Dear reader: We are about to reach the climax!
{beginning of email}
“Well,”
said Andrew. “It’s time our guest should make the pilgrimage to the Great
Assembly at the Throne of God. No more telescopes for you, my friend.”
“How
does one get there?” I asked.
“First,
you enter the gate,” said Andrew.
“But,
they won’t let anyone from hell get into heaven, will they?”
“The
gates of heaven are presided over by Peter, who happens to be my brother. He’ll
let me in anytime, for a visit, and whoever I bring with me.”
So
Andrew and I went off to visit heaven. We approached a large gate. A steady
stream of people, all of them apparently Christian fundamentalists, walked on a
yellow brick road that led directly to it. Dozens of them, but nothing compared
to the many thousands of people who died each day around the world. There was a
man with a big book.
“The
book is just for show,” said Andrew. “Peter actually uses an iPhone app to keep
track of the souls who are entering into bliss.”
“That’s
Peter?” I exclaimed.
“Why,
yes,” Andrew answered. “He has a fishing hat on.” He did, complete with big
hooks piercing the brim. “Who else could he be? We were fishermen when Jesus
came along and invited us to follow him. He said, I will make you fishers of men. He didn’t mean it literally, since
people catch fish by tricking them with lures or kidnapping them with nets,
that is, catching them against their will.”
“Some
churches are like that,” I said.
“True
enough. But Jesus wanted people to follow him of their own free will. Jesus
just said ‘fishers of men’ to be friendly to us. Ah, that was a long time ago.”
Then one
of the people on the yellow brick road started yelling. “I specifically asked
for a condo with an ocean view,” he screamed.
“All we
have is the little hut in the nature preserve,” Peter told him. “But I assure
you you will like it there. Lots of birds and flowers. And a pond. And, this
being heaven and all, no mosquitoes. And a little creek with clear water. You
can go fly-fishing.” Peter looked dreamily upward, as if he wanted to be at
that little hut right now.
“I don’t
like fly-fishing, I like deep-sea fishing,” yelled the man. “I’m gonna sue!”
“Where
you going to find a lawyer?” asked Peter. The man had no response to that.
Then
Peter glanced over and saw us. “Andy!” he said. He put up a sign that said Gone To Lunch and closed the gate.
People on the yellow brick road started shouting, but Peter told them, “You got
all the time in the, er, world.”
When
Peter got to us, he said, “So, whom have we here?”
[Response
omitted]
“And so
you want to see God? Well, first you have to see his private chamberlain. But
that can be arranged. Oh,” said Peter, looking inside the gate. “She’s at it
again.”
“Who’s
at what?” I asked.
“The
Virgin Mary,” said Peter. “She’s always helping people sneak in.”
As I
watched, I saw a woman wearing a blue robe (ah, so the Catholics were right!)
letting a rope down over the wall and helping people—usually people who had had
some kind of physical deformity when down on Earth—over the wall.
“She
thinks they suffered enough down on Earth, and deserve Heaven,” continued
Peter.
“They
don’t stay very long,” said Andrew. “Once they see what is inside, they come
running out. But Mary just keeps fishing them in. Sorry, that phrase just kind
of slipped out.”
“Why has
nobody on Earth ever heard of this?” I asked.
Andrew
answered, “Actually, one of your lesser-known authors, a certain Frank Harris,
wrote a short story in 1924 in a collection called Undreamed of Shores, in which he described this very phenomenon. I
was in it, and so was Peter. Jesus was in it too, and he expressed frustration
at what his Mom was doing. The story was called St. Peter’s Difficulty.”
“Yes, I
liked that story,” said Peter. “Now, [name omitted], you just follow that road
and you can’t miss the Chamberlain’s house. You going with him, Andy?”
“I am,
Pete,” said Andrew. And we went on and left Peter to his work.
{end of email}
No comments:
Post a Comment