Solid Ground

They sold you on a fog: a disembodied hum,
A soul without a body in a mist where harps are strummed,
Floating somewhere off the edge of a pale and distant sphere
Forget it. That's not it. Heaven is the new and perfect here.

Scripture promises the opposite of clouds and endless air:
Not a ghost up in the rafters, not a wisp without a where.
A new creation's coming and it's gonna be our home
As solid as this world is now built for spirit flesh and bone.
You were told the end was vapor, you were told the end was
mist,
Handed harps and floating halos and a disembodied bliss
But the dirt beneath your sneakers is more honest than that
dream:
The world to come is heavier. It's matter. It's not steam.

Solid ground, solid ground
Not a cloud, not a harp, not a soul just drifting 'round;
The world to come is solid as the dirt beneath your feet
You'll have taste buds up in heaven. Salty. Sour. Bitter.
Sweet.

You want to know the substance? Go and study at the tomb
The body that walked out of it's the pattern and the proof.
They could lay their hands upon him: feel the scars, the breath,
the heat;
He ate the fish in front of them. He had bones. He had feet.
And yet he passed through bolted doors exceptional, made
new:
The same flesh, raised and glorified, and that flesh is coming
through.
He's the first fruits of the harvest, he's the firstborn from the
ground
So the manner of his rising is the manner you'll be found.

Solid ground, solid ground
Not a cloud, not a harp, not a soul just drifting 'round;
The world to come is solid as the dirt beneath your feet
You'll have taste buds up in heaven. Salty. Sour. Bitter. Sweet.

So matter isn't garbage that you shed when you expire,
And the body isn't luggage you abandon to the fire.
He made it, and he'll raise it, and he walked one from the
grave
The future's not the end of flesh. It's part of what he came to
save.
You want to read the world to come? Then study how he
stood:
Not less real this world more. And solid. And for good.

Put your hand against the wall. Feel the cold, the weight, the
grain.
That's a rumor of the country where the King already came.
It's not vapor. It's not theory. It's not somewhere you ascend
It's a ground that holds your weight. And it's waiting. At the
end.