Where the Streets Have No Name: Colossians 3:1-11

To say that my sense of direction is bad is an understatement.  Whether it’s something in the blood or awareness in the brain, or the simple ability to pay attention to where you are going, I don’t have it.  My wife, Christie, has it.  It’s a gift.  She only has to go somewhere once to know how to get back there.  Not long ago I had to be at Amy and David Simon’s house without my GPS, so I called Christie to help navigate me.  The conversation went something like this:

 “Honey, can you help me get to Amy and David Simon’s house?”

“Dear, we’ve been there a dozen times.”

“I’m not interested in the score, I’m interested in directions.”

I’m not interested in the score, I’m interested in directions.  Too often we think about the road to heaven as a score card—If you do this you’re in.  If you do that, you’re out.  Colossians gives us an intriguing picture of heaven: “For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.  When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.”  One thing of which we can be certain is that Christ is seated at the right hand of God, meaning that Christ is in communion with God in heaven.  Colossians is saying that our lives are wrapped up in Christ and when Christ is revealed we too are revealed.  In other words, Christ is what it means to be alive, and that life is revealed by those who believe.

Our role as Christians is not to live according to a checklist.  Lists can be helpful.  We have one today.  “Put to death, therefore, whatever in you is earthly: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed, which is idolatry . . . get rid of all such things—anger, wrath, malice, slander, and abusive language from your mouth.”  The problem with checklists, or as Paul would say, the Law, is that it begins to become the manifestation of our faith—our faith is no longer in Christ, it is in the checklist itself.  It’s as if to say, “As long as I don’t slander, I am living the life of Christ; as long as I don’t do x, y, or z, I am living the life.”  This is a terribly frustrating way to live.  It’s like trying to get to Amy and David’s house with my GPS and the GPS tells me at each intersection, “Don’t take a right here.  Don’t merge at the next intersection.  In three point two miles, don’t turn.”  Friends, hear me, we do put to death these things: lying, gossip, greed; but the goal of Christianity is not to not gossip, or to never tell a lie.  The goal of Christianity is to reveal Christ.  Christ is what it means to be alive, and this life will be revealed by those who believe!

“Where the Streets Have No Name” gives us a compelling image of what heaven is.  I would image that if at some point during this worship service, all of the street signs disappear, you would still be able to get home.  I might not, but thankfully Christie is here.  How is it that without any sign posts you would still be able to navigate the streets?  Well, you’ve done it before.  You’ve done it often.  It’s familiar.  The more familiar something is the less sign posts you need.  This is why the habits of the church are so important.  The habits of fasting, prayer, mission, stewardship, worship, communion . . .

Once there was a rich man.  He met and fell in love with a young maiden.  She was lovely in form, and lovelier still in character.  He rejoiced when he saw her.  Yet he grieved also.  For he knew that he was not like her.  His face was hideous and his heart was cruel.  He considered how he could win her hand. 

Eventually he hit upon a plan.  He went to see a mask maker.  He said, “Make me a mask that I shall become handsome.  Then, perhaps, I may win the love of this noble young woman.”  The mask maker did as he was bid.  The man was transformed into a handsome figure.  He tried hard to summon a character to match.  It was sufficient to win the heart and hand of the fair maiden, and they were married.  Then years of increasing happiness followed.  But the man knew he was carrying a secret.  He sensed that true love could not be founded on deceit.  He had to know if his wife really loved him, if she loved the man behind the mask.  So one day, with a heavy heart and trembling hand, he knocked a second time on the mask maker’s door.  “It is time to remove the mask,” he said.  He walked slowly and anxiously back to his home.  He greeted his wife.

To his astonishment, she made no comment, nor showed him any untoward reaction.  There was no scream, no horror, no revulsion.  He searched for a mirror.  He looked—and saw no ungliness but a face as handsome as the mask, a face so different from his original face.  He was amazed and overjoyed—but bewildered and confused.  He ran back to the mask maker to find some kind of explanation.  The mask maker said, “You have changed.  You loved a beautiful person.  You have become beautiful too.  You have become beautiful through loving her.  You become like the face of the one whom you love.”[1]

These Christian habits: prayer, study, communion, worship, begin to reveal the Christ within us to the point where we no longer have to think to serve the poor and release the captive and liberate the oppressed.  We no longer have to think about abstaining from slander and greed.  We no longer need street signs to show us the way home.  The Christ within us becomes our life, and it is our duty to reveal this Christ to the world.  Christ is what it means to be alive, and this life is revealed by those who believe.  These habits begin to form our character so that pathways of love are no longer foreign or difficult to find.  Heaven is a place where the streets have no name because we don’t need them.  We know how to get there.  “When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.  Praise be to God.  Amen!


[1] Sam Wells, Improvisation: The Drama of Christian Ethics, (Grand Rapides: Brazos Press, 2004), 85.