MTV’s Gender-Neutral Award is Actually Disrespectful to Women.

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Emma Watson and Asia Kate Dillon at the MTV Awards.

Emma Watson made headlines last weekend by receiving the first gender-neutral acting award at the MTV Awards for her performance in Disney’s live-action adaption of Beauty and the Beast. The win is being called “historic” because it’s the first major movie award to combine “best actor” and “best actress” into one category.

Many on the right are upset about this, while many on the left may think the right is overreacting. What’s the problem? Does everything have to always be divided into male and female? There are many awards that could be given to a man or a woman, and these awards have been around for years without controversy. We conservatives should certainly be careful to avoid hallucinating liberal boogeymen (sorry, or boogeywomen; wait, is it boogeyperson?) in every closet. We shouldn’t be oversensitive to politically correct oversensitivity.

But in this case the boogeyman seems pretty real. For starters, the award was presented to Ms. Watson by gender-neutral nonbinary actor Asia Kate Dillon. That’s a huge statement in and of itself. Asia was a symbol, a manifestation, of MTV’s agenda. Simply merging “best actor” and “best actress” into one may not seem like a big deal, but having someone who doesn’t identify as male or female present this “historic” award makes the motivation rather obvious.

Then came Ms. Watson’s acceptance speech, which confirmed exactly what’s at the heart of the issue: “The first acting award in history that doesn’t separate nominees based on their sex says something about how we perceive the human experience. MTV’s move to create a genderless award for acting will mean something different to everyone. But to me it indicates that acting is about the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes and that doesn’t need to be separated into two different categories.”

Ms. Watson’s comments imply that it’s unfair to judge male and female performers separately, and that a gender-neutral award will tear down some wall to create a more level playing field. If you think separate awards exist because of gender inequality, that would be true. This new award would be a monumental defiance of cultural injustice.

But inequality is not why separate categories exist. The distinction of male and female awards doesn’t degrade anyone the way racially segregated bathrooms and water fountains used to. It’s not meant to prioritize one over the other, but to uphold both as valuable in their own right. It actually shows a greater appreciation for men and women, not less.

Ms. Watson is an outspoken feminist, which supposedly means she believes in gender equality. But modern feminism goes further than that by assuming the only way to have equality is to eliminate all distinction. Modern feminism isn’t about women’s dignity—it’s about erasing all lines of difference between men and women. That’s the opposite of women’s dignity. That insinuates women don’t have value unless they’re exactly like men. If you think having “male” and “female” categories is automatically sexist, that means you don’t think each sex has inherent value in and of itself. So even though this new award is being applauded as a female victory, perhaps MTV is actually robbing actresses of what makes them, and their performances, so special.

To some degree, a movie or TV role should be judged in light of the performer’s sex. And that’s not a bad thing. When an actor portrays a character they must utilize their own unique experiences and tap into the unique experiences of that character. Those experiences are usually different for men and women, and that’s due precisely to the fact that men and women are different. Their feelings, reactions, struggles, and triumphs, as well as those of the character they’re portraying, are directly related to whether they’re male or female. That’s not something to be despised, but applauded.  “Diversity” used to mean the recognition of a group’s uniqueness, value and contribution. Not anymore. Now it means we must all be the same.

Ms. Watson said an award “that doesn’t separate nominees based on their sex says something about how we perceive the human experience”, and she’s right. It says a lot. Unfortunately, in this case, it actually cheapens the human experience by downplaying the unique experiences of men and women. If progressivism is trying to make gender “equal” it’s doing so by making male and female equally meaningless and equally worthless.

Instead of trying to downplay the distinction between men and women, we should be able to recognize, appreciate and celebrate it. Does every award need to be divided into male or female categories? Not at all. But in some cases it certainly gives validation to the stories and skills of both.

How aliens and grammar made me appreciate the Bible.

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Last week my wife and I watched Arrival, a critically-acclaimed sci-fi drama about a group of people trying to communicate with aliens. Okay, I admit, that doesn’t sound like a very riveting synopsis. If you want an alien blockbuster with lots of explosions, go rent the new Independence Day sequel. But Arrival is a smart, well-crafted film with a few surprises along the way, and the whole bit about people trying to talk with aliens is actually what makes the story so profound.

Why? Because language matters. That’s true no matter who you are or what you believe, but Christians should believe it more than anyone. Our entire religion is hinged on it. Our eternal hope is predicated on the faith that God has truly and accurately communicated Himself to us through His word. And that need for accurate communication is what drives the whole plot of Arrival.

The story centers on Louise Banks (played by Amy Adams), a linguist who is recruited by the U.S. Army to communicate with one of the twelve UFO’s that have landed at various spots across the globe. The process is slow and frustrating. How do you begin to understand the linguistic basics of a species that is literally from another world?

At one point in the film Banks and her physicist partner Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner) trade jabs about which is more central to human civilization: language or science? The whole thrust of the film seems to side with Banks. After all, the humans and aliens are both intelligent life forms who have cultivated science to great benefit, but science can’t produce a meaningful exchange between the two species—only language can do that. The gap between the two sides is unbreachable as long as a language barrier exists. This reminds us of the necessity of communication, of the transmission of meaning from one party to another. Without an exchange of some kind between two sides there is no possibility of moving forward in a relational sense.

Banks tries talking to the aliens, but the noise is just babble to them. The aliens write out their language, but it looks like gibberish to the humans. There cannot be just hollow sounds or random symbols—there must be a clear, comprehensible sharing of ideas. So what do they do? They learn to understand the meaning behind the sounds and symbols. They must grasp the structure of the other’s language and then communicate at their level, in their terms, in a way they can understand. This is the only way to bridge the relational gap between the two foreign parties.

But what if we took the same idea and swapped aliens with God? Since the beginning of time man has wrestled with how to have meaningful interaction with the divine. How can we communicate with someone so foreign to us, so “otherly”? Like Banks and Donnelly, countless men and women have felt confused and frustrated in their attempts to reach up to heaven. Without real communication between man and God, you’re left with two alien sides staring at each other and no relationship to show for it.

Arrival reminded me that if indeed God exists, and if we are to know Him who is so other-worldly, there would need to be some bridging of the language barrier between our two sides. If He is a spiritual, infinite Being, how could we know the mind of someone so unlike us unless there was a clear impartation of information from one side to the other? As the apostle Paul pointed out, “Who knows a person’s thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him? So also no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God” (1 Cor. 2:11).

Just as the aliens in Arrival are concealed behind a wall of fog in their spaceship, God often feels hidden. Perhaps general revelation allows a peak or an outline, but there seems no way to truly see Him, know Him, or have a meaningful point of contact with Him. As the Russian astronaut Yuri Gagarin supposedly said of his experience in outer space, “I looked and looked but I didn’t see God.” God is an incomprehensible mystery. So He would have to talk down to us. He would have to communicate with us in our terms and in a way we could understand. He would have to express the truth about Himself within the limited framework of our language and our comprehension. We cannot ascend to God, so He would have to descend to us. We cannot find Him, so He must reveal Himself to us.

As it turns out, that’s exactly what the Bible claims to be. Our knowledge of God doesn’t come through sensationalism, emotionalism, or mystical spirituality. It comes to us by God transmitting truth about Himself through words. Paul went on to make the point, “If even lifeless instruments, such as the flute or the harp, do not give distinct notes, how will anyone know what is played?…So with yourselves, if with your tongue you utter speech that is not intelligible, how will anyone know what is said?” (1 Cor. 14:7-9) That’s why Scripture refers to itself over and over again as the word of God—not the energy of God or the force of God, but the clear and specific articulation of God’s communication through language. The word makes it possible to bridge the relational gap between man and God. Language matters.

The Bible is God’s self-revelation, communing with us through human authors and in human terms to explain Himself at our level. We can understand God because God has spoken our tongue and made Himself understandable. That doesn’t mean we can know everything there is to know about God, but it does mean that He’s articulated to us everything we need to know and everything He desires us to know, and He’s done it in way that is clear and comprehensible. “The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever” (Deut. 29:29).

Arrival was a great piece of filmmaking, but it was more than that. It was a reminder to me that language matters, and that God uses language to meaningfully communicate with us every time we open His word. If we neglect Scripture, God will continue to feel like an alien hidden behind a foggy wall of uncertainty. But when we trust in His self-disclosure we can know who He is, what He is like, what He has done, what He expects, and how we can enjoy a meaningful relation to Him through the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh.

Lady Gaga, the Super Bowl, and when postmodern progressivism shoots itself in the foot.

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Lady Gaga dropping in on Super Bowl 51.

It seems like everything is a political controversy these days. Even sports. Prior to Sunday’s Super Bowl, reporters kept baiting Tom Brady on his support for Donald Trump. Then, prior to her halftime performance, it was speculated that Lady Gaga would use her worldwide platform to make a political statement against Donald Trump (à la Meryl Streep).

Fortunately, Brady didn’t bite and Gaga didn’t lecture. Both did what they’re paid to do—entertain—and both did it exceptionally well (I don’t understand or care for Lady Gaga’s, shall we say, artistic vision, but there’s no denying she has immense talent). It was nice to enjoy football and music without political controversy.

But if the controversy doesn’t come to you, then you go to the controversy. Many on the left are now criticizing Lady Gaga precisely because she didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to criticize the President in front of the entire planet. As Mitchell Sunderland at Complex lamented, “She failed us.” It was, in the minds of many, a wasted platform from which she could have spoken up on what they consider to be an important cause.

Curiously, the liberal worldview is known for its secular postmodernism. Religious authority is oppressive and bad. Truth and morality are not absolutes. Whatever feels good for you is good for you. If something makes you happy you should pursue it and no one should tell you otherwise. After all, we’re temporary, material beings and nothing more, and we must enjoy life while we can. It’s a worldview that promotes moral autonomy, the pursuit of pleasure above all else, and the rejection of objective right and wrong.

But then you come to the Super Bowl halftime show. And suddenly you must have indoctrination. You must have conviction. If you are an entertainer you must use your platform to preach “truth” before the whole world. The gods of political liberalism must be appeased, or else. They demand your allegiance.

A worldview that rejects enforcing absolutes on everyone is criticizing one of its own for not preaching right and wrong to the whole world. A worldview that cries for freedom from religious authority is commanding its adherents to visibly profess faith at every opportunity. Do you see the disconnect?

If we’re just matter in motion, the product of neural-chemical reactions in the brain, then there’s no true higher cause. And if there’s no true higher cause, then one opinion doesn’t deserve to be preached to the world any more than another. The only truth is that there’s no absolute truth. So at the end of the day progressivism cannot consistently hold to its own worldview while also espousing that worldview with any real conviction or urgency.

So when progressives criticize Lady Gaga for just performing and not seizing the opportunity to speak against Donald Trump, they betray their own worldview. If enforcing your beliefs on others is the unpardonable sin, and if right and wrong are purely a matter of personal preference, then why would you expect pop singers to hammer their audience with a liberal profession of faith every chance they get? The outrage at Lady Gaga contradicts everything progressivism claims to believe. So perhaps there is such a thing as right and wrong, and perhaps it’s not always bad to express that to others. Perhaps truth does exist, and it should be shared.

Granted, the divide between conservative and liberal definitions of truth has never been larger. But only one side has an objective basis for believing in truth, and in the end only one side can make any sort of demanding truth claims without contradicting itself. Once we realize that life is more than meaningless matter in a temporary pursuit of pleasure, and once we realize that there is good and evil in this world, and once we realize that there is truth worth standing up for, then secular progressivism is left dangling like Lady Gaga over the arena, without a leg to stand on. When objective, worthwhile truth has the homefield advantage, we find ourselves on God’s turf.

Give Thanks…to Whom?

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“The worst moment for an atheist is when he is really thankful and has no one to thank.” – G.K Chesterton

What are you thankful for?

That’s the question to ask this time of year. Last Friday night we had our youth group write what they were thankful for on a big dry erase board at the church. On Thanksgiving day, some families pass around a basket, drop in a kernel of corn, and share what they’re thankful for. Indeed, these are good and vital practices of reflection, especially in today’s fast-paced, consumer-crazed culture. “What are you thankful for?” is an important question we must continually ask ourselves.

But there is a bigger, more important question at stake here: WHO are you thankful TO?

If a box of chocolates is left on our desk, we want to find out who the giver is in order to thank them. If we receive a heart transplant, we might enshrine the person whose heart we received by hanging their picture above the mantel or reaching out to their family. There’s a desire, a compulsion, to do so. Because we naturally feel thankfulness when we benefit from something good, and we need to direct that thankfulness somewhere.

Most people, at some point or another, recognize the good things in their life like the company of loved ones, the pleasure and sustenance of food and drink, the beauty of art, the provision of a good job, or even the thrill of just being alive. We look at all these things and know that our possession of them does not rest solely within our own power or accomplishment. We feel an intrinsic sense of indebtedness.

But to whom?

For the atheist, this burning sensation of the heart has no explanation. Their good fortune is the result of nothing but coincidence. The same coincidence that caused everything to come from nothing. The same coincidence that caused life to randomly appear. Within the giant, random void of the universe, my microscopic life just so happens to feature a few enjoyable things along the way to dull the insignificance of my existence.

The outlook isn’t much better for the agnostic or the deist. Sure, there’s a higher power out there somewhere, but it’s not actively involved in the world. Certainly not in my world. There might be a vague force that has had some impact on my life, like “fortune” or “providence”, but it’s not an intimate, personal involvement. I wasn’t given my home, my health or my family—something can only be given when one party actively and intentionally bestows it to another—I was just lucky enough to have fate, or whatever power controls things, swing my way.

In these worldviews, thankfulness cannot exist because there was no benevolence or generosity for which you can be appreciative. The good things in your life are nothing more than cold, dumb luck.

Even for the polytheists of old, one’s thanks was divided among the gods. You had to give one portion of thanks to the god of the sun, and another portion of thanks to the god of the rain, and another to the god of the harvest. There was not one source of harmonious blessings, but a plethora of deities competing with one another. Polytheism produced segments of thankfulness here and there, but not the full, rich gratitude we feel for all that we have at once.

For the theist, that intrinsic thankfulness has a real and singular outlet. There is a God who made us, who sustains us, and who has blessed us with everything that we have. There is someone on whom we can bestow the undeniable and overpowering gratitude that grips out hearts every time we look into the faces of our loved ones, lay our head on a soft pillow, or take another breath of life. We realize that what we have is a gift, and we have a living, personal source to thank for it.

But for the Christian, thankfulness goes even deeper. Indeed, the gospel of Jesus Christ provides the greatest cause for thanksgiving. We worship a God who not only made everything and provides everything, but who gave the fullness of Himself in order to provide us with the ultimate blessing. Not only does He bless us with the common grace of the rain and the harvest, but He personally paid the highest price to bless us with the crop of special, saving grace. Not only are we given bread, but the Bread of Life. Not only are we given drink, but streams of Living Water. Not only are we given life, but eternal life, and the life of Jesus Himself, who is Life.

Giving thanks without faith in an involved, personal God is like wanting to sing but having no voice or wanting to run but having no legs. The deep, sensational urge within you has no channel. The grand appreciation you feel has no source. But for the Christian, thanksgiving makes sense. What could be more natural than to look at our life, see its beauty, and praise the God from whom all blessings flow?

Five Reasons Why the New ‘Jungle Book’ is Profound

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Like most people, I grew up watching Disney’s 1967 animated classic, The Jungle Book. It was one of my favorites. I’m also incredibly skeptical of all the remakes/reboots/spin-offs/sequels/prequels/everything-elsequels that have bombarded moviegoers the last couple of years (which aren’t stopping anytime soon), and a skeptic of excessive CGI. Imagine my horror, then, when one year ago Disney released the trailer for their live-action, CGI-soaked Jungle Book remake. I admit, I died a little inside.

But this week we watched it with our youth group at church and I’ve had a metanoeō, a change of heart. It’s good. Shockingly good. Not just good in the sense that it’s well-done filmmaking or creative entertainment, although it’s certainly both those things. The CGI is beautiful, the scale is breath-taking, and the voice actors are perfect. But what surprised me the most is its Judeo-Christian worldview on the nature of man and his role in creation.

I can’t speak on behalf of the filmmakers or their intent, but the implications are hard to miss. These implications were not minor points or subtle references, but the heartbeat of the film itself. This is a film that deserves to be watched and discussed for five Jungle-sized reasons.

#1. The uniqueness, ingenuity, and authority of man over creation.

Most false religions fall into one of two camps: they either make too much of man or too little. Either they equate man with God, give man the authority of God, or promise man he can become like God; or they minimize man as an insignificant part of nature where he either shares a spiritual brotherhood with the plants or animals or he evolved from slime and is no better than monkeys. Either way, man’s relationship to the divine is confused.

The Jungle Book rightly nails the balance. On one hand, man is a part of creation. Mowgli is flesh and blood and bone and interacts with the rest of nature as a fellow created being. Man is not God. This Creator-creature distinction is one of the fundamental doctrines of biblical Christianity (Ps. 8:3-4).

Yet at the same time, man stands apart from the rest of creation (Ps. 8:5-8). He is different.  Although Mowgli tries to act like a wolf, there is no denying his humanness. At one point Bagheera even tells Mowgli, “The elephants created this jungle…but they did not make you.” This is not just a biological difference, as though man were simply another breed of animal, but an ontological one. Man is neither pure beast nor pure spirit, but as theologian Michael Horton puts it, “…we are created as psychosomatic (soul-body) whole, as persons. Our bodies (including our brain) and souls are not separate compartments, but interactive aspects of our personal existence and activity.”

Echoing the words of Genesis 1:28, Mowgli is also endowed with the ability to subdue and cultivate creation like no one else. Bagheera constantly chides him for his “tricks”—inventions that seem like magic to the other creatures. King Louie, wanting more power, goes to Mowgli to learn man’s secret. Shere Khan hates man precisely because he knows what mankind is capable of. All nature recognizes the power, intelligence, ingenuity, and otherness of Mowgli. I almost stood up and cheered when, at the movie’s climax, Mowgli tells Bagheera he wants to fight Shere Khan like a wolf, to which Bagheera responds, “Fight him like a man.”

The Jungle Book, then, is the anti-Brother Bear (“the story of a boy who became a man, by becoming a bear”) or Tarzan (“We’re exactly the same”). Yes, man is mortal. But he is also a living soul made in the image of God, and he is invested with authority as God’s viceroy on earth.

#2. Man’s unique position can be used for great evil or for great good.

One of the coolest things about The Jungle Book is its treatment of fire. What was a convenient plot device in the cartoon takes center stage in this adaption, as the “red flower” represents all the good or evil that mankind is capable of.  When used wrongly, his position enables him to kill, abuse, and destroy.

But it also gives him the ability to think, build, creative, cultivate, and help. Mowgli’s “tricks” are used to collect food and water, save a baby elephant, and defeat a foe. Man’s authority does not need to be a bad thing. It can be utilized to improve, enhance and even protect the world of which he has been made a steward.

This is very different from most nature-loving Disney films, which often portray men as the villains who mess everything up. It also avoids any sort of environmentalist overtones or save-the-planet propaganda. In the end, Mowgli’s “tricks” are just as capable of good as they are of evil.

Certainly man’s abuse of the world has led to city slums, worldwide war, and even nuclear threats. But man’s rightful utilization has led to beautiful art, helpful inventions, stunning cities, life-saving medicine, and prosperous societies. Man’s prominence in creation, and his cultivation of it, is not an evil—it is designed to be something beneficial.

Ultimately, a happy ending does not come from Mowgli ceasing to be man or becoming more one with nature, but embracing his special role as a man and using it for good.

#3. Man faces temptation from the serpent who promises pleasure but delivers only death.

One of the film’s most frightening and delightful scenes is when Mowgli encounters Kaa, the ginormous python. As our human hero pursues fruit to eat, the serpent slinks out of the shadows and soothingly sympathizes with all the supposed injustice inflicted upon the man by his authority figure. Then the serpent lures the man into a false sense of trust by promising all the comforts and pleasures of his heart’s desire, if only he’ll trust in the serpent…not realizing that the coils of death are actually closing in around him. Sound familiar?

The similarities to Genesis 3 are too strong to miss.

Some reviewers disliked the use of Scarlett Johansson’s soft, seductive voice in the role of Kaa, but I loved it for the same reason that I loved Mel Gibson’s decision to have a woman play Satan in The Passion of the Christ: sin does not always appear as a raging, roaring tiger (or a lion, to borrow a biblical example), but often tempts us with the beautiful allure of an adulteress. Evil has appeal to it. Yet behind the superficial beauty lies an enemy more powerful and more deadly than we often realize. Just ask Adam and Eve.

#4. Even a beautiful, breathtaking world is fallen and corrupt and needs saving.

It’s hard to tell what parts of The Jungle Book ’s cinematography are real and which are CGI, but either way they’re stunning. As someone who loves the great outdoors, I was breathless on more than one occasion at the magnitude and majesty of the jungle’s terrain. Our Father’s world is truly a grand place.

Yet for all that, the world is still fallen. For all the wonders of nature, there is always danger and death lurking around every corner. The Disney studio who put out movies like Pocahontas, Tarzan, and Brother Bear would have you believe that nature is a perfect, blissful Eden all on its own, were it not for the meddling destruction of mankind. But this Jungle Book, from that same Disney studio, holds no such view. Predators. Stampedes. Avalanches. Weather. Injury.  Nature, left to its own devices, is hardly a peaceful utopia. Yes, it is beautiful and captivating, and yet even without man’s interference it is also harsh and cruel, and in need of redemption.

The late Michael Crichton, an outspoken opponent of environmentalism, put it so well: “In short, the romantic view of the natural world as a blissful Eden is only held by people who have no actual experience of nature…Take a trek through the jungles of Borneo, and in short order you will have festering sores on your skin, you’ll have bugs all over your body, biting in your hair, crawling up your nose and into your ears, you’ll have infections and sickness and if you’re not with somebody who knows what they’re doing, you’ll quickly starve to death…It is a harsh, powerful, and unforgiving world, that most urban westerners have never experienced.”

The apostle Paul would agree with that: “For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now” (Romans 8:20-22). All creation has been affected by sin, and all creation is waiting for renewal.

#5. Creation’s savior is a man who overcomes the failures of all men before him.

As we’ve already discussed, man is capable of great evil or great good, and it’s implied throughout the movie that the animals have encountered man’s evil in the past. Mowgli, as the hero of the film, faces the same possibility of corruption. He is susceptible to the weaknesses of the men who came before him. Yet he succeeds where others have failed. He resists the temptation to abuse power. He does in the flesh what his forefathers could not do.

It was through a man that sin entered the world. But it would also be through a man that the world would be redeemed. As Aslan said in C.S. Lewis’s The Magician’s Nephew, “A force of evil has already entered [the world]; waked and brought hither by this Son of Adam…And as Adam’s race has done the harm, Adam’s race shall help to heal it.”

This ultimate victory is found, of course, in the incarnate Son of God. Jesus Christ became fully man and faced all the same temptations that every man before Him had faced, yet by His active obedience He kept God’s law on our behalf and was victorious where all others had been defeated. He accomplished what Adam, and all Adam’s offspring, could not. He is humanity’s champion and the sovereign Ruler of all creation.

In the end, this Hero throws the roaring jungle cat into the flames, crushes the head of the seductive serpent, restores life to those He loves, and establishes an incorruptible peace across the redeemed realm of creation.

Now that’s a story worth retelling again and again.

This Momentary Goodbye

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Last week one of my co-workers retired. The day was bittersweet, with both excitement for them and yet sadness for the end of our time together. When the hour finally came to say goodbye, the office dialogue featured the typical “Stay in touch” and “I’ll still come visit” lingo I’ve heard countless times between departing neighbors, friends and church members.

Isn’t it funny how we say things like that? When I talk with an old friend on the phone the conversation never ends with, “It was nice talking to you, bye!” but usually something along the lines of, “This was great, we’ll have to talk again soon,” or “Let me know next time you’re in town and we’ll grab coffee.” We can’t just say goodbye. There must be the hope of something else to come. Our farewells are laced with the anticipation of future reunion. And when tragedy strikes–when we lose someone we love–not seeing them feels like the most unnatural emptiness in the world. We know that such a void is surely not the way things are meant to be.

But that isn’t limited to our interaction with people. We hope our favorite movie will get a sequel so the story we care about will go on. When our favorite sports team’s season ends we say, “Just wait until next year!” If someone bakes a delicious dish we ask for the recipe so we can make it again later.

We don’t believe that good things in life should come to an end. There must always be some flicker of hope that somehow, in some way, we will encounter them again. That they must continue. When good things come to a close we don’t use terms of absolute finality, only terms of postponement. To think that such things can really and truly end is too heartbreaking.

But perhaps there’s more going on than just the materialistic hope of re-experiencing pleasure. Perhaps this tendency reflects a deep spiritual truth embedded in the soul of every man. When we use this kind of language we’re expressing an innate (yet dimmed) awareness of what heaven already knows: what is good is meant to last.

God is good. Not “good” in the sense that He adheres to some higher standard of goodness outside of Himself, but that goodness is the overflow of His very nature. Goodness is not what He does, it’s who He is. God is also eternal, without beginning and without end. God has always been, and God has always been good. Which means that goodness has always been, and goodness will always be. Since goodness is wrapped up in the person of God, goodness itself is unending.

It’s no surprise, then, that Scripture identifies countless goods that will never end such as beauty, grandeur, joy, love, and life itself.

Heaven is a place of inexpressible beauty and grandeur (2 Cor. 12:3-4) where the water never dries, the fruit never sours, and the light never goes out (Rev. 22:1-5). Its untold depths will never cease to awe us or fill us with newly discovered wonder. I think about fiery sunsets, colossal mountaintops, or mighty oceans, and I think about how they’ve taken my breath away. These feelings are not fleeting–they’re a taste of the eternal wonder we’ll have in the presence of God.

Love, also, will last long after the mountains are dust (1 Cor. 13:8). My most cherished memories are filled with the faces of those I care about and our times of laughter and fellowship together. I would contend that most people, regardless of culture or worldview, agree on the significance that loved ones play in our life. We all care about someone, and we all know how important that is. Yet Scripture tells us that such fellowship is not meant to end in death but is the very fabric of paradise, where we’ll enjoy unbroken fellowship with God and one other (1 Thess. 4:17).

Life itself, which we may think of as only a small window of biological functionality, is meant to be forever. It is not simply the duration of our heartbeat, but a wondrous and continual state of existence. Resurrected believers will be more alive than they could ever have imagined on earth. Life as we see it now is but a fragment of the true, full life that awaits believers in the presence of Christ (1 Cor. 15:51-57). As Gandalf put it, “End? No, the journey doesn’t end here.”

As a final example, consider how many billions of people find fulfillment in the worship of God, a god, or at least some cause or campaign they deem to be of the utmost significance. Many of them are (sadly and damnably) misguided in their worship, but the point is that faith in some higher good is the pinnacle of human hope. It swells our hearts with purpose and gives us something to live for. That feeling is not a religious invention to suppress our mortality, but it tickles at the passion, celebration and fulfillment that God’s people are meant to continually experience as they worship in His presence. In the new heavens and the new earth, the full and glorious presence of God will be the dominant reality, filling His people with the utmost satisfaction (Rev. 21:22-23; 22:3-5). This true joy, this thrill of the soul, is what the Psalmist had in mind when he wrote, “In Your presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (Ps. 16:11).

All these good things, which we experience in fragments here on earth, are not meant to end. And I think everyone knows that must be so. Deep inside, we all want to believe that goodness will endure. We need to believe that–we need to believe that these things, which we intrinsically know to be important, have real value beyond the here and now.

By contrast, notice how we discuss unpleasant experiences: “I’ll never do that again!” “I never want to hear that song again!” “I’ll never step foot in there again!” Whenever we see, hear or encounter something “bad” we have no problem dismissing it to the category of total annihilation. This, I think, reflects an equally strong belief that bad things can and should come to an end. While good things must somehow go on, bad things must surely cease.

This resonates with Scripture’s teaching that all wickedness will meet its eternal end in the fires of judgment. Immoral men will be cast out forever (Rev. 21:8). Sickness, pain and sorrow will be banished once and for all (Rev. 21:4). Even death itself will die (Rev. 20:14). Just as good things are meant to endure, evil things are meant for destruction. As Digory told Uncle Andrew in C.S. Lewis’ The Magician’s Nephew: “You’re simply a wicked, cruel magician like the ones in the stories. Well, I’ve never read a story in which people of that sort weren’t paid out in the end, and I bet you will be.” If we didn’t believe this were true, justice would seem a hopeless cause.

Goodness is not meant to end. The common grace we now experience is but a foretaste of what believers will continually experience in Christ’s kingdom. Evil, meanwhile, will be cast out from His presence, never to be duplicated or relived. Even if we don’t realize it, we profess our faith in these truths in ways as simple and ordinary as telling a friend, “I’ll see you later.” We feel the need to do so. And no wonder, for those desires are created by the eternally good God Himself.