Heaven Is Closer Than You Think

Read

Acts 7:55 “But Stephen, full of the Holy Spirit, looked up to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.”

Think

We tend to think of heaven as “out there”—somewhere beyond the stars, tucked into the far reaches of the universe. It feels distant, abstract, maybe even untouchable. But Scripture paints a different picture. One that feels startlingly close.

Take Stephen in Acts 7. He’s being stoned for his faith, his body broken and breath failing. And in that brutal, earthly moment, heaven opens. He looks up and doesn’t see darkness or silence. He sees the glory of God and Jesus standing to receive him. Heaven wasn’t far off. It was right there, closer than anyone realized.

Have you ever been in a hospital room with someone near the end of their life? Sometimes there's a strange, sacred quiet in those final moments. Words slow down. Eyes fix on something unseen. Some whisper names of loved ones long gone. Others talk about light or warmth. It’s not proof, but it does make you wonder. Could it be that heaven is not just a future location, but a present reality just beyond the veil?

The Bible seems to suggest exactly that. Heaven is not just a faraway destination, it’s a dimension we’re not tuned to yet. Like a radio picking up only one frequency, we’re limited. But that doesn’t mean the other stations aren’t broadcasting. There’s more happening than we can see.

Think about an unborn baby in the womb. That baby kicks, hears muffled sounds, and feels rhythms of a world they can’t yet comprehend. They have no idea that just beyond their environment is a whole world—color, taste, sky, faces, laughter. To the unborn, that world is invisible. But that doesn’t make it any less real. It’s simply waiting for the moment of arrival.

That’s how close heaven is. We’re not waiting to find it. We’re waiting to step into it.

And this closeness should change the way we live.

First, it reframes our fear. We don’t face death as those without hope. For believers, death is not a wall—it’s a doorway. A transition from one room to the next. Jesus didn’t just talk about heaven; he went there to prepare a place. And the fact that he stood to welcome Stephen means he doesn’t wait passively. He receives us personally.

Second, it reframes our worship. When we gather, we’re not just singing songs in a building. We’re joining a heavenly chorus. Hebrews 12 says we’ve come to “the city of the living God… and to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly.” Worship is not just an earthly event. It’s a supernatural intersection.

Third, it reframes our mission. If heaven is close, then every moment matters. The way we love, serve, forgive, and pray—it’s not wasted. We’re brushing up against the eternal. We don’t build the kingdom alone, but we do help bring glimpses of it into view. The way you forgive that coworker, the way you show up for your child, the way you invite someone to church—these are not just nice gestures. They are signs of heaven’s nearness.

We often assume that spiritual things are rare, like hidden treasures we have to dig up. But what if the opposite is true? What if God is constantly present, constantly whispering, constantly offering little reminders of his glory—through a sunset, a lyric, a quiet nudge, a holy moment in a very ordinary day? We miss it because we’re looking too far off, when heaven may be pressing up against our everyday lives.

There’s an old story about a missionary couple who returned from decades of overseas work. As they arrived at the dock in New York, they noticed a crowd cheering, a band playing, and a banner raised high. But it wasn’t for them—it was for a celebrity returning on the same ship. No one had come to welcome them. No one cheered their arrival. They carried their bags in silence.

Later that evening, the husband, discouraged, turned to his wife and said, “It’s not right. We gave our whole lives, and there’s no celebration. No one noticed. No one cared.” His wife gently placed her hand on his and said, “But sweetheart… we’re not home yet.”

Heaven is closer than we think—but it’s not quite here. Not fully. Not yet. We still walk by faith. We still wrestle with grief and loss. We still carry the ache of things unfinished. But the finish line is not fiction. It’s just not visible from this side.

Stephen knew that. And in the hardest moment of his life, he saw what was most true: heaven is real, and Jesus is near. That same reality surrounds us even now. And one day, when our race is finished and our breath gives way, we will look up and see him too. Not far off. But right there. Waiting. Smiling. Standing.

Heaven isn’t just out there. It’s close. It’s coming. And for those who trust in Jesus, it’s home.

Apply

Take a moment today to notice the eternal in the ordinary. Watch the sky. Listen to music that lifts your soul. Call someone you’ve lost touch with and remind them they matter. Let the closeness of heaven shape the way you live today—not as a final destination, but as a present comfort and a future promise.

Pray

Jesus, thank you that heaven is not just some far-off dream, but a real and present hope. Help me live today with an awareness that eternity is closer than I think. When I feel afraid or uncertain, remind me that you are near, and that one day I’ll see you face to face. In Jesus’ name. Amen.