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 a topic that came up 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, looking 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 faraway place—a mystical destination where we’d go after death (if we were good enough), greeted by loved ones who were “looking down on us.” As a child with a vivid imagination (thanks in part to C.S. Lewis and the world of Narnia), I envisioned my version of heaven filled with talking animals and beloved pets I had lost too soon. It brought comfort. And honestly, I don’t think too many adults are far off from that concept, 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, the Christian hope wasn’t just about going somewhere after death once you’ve won that prize. It wasn’t about floating in the sky or becoming angels protecting loved ones below. 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 where “...death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Rev, 21:4).

Even today, I often hear grieving families speak of loved ones “watching over them from above.” It’s understandable. It’s comforting as we cling to our flesh. But as we’ll see, it’s also a reflection of our culture’s confused hope—hope that is more sentimental than scriptural, rooted in the things of old and not in Christ. 

But as it turns out, we’re not the first to be confused about what happens after we die. Even in Jesus’ day, religious leaders were wrestling with questions about resurrection and the afterlife—some with genuine curiosity, and others hoping to trap Him in a theological corner. But as He so often does, Jesus doesn’t just answer their question—He reveals the deeper truth.

You Are Wrong Because You Know Neither the Scriptures Nor the Power of God. —Matthew 22:29

In Matthew 22, Jesus is confronted by the Sadducees—a group of religious leaders who did not believe in the resurrection of the dead. They come to Him with a question that wasn’t really a question at all—it was a trap. Their goal was to mock the whole idea of resurrection by constructing a bizarre scenario about marriage:

“Teacher, Moses said, ‘If a man dies having no children, his brother must marry the widow and raise up offspring for his brother.’ Now there were seven brothers among us. The first married and died, and having no offspring left his wife to his brother. So too the second and third, down to the seventh. After them all, the woman died. In the resurrection, therefore, of the seven, whose wife will she be? For they all had her.” (Matthew 22:24–28)

The Sadducees are trying to reduce resurrection to a legal and relational puzzle—one that makes the whole idea seem ridiculous. But Jesus isn’t caught off guard. In fact, His response is sharp and revealing:

“You are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God. For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven.” (Matthew 22:29–30)

Notice what Jesus does here: He refuses to let them define the resurrection by earthly categories. He isn’t saying we become angels—but that in the resurrection, our existence is entirely new, beyond what we now understand. The relationships we know in this life are real and good, but they are not ultimate. Marriage, beautiful as it is, is a temporary signpost pointing to something greater: union with Christ.

Then Jesus drives home the point:

“And as for the resurrection of the dead, have you not read what was said to you by God: ‘I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’? He is not God of the dead, but of the living.” (Matthew 22:31–32)

Jesus anchors the hope of the resurrection in the very identity of God—the God of the living. The God who gives life and promises resurrection. And the crowd? They’re astonished.

We Are Not Waiting to Die. We Are Waiting to Rise.

Christian hope is not about death. It’s about life—eternal, embodied, resurrected life. Just as Jesus rose bodily from the grave, so too will we. And not to float on clouds or sprout wings, but to dwell with God in a new heaven and new earth (Revelation 21:1–5).

This is not escapism. This is the promise of new creation—not an upgraded version of what we know now, but a complete transformation through Christ. As Lutherans, we proclaim that the old Adam must die—not be improved or polished, but put to death. 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:

“For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God… 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… we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.” (Romans 8:19–23)

Paul doesn’t describe a world waiting for repair. He describes one waiting for resurrection. Not a body bandaged up, but glorified. Not creation remodeled, but raised to something entirely new.

The “firstfruits of the Spirit” mean we already belong to the age to come. We are marked by the Spirit, citizens of the new creation even now. And yet—we groan. We still struggle in these bodies, still wrestle with sin and decay. But our groaning is not despair. It’s longing. Longing for the fulfillment of a promise we already taste: Christ will return, and we will be made new.

And this changes everything:

• We care for creation, not because it’s eternal in its current form, but because it belongs to the Lord who will make it new.

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

• We live with hope, not fear, because we are not waiting for death—we are waiting for Jesus.

Christian hope isn’t vague, sentimental, or floating somewhere above the clouds. If you’ve ever looked out an airplane window wondering where heaven is—like I once did—you’re not alone. But the truth is far better than our childhood imaginations. We are not going up to find heaven. Heaven is coming down. Christ is coming again. And when He does, He will raise the dead and make all things new.

You were not created to escape. You were not baptized to be made better.You were united with Christ so that your old self might die, and that a new creation might rise.

This is our hope— rooted in the cross, anchored in the empty tomb, and promised in the living Word of God.

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

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