Reclaiming Christian Hope in the Resurrection and New Creation

The mind of a child is so beautifully innocent. I love that.
Growing up, heaven wasn’t something we talked about much in my home—but like most kids, I believed it was “a place you went when you died,” somewhere up in the clouds. I’ll never forget the first time I flew in a plane, gazing out the window as we soared above the clouds and wondering, “Where is heaven? Is it even higher? Is it in space?”

That confusion didn’t exactly fade as I got older. The conversations I heard about heaven still made it sound like a distant, mystical place—a destination for “good people” after death, where our loved ones watched us from above. As a child with a vivid imagination (shaped in part by C.S. Lewis and the world of Narnia), my heaven was filled with talking animals and pets I’d lost too soon. It brought me comfort. And honestly, I don’t think too many adults are far off from that picture either.

It wasn’t until years later, during a conversation with a pastor, that I first heard the phrase “new creation.” That conversation turned my imagination—and my theology—upside down.

Suddenly, Christian hope wasn’t just about leaving earth for heaven someday. It wasn’t about floating in the sky or becoming an angel who watches over loved ones. It was about something far more grounded, more tangible, and more beautiful: being raised to new life when Christ returns—body and soul—in a world made entirely new.

Even today, I often hear grieving families say their loved one is “watching over them from above.” It’s comforting—we cling to what we can see and feel. But these words often reflect a confused kind of hope. A hope more shaped by culture than by Christ. One that gently avoids the pain of death but misses the power of resurrection.

But here’s the good news: we’re not the first to wrestle with what happens after we die.

—Jesus, Matthew 22:29

In Matthew 22, Jesus is confronted by the Sadducees—a religious group who denied the resurrection of the dead. They approached Him with a scenario that was meant to mock the idea entirely:


Their question wasn’t sincere—it was a trap. They tried to reduce the resurrection to a legal technicality. But Jesus doesn’t take the bait.


 Jesus isn’t saying we become angels. He’s saying that resurrection life is radically different—something entirely new. Our earthly categories don’t fully translate. Marriage, as beautiful as it is, is not eternal. It points us toward a greater reality: union with Christ.

 Then Jesus goes even deeper:


He roots resurrection hope in the very character of God—the God of the living. The God who gives life and promises it again.

 And the crowd? They’re astonished.

Christian hope is not about death. It’s about life—eternal, embodied, resurrected life.
Just as Jesus rose bodily from the grave, so will we. Not to float on clouds or sprout wings, but to dwell with God in a new heaven and new earth.

This is not escapism.
It’s the promise of new creation—not a spiritual upgrade, but a total renewal.

As Lutherans, we proclaim that the old Adam doesn’t just need improving—he needs to die. And in Baptism, we are united with Christ in His death and resurrection (Romans 6:3–5), so that a new creation might rise in us—daily through repentance, and fully on the Last Day.

Paul captures this beautifully in Romans 8:


Paul doesn’t describe a world waiting to be patched up.
He describes one waiting to be raised.

Not a body repaired. A body glorified.
Not creation remodeled. Creation reborn.

Through the Spirit, we’ve already tasted what’s to come.
We belong to the age that’s breaking in.
We groan—not with despair, but with longing.

And this changes how we live:

• We care for creation, not because it will last forever as-is, but because it belongs to the Lord who will make it new.

• We honor our bodies, not as shells to escape, but as temples destined for resurrection.

• We live with hope, not fear—because we’re not waiting to die. We’re waiting for Jesus.

Heaven is Coming Down.

Christian hope isn’t vague, sentimental, or floating above the clouds.
If you’ve ever stared out an airplane window wondering where heaven is—like I once did—you’re not alone.

But the truth is far more beautiful than anything we imagined as children:

We weren’t created to escape.
We weren’t baptized to be made “better.”
We were united with Christ so that our old self might die—
and that a new creation might rise.

This is our hope:
Rooted in the cross.
Anchored in the empty tomb.
Promised in the living Word of God.

Christ is risen. And because He lives, you will rise too.