What if the future isn’t something to fear but a promise to savor? We open Isaiah 65:17–25 and find a world remade—new heavens, new earth, and a city built for joy—then ask what that means for anxious hearts right now. The passage starts with a command to rejoice, not because we’re told to fake a smile, but because God himself is creating something solid, tender, and true.

We walk through what vanishes in the world to come—tears, truncated lives, and work that collapses into futility. Then we linger on what arrives: life with the strength of long-lived trees, harmony in our homes and across creation, and intimacy with a God who answers before we call. Along the way, we trace how Isaiah’s vision reaches back to Eden and forward to Revelation: the tree, the mountain, the serpent’s judgment, and a story that resolves with justice and peace. This is not a disconnected comfort; it’s the throughline of Scripture.

Most of all, we center the who behind the what. The deepest glory of the new creation is God’s own joy. He says, I will rejoice in my people. That turns the command to rejoice into an invitation from a joyful Creator who intends to make us a joyful people. And while lions don’t graze yet and nights can still be long, the dawn has broken. In Christ’s resurrection, the new creation has begun, and when we gather in worship we taste the city that will descend. Join us as we trade vague optimism for anchored hope and learn how to practice future joy in the present.

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