Big S Heaven

Religion is great.

I love the architecture, the altars, the vestments, the candles, the slant of morning light through colored glass. I even love the awkward accoutrement: the parking lots, the sign that says too much in too little space, the over-the-top nice lady passing out bulletins laced with jaunty cartoon illustrations, the donuts, the coffee, the red punch, the slideshows, the nurseries full of hour-orphans as parents turn holy hands to other deities.

And, I love the people. The "young singles" engaged in at least three simultaneous life-changing, cornea-spelunking conversations - behind them, the old gloved-and-hat-ed widows nod politely to one another as they punt demure sideways glances across the aisle - sniffing distance from the Aqua Velva'd widowers who met up at McDonalds for Sunday breakfast.

Even the annoying things are worth the two-inch toast of artificially colored grape drink: Here's to the choir music that makes me look forward to severe hearing loss. Here's to the high-formula golden-voiced pray-ers who drop "thee" and "thou" cluster bombs (Oh, Lord God, we know thou art the Alpha and the Omega, and we worship thee with humility ...) to terrorize their lowly opponents, the guerilla pray-ers, who snipe out the word "just" it seems, just for the sake of saying "just" (Lord-Daddy-Jesus, we just come before you in ... just such humility and with ... just so much love ...) What would church be without our prayer warriors?

Don't put down your metaphorically raised between heaven and earth tee-ninesy glass of fake Jesus Juice yet: Here's to all the bad sermons by those professional spiritual masters who burden the congregants with the emotional weight of their ongoing self-analysis. I once knew a preacher who - to illustrate how God sometimes has to do unpleasant things (like the stoning deaths of infants) told his story about sneaking into the shed behind the house to discover his father in the act of drowning a litter of unwanted puppies in a bucket of water. Preaching-therapy ... There's nothing like it to fill up the roster for nursery duty.

No one should be expected to observe any religion - especially one's own - as perfect. One naturally recognizes and embraces the sacred and ridicules everything else on the ride home after worship. I take the attitude that submission is reserved for God and all else is merely subjugation - something Jesus was clearly against.

That's why I'm a big fan of cafeteria religion. When I'm having a catholic moment, I grab Thomas Merton or Chardin, a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread and go the park. When I feel the need for that old-time religion I pack my Torah in a handbag and go to D.Z. Akins for a bowl of matzo ball soup and a pumpernickel bagel or even a Passover meal. And, for those Islam moments, I loves me some afternoon-delight Rumi with kebab and lentils. Mamma's right. Food heals. For a feasting and religion combo you can't find better than a Portuguese festa (pronounced fesh-ta)! Is there a priest out there to give me a pass to Portuguese heaven because my son escorted the "little queen" in the Holy Ghost parade? Is that enough to reserve me a big bowl of sopas in the sky with linguiça?

But it's not all about the food ... There's more. I love the stories - even the ones that make me cry. I want to hear all the stories about everyone's expulsions. I want to know about all the rituals and I want to do all the rituals (that don't hurt), mostly the water stuff. Children of Heaven love to splash in puddles. And, I want to lift my better-than-average church lady soprano to sing all the songs about a place far away where no one dies. If we were honest with each other we'd be saying, "Let's do heaven!" because it's more a sure thing than lunch.

Jesus said a few things. For me, the wisest thing Jesus ever said was "S" in Matthew 16:19. He said to Peter, "I will give you the keyS of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." So, if there's more than one key to heaven there must be multiple doors. Whether Jesus meant there was one door to heaven and many keyholes? or many doors to heaven, each with its own key? or if heaven is like a condominium resort in Hawaii (please-oh-please-oh-please-oh-please) any way you figure it we'll all be neighbors. Maybe a Buddhist monk will go next door to borrow a cup of sugar from a festa queen with linguiça on her breath? Or maybe a Muslim extremist will be greeted to his reward by seventy-two Handmaids of The Sacred Heart of Jesus waiting to tutor him about the art of self-sacrifice? Or maybe Jerry Falwell will share a condo with a Quranic Sufi?

What if Jesus is right? What if Heaven – like Earth – is what you make of it? ... "whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." ... Jesus also said, "the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to Life and those who find it are few." He seems to know more about heaven than any other religious leader, so – do whatever you think is right, but – I'm following Jesus' S to Heaven and I hope to meet you along the way.

If heaven is going to bring us all together despite our differences then why not start now with the closest thing we have to heavenly community here on earth ... our religions. It will take unselfish motives, group work, and self-sacrifice. That's the key.

Let's do heaven, okay?

Please join me and Deborah as we begin our mission to collect all the Keys To Heaven.