In the Eternity of the Present

The pastor was preaching about eternal life.

"In heaven there will be no more time," he thundered from the pulpit. "Only infinite eternity with God."

I looked out the window. Giuseppe was playing ping-pong alone against the wall. For the first time in nineteen years, my heart broke for someone else. Giuseppe. The first friend I'd ever had. The first man who'd seen me without asking me to be different.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Giuseppe alone. Like I'd always been. But he played with joy. I'd always played with pain.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tears streaked my face. For seven days, this man had loved me without asking for explanations. Had accepted me without trying to fix me. Had seen me without judging me.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Like David with Jonathan. "After David had finished talking with Saul, Jonathan became one in spirit with David" (1 Samuel 18:1, NIV). For the first time, I understood those words. Soul bound to soul. Without explanations. Without merit.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Giuseppe, playing alone, was breaking my heart. Because I saw myself in every solitary bounce. But I also saw what I'd become because of him: someone capable of love.

Beyond time.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Eternity," the pastor was still preaching, "is something waiting for us after death."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Suddenly, I understood everything.

Eternity isn't duration. It's intensity.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Jesus said: "Whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life" (John 5:24, NIV). Not "will have." HAS. Present tense.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Giuseppe was living eternity. Right now. In that moment of perfect presence with himself.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you" (John 14:20, NIV).

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Giuseppe playing alone against the wall. Like I'd done for nineteen years. But he transformed solitude into dance. I'd always lived it as condemnation.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Whoever believes has eternal life" (John 5:24, NIV). HAS. Present tense. Giuseppe had given it to me. The eternal life of being known. Of being loved for who you are, not who you pretend to be.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you" (John 14:20, NIV). Giuseppe had seen Christ in me. And I had seen Christ in him. We'd been one. In friendship. In understanding. In love that asks for nothing.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The pastor was still talking about future eternity. But I was crying for the eternity I'd lived. Seven days of being completely myself with someone who completely accepted me.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound stopped. Giuseppe looked toward the window. He saw me crying.

He smiled. He raised his paddle toward me.

As if to say: "Come. Let's play eternity together."

"Eternity happens when someone really sees you."

"The Kingdom is friendship that asks no explanations."

"Giuseppe gave me eternal life. Before dying."

In my notebook that night: "Eighth day. I saw John 5:24 and 14:20 living in solitary bounces that weren't really solitary. Giuseppe taught me that eternity isn't endless time but this time lived with infinite love. I understood that the Kingdom isn't a place we're going. It's the space between hearts that really know each other."

"Tomorrow is my last day. But what I've learned here is eternal."

"Because love is eternal."

"And I've been loved."