Going To Heaven

Published in the Desert Valley Times
August 30, 2005

This week’s Chronicles is for a friend of mine who unexpectedly lost her brother last week.
Hopefully she can find a smile in here somewhere.
I hate it when someone close to me loses someone.
I feel so inept.
I’m a professional writer, a wordsmith, someone who uses vocabulary every day like a cement worker uses a trowel.
Yet my shortcomings are never as clearly evident as when I look for words of comfort to offer, and those words are never adequate.
First, let me offer some quick background.
I’m not a religious person.
I belonged to a church only once in my life, but to paraphrase Groucho Marx, I should have never joined any church that would have me as a member.
I’m not sure where this leaves my soul, but I doubt that the dusty old thing is worth God and the devil getting into a poker match over.
I’m not a particularly good person, and not a particularly bad person (although there are HOA board members all over this city who would argue the latter).
I just go through life trying to do the best I can, praying that God grades on a curve and throws in extra credit for effort.
For the record, I believe in God.
I’m a bit fuzzier on the “Heaven” thing.
Before I start, please understand that I’m not bashing or disrespecting anyone’s religion, I’m just offering a few observations.
After all, you must admit that the various versions of Heaven can be pretty amusing when you look at it objectively.
If you have enough bourbon in you, the ideas can be downright funny.
First, the standard King James version of Heaven.
Angels with harps.
I don’t know about you, but harp music has never turned me on.
Also, while movies and cartoons show angels as fully clothed while bearing wings, I suspect Heaven is a clothing-optional beach.
Now for the Kodak moment:
If I happen to slide through the Pearly Gates on a technicality, do you really want to see my big naked behind sitting on a cloud strumming an electric four-string harp and singing Garth Brooks tunes?
I know, sounds more like Hell, huh.
For my LDS brethren, Heaven becomes a Monty Hall game show.
If you’ve been so-so, you get what’s behind door number three.
Better behavior gets a shot at door number two.
And for those who tithed, avoided tea, and followed their patriarchal blessing, a trip to the Kingdom behind door number one is your reward.
I like that version, because I have a one-in-three chance of winding up somewhere wonderful.
It’s better odds than I get from the nickel slots.
(Boy, I hope God was kidding about that gambling thing.)
But the best vision has to be the Muslim Heaven.
For those with the best track record on Earth, 72 virgins are waiting.
I don’t understand how this is a big attractor for women believers, but I’m sure there’s some major reward for them as well.
But for guys, it’s the 72 virgins.
Of course, they don’t talk about the downside, which is 72 angry mothers-in-law.
I imagine that would be their version of Hell.
It would certainly be mine.
I’m not sure where atheists believe they’ll go when they die.
Maybe to the mall.
Maybe Taco Bell (which would mean Mesquite is one restaurant short of truly being Heaven).
The idea of being nothing more than worm food or a dust mote in someone’s eye upon death is too depressing to consider.
I’m not sure what Hell is supposed to look like.
I’ve endured southern Nevada in July, so I’m not intimidated.
But to concur with country philosopher Hank Williams Jr., if it’s much like New York City, I’d rather not go.
In fact, I’d prefer to just postpone the trip altogether.
However, I suspect God is like the ultimate newspaper editor.
When your deadline arrives and your story is due, time is up.
And God never stops the presses.