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
