My family has a beloved story about my grandfather’s reaction to my dad taking up running. It was the early 1980s when running was not as popular as it has become today. My grandparents had come to celebrate my dad’s completion of the Callaway Gardens Marathon. When the race was over, my grandfather, who knew nothing about marathons or those who ran them, asked my dad if he had won the race. My dad told him that he had not, nor had he expected to win. Now a little confused about why my father would give such effort and even pay the entry fee to run a race that he did not expect to win, my grandfather asked if he got anything for running? To this question, my dad held up the t-shirt given to the race participants and said, “I got a t-shirt.” Then, my grandfather turned to my grandmother with a smile and said, “I think we have raised a fool.” My grandfather enjoyed a good joke, and he spoke these words with a grin, but I have to believe that though he intended these words as a lighthearted ribbing, they did reveal his befuddlement as to why anyone would suffer through running 26.2 miles just for a t-shirt.

It seems foolish indeed to those watching. One of the more common remarks, made in jest by those who are not runners, is that runners look so unpleasant while running. They say our faces carry the expression of pain and our general demeanor communicates suffering. The question is then asked, why would anyone want to do something that makes you so miserable?

We spend much of our lives talking about our bodies—what hurts, what is failing, what needs treatment, and what is growing weaker with age. Since Genesis 3, every generation has known the painful effects of sin’s curse through sickness, frailty, and death.

But Revelation 21 points us to a day when the former things will pass away. In heaven, God’s people will no longer speak of pain, weakness, or death. With glorified bodies and redeemed hearts, our conversation will be overtaken by the glory of God and the joy of life in Christ forever.

My first solo hospital visit as a pastor did not go as planned. In fact, it went so badly that I hoped that the lady, whom I was visiting, did not remember the visit. I never even told her that I came to see her that day.

I was serving as an associate pastor of a little church while attending seminary. I was primarily responsible for student ministry. But on this occasion, our pastor was out of town, and I was covering the hospital visits. This was to be my first official pastoral visit. Sure, I had visited the hospital before, as well as gone with other pastors on such visits, but this was to be my first solo visit. I had no worries, why should I? Every other such visit I had been a part of seemed easy and tame. How could I have imagined that on that day, my experience would leave an indelible mark on my memory but one I would never reveal to the person I was visiting.