Thursday, September 7, 2017

A Letter from Paul

Jenna, Charlie, Mom and Friends:

     The last thing I remembered was texting a message to my boss from the Interstate and, suddenly, I found myself standing in a long line of strangers, young and old, stretching down a darkened hallway toward a backlit door.  Everyone was dressed in the same drab tunic and sandals and all, including myself, were perfectly content to wait in the slow moving line. 
     When I finally stepped through the door, I encountered a well-dressed older gentleman with closely cropped gray hair and a neatly trimmed goatee.  Frankly, he looked a bit like Sean Connery.  He was sitting behind a computer and on his desk was a gold-plated plaque with the words St. Peter, PC.  Needless to say, a chill ran down my spine as I suddenly realized that the Evangelical Christians had been right and that I was in big trouble.
     “You look a bit surprised, young man.  What did you expect, a long beard and flowing robes?  For Christ’s sake, this is the Twenty First Century.  No pearly gates around here either, just that stairway to your right.”
     He asked me to take a seat next to his desk.  Squinting at the screen and raising what appeared to be rather stylish bifocals, St. Peter seemed to be reading a capsulized summary of my life.  An occasional “hmm” and one brief gasp caused me to break out in a cold sweat.
     “Mr. Paul Davis, date of birth 8-10-71, correct?”
     “Yes sir,” I said with some trepidation.
     “It appears that you were not a religious man, Mr. Davis.  Is that correct?”
     “Well, sir, I tried to live my life as Jesus would.”  I prayed that my shaky voice did not suggest insincerity.
     “I guess that explains the sandals and tunic,” he said, chuckling to himself.  “It seems that you were actually an agnostic. Is that a fair assessment, Mr. Davis?”
     “With all due respect, St. Peter, I think one’s actions say more about an individual than his professed beliefs.”
     “Perhaps so.  But we can’ t accept you into Heaven until you demonstrate a clear and honest faith in God the Father and his Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ.”
     “You’re not saying I deserve to go to Hell, are you sir?”  I was near collapse at that point.
     “No, Mr. Davis.  You haven’t exactly earned that assignment either.  You’ll be sent to Purgatory.”
     “Purgatory?  What…where is that, sir? “  I envisioned some sort of prison with forced labor and evening Bible study.
     “There you go again,” he said.  “More confirmation of your secular lifestyle.”
     “Could you fill me in on what to expect, St. Peter?” I asked, starting to hyperventilate.
     “You’ll be sent back to Earth for another life and that cycle will continue until you earn a place in Heaven or, God forbid, Hell.  In fact, looking at my calendar here, you are set to be born to a young couple in New Zealand nine months from today.”
     “Wow, “ I said a bit too enthusiastically.  I immediately thought of Shirley MacLaine. In a way, she was right and my fear of Purgatory quickly evaporated.  Sensing that St. Peter was about to send me on my way, I decided to seek more information.
     “May I assume, sir, that I have had other lives before this last one?”
     “Well, since you’re neither in Heaven nor Hell, that’s a reasonable conclusion.” 
     “Would it be out of bounds to ask for the details?” I asked, shifting in my chair.
     “Yes it would, Mr. Davis.  Besides, that information is in our paper files and could take ages to track down.  As I’m sure you know, these computers haven’t been available for very long.  I have assistants but this is Heaven and they only work when they feel like it.”
     “Of course, “ I said but decided to push my luck.  “Sir.  Could you tell me what goes on in Heaven?  Is it some kind of endless orgy?  You know, great food, booze, sex, rock music, the works?”
     “Spoken like a true Purgatorian, bordering on Hellian.”  St. Peter gave a sigh and continued.  “We have no need for food or sex or sports or any other Earthly delight in Heaven.  If you had listened to Christian music during your self-centered life you would know that our only desire is to sing endless praise to Our Lord.  Except for me, of course.  I’m stuck at this desk most of the time.”
     “And Hell, sir.  Is it really fire and brimstone down there?  Endless suffering?”
     “That image is a bit dramatic to be honest,” he said.  "But it’s kept a lot of Christians on the straight and narrow.” 
     He stopped for a minute to collect his thoughts.  “No, Mr. Davis.  It’s more like that movie.  What was it called?  That weatherman, the guy from Saturday Night Live, gets stuck in an endless cycle of boring days.  Oh, what is his name?  Bill…..Bill Murphy, that’s it.”
     “Murray, sir.  Bill Murray.”  I was reluctant to correct him, fearing a sudden change in assignment.
     “Whatever.  How can anyone expect me to remember names with the crowd that I face everyday? Well, anyway, Hell is pretty much like that.  An endless chain of bad days…everything goes wrong, the car won’t start, the weather’s crappy, you hate your job, your spouse is a nag.  You get my drift?”
     “Sounds like a hell of a way to go, sir.”

     One final request was to use his computer to send this email.  St. Peter was glad to take a break and wished me well in New Zealand.  I’m thinking Purgatory is something the rest of you might want to consider.  See you in the next life!

            Love, Paul