There, in No Time

The comfort of being told someone is “in a better place” is lost on me.

For as long as I can remember, those words have floated through my head like a helium-filled balloon. The sympathy registers, yet the phrase itself mysteriously disappears on the wind–perhaps in the hopes it will land softly in the heart of another.

The kindness is deeply appreciated, though my heartfelt gratitude is likely muted by the absent-minded nod of my head.

Truth be told, I am somehow unable to envision Heaven as a place. The concept short-circuits in my brain before I can formulate an image, probably because our form works in four dimensions (length, width, depth and time). Despite all I’ve read and heard through sermons or programs of all kinds, these measurements seem vastly inadequate and my imagination gives up without really trying.

Using such feeble terms to describe magnificence leaves me wanting more. To me, attempting to shoehorn awe-inspiring grandness into pictures we comprehend is futile. (Yes, I am still guilty of it.)

One fact forever stirs the waters of my soul.

I took an astronomy course during my senior year of undergrad. I only attended about half the lectures because the hall was huge (no way to tell if I was gone) and my roommate was in the same class (we traded days).

Once, when it was my turn, I listened to the PhD from Pakistan discuss the phenomenon which acts as the splinter in my mind: astrophysicists want to see before before.

To begin, he talked about the age of the universe–something on the order of 13 billion years–and then wandered into the fact his colleagues were doing their best to point telescopes towards the center with hopes of catching a glimpse into the moment of creation.

Since light travels a constant distance in a year, the theory holds what happened at the dawn of time would be visible to us right now if we were to look in the correct direction. He said, in essence, we would lay our eyes on something incredibly foreign to us: a place (if you can call it that) in which a clock would never have to be invented.

No days.

No nights.

No months.

No years.

No time.

What I heard through his thickly-accented English amounts to this:

God works outside the bounds of our existence.

It follows, then, that eternity and everything in it would also. Upon death, seconds, minutes and hours would vanish. So, too, would length, width and depth. All that we perceive in this life is null and void, which leads to my persistent conundrum.

Even though John 14:2 tells us “there are many rooms” in the Father’s house, I feel incredibly limited by this frail frame, unable to know even the slightest detail of what is beyond it.

Strange as it seems, theoretical physics calms my heart.

All I can think is we’ll be there, in no time.


See Your Original Face

The Caged Bird Sings

Running into God


3 Responses to “There, in No Time”

  1. 1 Ed September 15, 2010 at 7:51 am

    Hi Jason

    Thanks for all your magnificent blogs.

    Please email me at

    I would like to communicate with you directly.



  2. 2 79sparrows September 27, 2010 at 12:14 pm

    thank you for this,
    i recently lost my best friend to colon cancer. The Drs didnt catch it til it reached terminal stage.
    she was only 40.
    It has really screwed up my head and everything is a big f’d up mix about what I believe. raised catholic, cant picture heaven….

    • 3 Jason Eichacker September 27, 2010 at 5:06 pm

      I’m very sorry to hear about your loss, particularly of someone so close to you at such a young age. I’m honored by your words, I know I feel better just getting things out in the open and I hope you’re able to grieve exactly as you — and only you — require.

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