God is far too wise to tell us much about heaven. It would be like trying to pour water into a picture of a pot. We aren’t ready for it — not most of us.

But I think there are hints: shadows, or shadows of shadows, that tell of something worth waiting for. You’ve seen them — a near-perfect piece of music or cut of beef. A child’s laughter, innocent and sincere. A real conversation. A well-executed lager. A well-behaved dog.

More than once, these have surprisingly come together at a local brew pub. It reminds me of a line from the great G.K. Chesterton:

“…comradeship and serious joy are not interludes in our travel; but rather our travels are interludes in comradeship and joy, which through God shall endure forever. The inn does not point to the road; the road points to the inn. And all roads point at last to an ultimate inn…when we [shall drink] from the great flagons in the tavern at the end of the world.”

The great tavern at the end of the world.

It’s not that heaven is a brewery. But maybe the brewery, at its very best, is a shadow of a shadow of heaven, sent here to help us on our way.