Heaven's Hell

Terror and exhaustion distort his face. He runs, sweat stains his shirt and slicks his face. He gasped for air. A hard flat crack goads him into even greater effort. He dodges into an intersecting street, The bag of stolen cash now a supreme luxury. His heart stops: a brick wall terminates the street. With his final reserves of energy, he scrabbles up the vertical face. Fingers grasping desperately at tiny cracks, he pulled himself to the top. One hard blow, then another, slammed his body against the wall. His Fingers relaxed, lose their grip and he slides to the ground, a limp pile of death. Blinding light suddenly surrounds him. He wakes to a beautiful room. He is astonished to see Ornate gold fixtures, marble floors and a fireplace burning a cheerful blaze. His eyes widen, taking in elegant furniture, a table laden with all manner of gourmet items and, perhaps best of all, three beautiful women. “How may we serve you?” one question. For the next year every whim was catered to. He reveled in the luxury, the pleasure of it all. One day, one of his attendants said, “You seem a bit out of sorts today.” “Yes, a bit. Not sure why.” His voice trailed off. Then, after a long pause, “I’ve got it! I’m bored.” “Oh, what would you like to do then to liven your day?” she asked. “Well, let’s see…” he paused, thinking. “”Actually, you know, I kind of miss the excitement of robbing banks. There was such an adrenalin rush from the fear, you know?” “We can arrange that,” she said.“ Later that day, she entered with mask, gun and black clothing. She handed them to him then introduced him to a man who had followed her into the room. “This is Reginald,” she announced. “He is a bank robber too. I’ll leave the two of you to plan the caper.” The two men shook hands and settled at the dining room table working out details and logistics. The next day, the two burst into the house, shouting in triumph and throwing wads of cash into the air. “Let’s do it again soon!” He cries. “We can arrange that,” she says. They are even more successful this time, netting twice the cash. The pattern repeats. ““how can we be so successful,” he asks his beautiful attendants one day. “We’ve never even been chased by a bank guard, much less been shot at.” “Why, you’ll always be successful,” she counters. “What do you mean?” “You can’t fail.” “You mean, I can never be caught, never shot, never captured and sent to jail?” “Yes, that is true, though I suppose we could arrange to have you chased and shot at if you wish.” ”Well this is a hell of a place,” he barks. “Where did you think you are?” she questions. So ends one of the episodes of “The Twilight Zone.” Hell, for our hero, is discovering that he cannot fail, therefore the adrenalin rush of danger will fade and finally disappear. Life, for him, is ultimately an eternity of boredom. As a child, riding the back of a lion was, for me, the ultimate thrill. But as time passed, this faded into juvenile irrelevance. Later, exploring the universe and having all my curiosities, “how?” “Why?” and “When?” questions answered seemed a worthy pursuit for eternity. Still later, the mystery of salvation became my goal. But even delving into the sacred mysteries seemed incapable of occupying me forever; Heaven itself transformed into hell. What, then, I asked myself, would hold my attention, give me satisfaction for eternity? Solomon, in his depression-of-old-age book, Ecclesiastes attempts to answer this way: “The conclusion, when all has been heard, is: fear God and keep His commandments…” (The Preacher, Chapter 12, verse 13) Now cowering in fear and obeying rules is not even close to my idea of fun, so what is the answer? Solomon’s shorthand “fear and obey” really allude to relationship. Today we might say, “Sit down and have a cup of coffee with the Lord.” If he didn’t mean this, then there is no point to the whole of his book: Everything, include the Lord, is vain and has no meaning. But I think he knew, after much experimentation, that the only thing that matters is knowing and being known. The only thing that endures is you and me and Him in endless joyful communion—an eternal conversation of knowing and being known, of an ever-deepening relationship with the Beloved and our beloveds. The core human desire is for love, according to Abraham Maslow. We spend our lives, our fortunes, our energies in pursuit of those things we think will bring satisfaction. Love is the only real satisfaction. And that is what makes heaven heaven and an inferior heaven and this earth hell. 12.10.12 ee

Daddy's Child

If we could truly know God as Father, as daddy, we would experience the relief that He views even our most heinous of sins as a daddy does: the breaking of a saucer while helping mommy wash dishes; hiding after breaking daddy’s favorite coffee mug; crayon drawing on the wall; missing the nail and marring the finish on a kitchen cabinet while trying to fix it for mommy; a temper tantrum in response to parental edict; mischief on a lazy summer’s afternoon; a spate with a childhood best friend; tracing an ant’s path instead of attending a duty; scribbles of a preschooler writing a letter to Daddy; nightmare terror in the dark, the panic of a three-year-old when separated from Mommy in a crowded store; breaking brother’s toy in revenge for his tattling; grabbing the biggest cookie. All the evil of the world is in the heart of a child. What presidents and rulers do to their enemies; what the rapist, the serial killer does; what the greedy capitalist does in stealing the widow’s home and pension; what we are in grown-up life is written in miniature in the mind of the child. All that we are lies small in the tiny self of the three-year-old child. We are what we were then becoming; we were then what we now are. In infinite parenthood, He daddys us all. No matter our tantrum, our childish terror, our forgetful repetition of the same old mistake, with infinite love, tenderness and patience, He loves us back to himself. No matter how often we carelessly smash His heart, His loving arms still enfold; His hands still wipe the tears; His lips soothe with a father’s kiss. What all the best fathers are in finite, He is in perfection: our Daddy. 12.9.12