, to the thief; the seventh, to the libertine; and the fourth, to the Sabbath-breaker.

But it is worth the price. Heaven is worth all. Even the journey thither will be worth a lifetime of sacrifice and self-denial. What an excursion! What a journey! The imagination pales before the thought of it. Distance inconceivable; glory ineffable; angels and seraphim innumerable — what a company — the shining galaxy of the sons of God! With tireless wing we soar heavenward, past myriad suns and systems and blazing worlds of light! Not a feeble one in the company! On, on, over the pathway of glory — on to the shining gates where the “many mansions” are all in waiting.

But the journey thither is not all. It is but the beginning of that “exceeding and eternal weight of glory,” which is — Heaven at Last.