Will Fitzgerald
November 16, 2008
Infinity is weird.
At the Water Street Cafe, there's usually a line. The coffee's good, so it's usually worth the wait. Recently, the line was pretty long. I started to get a little cranky. I guess one of the baristas noticed, and asked me if I'd every tried their Infinite Espresso Bar. She took me to that room with the comfy couches, and there was a door that I hadn't seen before. It had one of those sideways eights on it. The elevators leave every ten minutes said, looking at her watch. It'll just be a minute. I went through the door, and came into a lobby with an infinite number of people in it, with an infinite number of elevators, one person per elevator. I walked up to the first elevator and approached the person waiting. I said, "I assume the elevators hold more than one person." "No," he said, "but don't worry-I'll just move down one." Before I had a chance to thank him, he'd asked the person at elevator two to move elevator three; that person asked the person at elevator three to move to elevator four, and so on. Because there were an infinite number, when the elevator doors opened, there was one elevator per person.
The button panel was interesting. It had buttons that said "1," "2," "3" and "∞". I pressed "∞". Either the elevator was infinitely fast or the espresso service wasn't on the top floor of an infinitely tall building. I couldn't really tell, except that when I got off the elevator just a moment later, I felt a bit heavier than usual. "Welcome to the Infinity Café," said one of the waitstaff-there seemed to be an infinite number of them. She could tell it was my first time there, so she explained how things worked. "Every ten minutes the elevator arrives, and an infinite number of guests arrive. They can choose either the barstools on the east side, or the west side. Of course, we have an infinite number of each. Most person prefer the east side in the morning, so it's easy to fit the 1000 or so people who want to sit on the west side. We just ask the first 1000 or so people on the west side to move down that many seats, and every one fits in."
"That still leaves an infinite number of people who want to sit on the east side. So we ask the person in seat one to move to seat two; the person in seat two to sit in seat four; the person in seat three to seat six, four to eight, five to ten, and so on. So that leaves seats 1,3, 5, 7 and so on free for the new arrivals. So there's room for everyone. I sat down and ordered an espresso and a piece of their infinite pecan roll. It's their specialty, that and their infinite cinnamon bun. Every person gets his or her own numbered slice, and you have to choose either the pecan roll or the cinnamon bun. That way, there's always an infinite amount left for the next set of customers. Then I noticed that most people seemed to duck out without paying. I asked my wait-person about that. She said only about one in a thousand bothered to pay, but it didn't really matter-even with just one in a thousand people paying, the café still grossed an infinite amount of money, which covered their infinite expenses along with an infinite amount left over for profit. She told me not to bother tipping her, since she was part of the profit-sharing plan, and was therefore infinitely rich. I tipped her anyway, of course; which, I guess left me a little poorer, but her no richer.
Infinity is weird[1].
Most of us are familiar with the story of Job. He was a good man, a content man-a wealthy man with a loving wife, with children whom he loved, and who loved him, and-marvelous to say-loved each other as well. But as the result of a diabolical dare, God allows Satan to take away Job's wealth, his children and and, in the end, God allows his health, afflicting him with "loathsome sores…from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head." And Job was left to sit among the ashes of his destroyed life. Most of the book of Job is taken up with Job's friends explaining to Job that is was his fault, really, and Job replying, that, no, really, it wasn't. Reading Job 23:1-17 together:.
Then Job answered and said: Today also my complaint is bitter; my hand is heavy on account of my groaning.
Job's pain is unrelenting. He is so weak that even his groaning leaves him almost too weak to raise a hand. He certainly isn't pretending the pain isn't real. He complains, kvetches, protests. Verses 3-7:
Oh, that I knew where I might find him,
that I might come even to his seat!
I would lay my case before him
and fill my mouth with arguments.
I would know what he would answer me
and understand what he would say to me.
Would he contend with me in the greatness of his power?
No; he would pay attention to me.
There an upright man could argue with him,
and I would be acquitted forever by my judge.
Job wishes he could find God, found out where God lives, go to God's house and lay his case before God, and see how God reacts. If God has a wonderful plan for my life, Job seems to say, If God has a wonderful plan for my life, I just don't see it. Perhaps I could make this seeming reasonable request of God-What is going on?
But God has gone missing:
Verses 8,9: Behold, I go forward, but he is not there,
and backward, but I do not perceive him;
on the left hand when he is working, I do not behold him;
he turns to the right hand, but I do not see him.
Still, Job knows God is watching; knows where Job is, and that Job has been a right proper sojourner:
Verses 10,11:
But he knows the way that I take;
when he has tried me, I shall come out as gold.
My foot has held fast to his steps;
I have kept his way and have not turned aside.
I have not departed from the commandment of his lips;
I have treasured the words of his mouth more than my portion of food.
But then things get scary: Verses 13-14:
But he is unchangeable, and who can turn him back?
What he desires, that he does.
For he will complete what he appoints for me,
and many such things are in his mind.
God will do what God decides to do. God will do whatever God decides to do with Job.
And this scares him deeply: Verses 15-17:
Therefore I am terrified at his presence;
when I consider, I am in dread of him.
God has made my heart faint;
the Almighty has terrified me;
yet I am not silenced because of the darkness,
nor because thick darkness covers my face.
Job won't be silent, but he's terrified. "I am terrified at God's presence, when I consider, I am in dread; God has made my heart faint; the Almighty has terrified me." Frail, sick, limited Job ponders the infinite God, a God infinite in power, and infinite in ability to choose, and it frightens him.
Infinity is frightening.
Call out some words that describe our needs:
Sick. Blind. Wounded. Sore. Thirsty. Poisoned. Weak. Helpless. Tired. Bad. Stained. Under attack. Slaves and prisoners. Law-breakers. Lost. In the dark. Fools. Debtors. Separated. Orphaned. In error. Small, worm-like. Asleep. Sad. Cold-hearted. Our needs are deep.
"Then [Jesus] said to [his disciples], 'With fervent desire I have desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I say to you, I will no longer eat of it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God'. Then He took the cup, and gave thanks, and said, 'Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I say to you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes'.
The Wedding Supper of the Lamb (Rev 19:6-9)
Then I heard what seemed to be the voice of a great multitude, like the roar of many waters and like the sound of mighty peals of thunder, crying out,
"Hallelujah!
For the Lord our God
the Almighty reigns.
Let us rejoice and exult
and give him the glory,
for the marriage of the Lamb has come,
and his Bride has made herself ready;
it was granted her to clothe herself
with fine linen, bright and pure"--
for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints.
And the angel said to me, "Write this: Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb." And he said to me, "These are the true words of God."
Job looked at his trouble and the infinitely powerful God and was left in terror. The infinite God saw the human condition and acted, sending Jesus for our sake and our salvation. We know in part. But here's the thing: listen. Heaven is a reality, and the true land to which we sojourn. And our time there is: infinite. Here's a simple, mathematical fact: a line that trends upwards for an infinite amount of time will reach infinity. I have been a Christian for about 35 years, and the progress I see is discouragingly small: a little less anger, a little less depression, a little more joy, a little more love. But 35 years is literally nothing compared to infinity of time.
And here's an important part of this: how I feel about it doesn't really matter. Whether I feel the hope we sang about isn't as important as the fact of it: our life, "concealed in Christ" and filed with "his glorious presence" will extend to infinite Sabbath rest, infinite joy, infinite goodness.
Call out some words that describe our hope:
Well-being. Clarity of vision. Whole. Pain-free. Sated. Pure. Strong. Powerful. Bursting with Energy. Holy. Clean. Free from attack. Free people. Law-keepers. Found. In the light. Wise. Rich. Connected. In families. In the truth. Large, Angelic. Awake. Happy. Alive. Loving. Hearts bursting with song.
Heaven is infinite.
[1] Based on ideas from The Infinite Hotel, by Mark Pilgrim.