"He has also set eternity in their hearts.” –Ecclesiastes 3:11

The new Neil Young film “Heart of Gold” caught my attention last week. It’s not really a movie at all; it’s a live concert filmed in Nashville with some amazing camera work. For nearly the whole show, the screen is filled with an all-star acoustic band playing some of the best country music I’ve heard. My 20-something kids would say it’s a geezer band, but they’d like it just the same. Young is in peak form as a songwriter and guitar player, and there’s a serious current of nostalgia flowing across the Ryman Auditorium stage.

You can see it in the musicians’ eyes. The band and backup vocalists are mostly Young’s old friends—EmmyLou Harris and others. My own nostalgia was near the surface as I watched Young spin out guitar licks that I can only dream of.

I have a Martin guitar too, though it’s not as good as Young’s. I bought mine about the time he bought his, back in the ’70s. Mine was new, on sale at a shop in San Francisco’s North Beach. Young bought his from a dealer who called to tell him about it. The guitar had belonged to Hank Williams. Until Young’s recent concert, it probably hasn’t been on the Ryman Auditorium stage since Williams played it there in 1951.

Some of my nostalgia took the form of simply wishing I could play the guitar like Young. I played a lot in college, but then I moved on to other things. I’ve continued to play, but I haven’t worked hard at it, and I’ve never gotten much better.

There are many things I wish I had accomplished over the years. I wish I could also play the piano and the string bass better than I do; I wish I had been a really good baseball player; I wish I had learned more Greek and Spanish; I wish I had bought a Harley and ridden it across the continent. I’d love to trek the Himalayas. I may still do some of those things, but there’s only so much time, and it’s a safe bet that more than half of my time on the planet is already used up.

Nostalgia takes a different form for a Christian, though. It’s not just a longing for what might have been. It’s a form of anticipation.

I need to pause now, and make a confession. Only rarely have I been one of those Christians who is desperate to go to heaven because life here on earth is so bad. I have to admit I like it here. Sure, there are disappointments. Sure there’s trouble. Yes, it will be good when the problems of sin are no more. Still, I enjoy life. I want eternal life, not so I can escape from something, but so I can have more of it! I’m just not satisfied with my allotted 70 or 80 or 90 years. That’s not enough time; there’s too much to do.

If you think about it, it’s pretty sad if all we get is our current life span. Just as we’re getting good at a few things we start to deteriorate; then after a few more years, just when we should be hitting our stride, we check out. That’s just not acceptable! It’s clear to me we are made for eternity. As Solomon said, He has set eternity in our hearts. We are supposed to keep on going.

Somebody might argue that I can’t prove eternal life is anything more than a wishful dream. OK, for the sake of discussion, let’s say I can’t prove it. So what?

A hundred years ago the American philosopher William James argued that, if you can’t absolutely prove something, it makes just as much sense to make a decision based on your hopes as to make it based on your doubts. I’d say it makes more sense.

There’s an example of such thinking in C.S. Lewis’s book The Silver Chair, where the curmudgeonly Puddleglum faces off with the evil queen of the dark world. The queen challenges Puddleglum’s belief in Narnia (the book’s metaphor for eternity), but Puddleglum challenges the queen right back.

“Suppose we have only dreamed and made up these things … In that case, it seems to me that the made-up things are a good deal better than the real ones … As for me, I shall live like a Narnian even if there isn’t any Narnia.”

As the story turns out, there is a Narnia, and I am convinced that eternity is real too.

The lyrics to the title song for the Neil Young film include some intriguing overtones, in which I think I sense some longings for eternity. Listen:

I want to live,
I want to give.
I've been a miner
for a heart of gold.
It's these expressions
I never give
that keep me searching
for a heart of gold.
And I'm getting old.
Keeps me searching
for a heart of gold.
And I'm getting old.

I've been to Hollywood,
I've been to Redwood,
I crossed the ocean
for a heart of gold.
I've been in my mind,
it's such a fine line
That keeps me searching
for a heart of gold.
And I'm getting old.
Keeps me searching
for a heart of gold.
And I'm getting old.

Keep me searching
for a heart of gold.
You keep me searching
for a heart of gold.
And I'm getting old.
I've been a miner
for a heart of gold.

Though Young sings about getting old, on stage he doesn’t look despairing, just reflective. In fact, the last verse injects an energizing note of anticipation.

“You keep me searching for a heart of gold,” he sings.

Who is that “you”? I can’t say what was in Young’s mind as he wrote the lyrics, but it’s a good question for each of us to ponder as we go mining for our own heart of gold.

B.W.