It was a warm, clear day, a few years ago now, as I sat reading a Bible. A short distance away rolled the freight trains of the mighty Burlington Northern Santa Fe. But I was not parked along the right-of-way of the mighty BNSF. Here I was, a few blocks farther down a county road, parked out of sight of the BNSF, along side the right-of-way of another, quieter railroad. These rails were still somewhat shiny, but of a lesser weight. The ties were not new. A few weeds grew up near the track. Where the road crossed some 30 feet in front of my car were a refreshing pair of ferrous crossing signals with eight-inch signal heads, sporting the bareish and out-of-style "no gate" look.
And as you picture me sitting in a stationary car with both windows down, reading the apostle Paul's letter to the Romans, you may wonder what this bucolic railroad scene has to do with religion, since I did call this a sermon, and why I came here to read the Bible. The best answer I can give has something to do with the fact that from everything I've heard about heaven, I don't fancy it a place where the rails are all ten inches tall. True, this trackside location wasn't an appropriate place for the corporate worship of God, but it was good enough for a single railroad fan on this occasion. Yes, heaven is a place where the track always seems to blend harmoniously with it's surroundings, much as it does in this pastoral scene that I described.
Each time I heard the sound of distant train movements, I fostered the hope that this track would claim them.... Yet, it couldn't. The sounds remained distant. It had been a few years still before this that I had actually caught a train on the line. An awful thought occurred to me, that I might find the rails gone someday, but I dismissed it. They were still shiny. I eventually drove away, planning to return later for another episode much like the first, unless I should be so fortunate as to see a train next time.
But life doesn't always keep it's appointments, and sometimes it doesn't make them either. Then, one day in the newspaper--rails being removed! What line was it? I returned to the country road in the night. It was now a darker and colder time than when I had sat peacefully with the windows down. As I rounded the crest of a hill, I cast high beams down into the low places. Two familiar old crossbucks shone back. But relief was short-lived. As I rumbled across the timbers, the rails were gone.
As disgusting as this was, I didn't consider it a total loss. The crossing signals were still in place. I thought that I might get permission to give them a home. What would the railroad want with a set of rust-bitten, eight-inch signal heads? Yes, I would acquire the signals and this railroad line would always be close at heart.
"But we don't sell those." The railroad was somewhat uncooperative. I went to a significant bit of hastle on two occasions, but in the end it didn't amount to much. I was convinced that the signals would first be officially salvaged, then unceremoniously scrapped. About a year later, though, I passed the same place. At that time, the salvage crew had taken some 12-inch signals at other crossings but passed over these. It was clear that whatever was in the future for the signals, it wasn't me. Some less scrupulous railroad fan than myself had already stolen the bell.
Jesus says, "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." (Matthew 6:19-21) Plus, "...Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided?" (Luke 12:20)
Still, I've not been made to believe that it's wrong to be intersted in something. I'm still interested in railroad signals. But after a few failed attempts at collecting them, and after realizing how much has been put into acquiring them, I've realized that they aren't worth it. The material would rust away before and during the time that I owned it. It would be of no practical value to me; it would be in my posession as an animal in a cage--never quite its wild self, never again beside the track. And in the end, when I die, I can't take it with me. If I acquired signals, would I have been able to use the signals for God's glory or would time or money have been better spent?
Any passion has the potential to distract from things of eternal value. What did Christ mean when he said to lay up our treasures in heaven? In Matthew 19, verses 29 and 30, he says, "And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life. But many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first."
We would probably do well to adjust ourselves to the idea that the greatest joys of heaven aren't in material things. But still, the mention of houses and lands (Matthew 19) and streets (Revelation 21) suggests that heaven is a physical place. It is a consolation for the times when we let go of a thing that is special to us because we have to or because it is simply the right thing to do. Jesus promises to replace that which we have given up for his sake. Will there be such things as railroads in heaven? I don't truly know, but why not? Yes, heaven is the kind of place where the beaded crossbuck signal is still in use and the light rails still shine.