Hiking the New Earth

I. Crave. Hikes.  I visualize trails lined with naked, gray trees, softened by damp, rose-painted leaves. Clay-colored streams cut through my steady trek, slipping down hillsides.  No leaves block my view so my gaze can follow the tumble and splash all the way down to the creek. Amid the leafless trees, bird calls are distinct; I can spot the noisemakers - - tweeters, chirpers, squawkers - - hopping branch to branch in heated conversation. Tall trees that look immovable, are moved by the wind, groaning as they sway. I hear and feel rain. From thousands of feet up, millions of translucent droplets dive toward Earth, landing on crisp leaves, spongy moss, solid branches - - a percussive symphony like none you will hear from a stage. It all feels like a secret letting me in on itself.

But it isn’t a secret. It’s a proclamation. “For ever since the world was created people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can see clearly His invisible qualities - - His eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God.” (Romans 1:20 NLT) God is shouting, speaking, and whispering His glory. So, if you ever meet me on the trail, don’t be surprised if I am weeping. It happens a lot. Earth’s beauty stirs my senses, but it’s more than that. Every tangible thing is expressing the attributes and loving-kindness of its Creator - - my Father. A path makes a way; Christ is my way. Water exists in a never-ending cycle; streams becoming creeks, becoming rivers, becoming seas. The Gospel - - the love of God - - is an unceasing, ever-growing fountain of mercy and grace. The Holy Spirit is like the wind and like rivers of living water, and moves us when we believe ourselves to be immovable. Barren trees allow us to see farther and to see more, reminding us that God uses cold, lonely times to open our eyes and expose what would not be visible if all our days were lush and green; those trees groan, as does all of creation, waiting for the redemption of God’s people, waiting for the New Earth. (Romans 8:19-22)  I am waiting too. (See the rest of Romans 8.)  I groan along with the trees, believing in the change to come. 

One of my favorite “groaning” spots is a trail marked by a sign that says, “Old Forest”.  It’s hard to explain, but when I’m there, I have a sense that the change is not far off - - not in time, nor distance. Sitting at the base of those elderly trees, I feel like an embryo. But, I wonder, what is “old” to the eternal God? Maybe God started life on Earth with ancient trees and layers of rocks and minerals, instantly speaking into existence billion-year-old mountains and thousand-year old trees. Maturity may be necessary to give birth to life’s processes. Adam and Eve, according to Scripture, began life as adults, so why shouldn’t a forest? Old trees make new trees. So an “old forest” is always full of new life. I have never been on the trail in any season, when I did not see green foliage. Old produces and nourishes, new sustains and extends. I think Heaven will be like the forest; new - - like nothing we’ve ever seen before because it will be free from corruption, swelling with imperishable life, but a New Earth, so not  unfamiliar, like a place we were made to inhabit - - like home.

So . . . I. Crave. Hikes. I visualize trails lined with gray trees clothed in green. The ground is still soft beneath my feet, the water still tumbles over rocks, racing down the hillside; birds still converse. Tall trees continue to be moved by the wind but the groaning is over - - it was only temporary and has become one of the former things. Rain still dives and taps out a song. There are hints in Scripture that my travel could be quick, instantaneous. But, I hope I can take my time - - all forever of it. I hope to give new meaning to the term, “through hiking.”  I will walk the entire globe and not grow weary. I’ll climb steep hills and stop in the middle only to love the view, not to catch my breath. My knees will feel great. A virgin forest will grow daily before my eyes and I'll witness its progress as it ages a hundred, a thousand, a million years. I’ll see a leaf come to rest undisturbed over the course of a millennia until it becomes a stone-cast work of God’s art. For the rest of my never-ending life, the New Earth will proclaim to my senses the glory of its Maker. And, best of all, I will meet face-to-face, and hike side-by-side with Christ, who has walked with me all along and whose flesh bears the scars of this Old Earth - - the scars that will have made all things new.