Johnnie Davis (c)2/3/2001
Since heaven and hell seems to be a topic of interest on Ben's writing page, I'd
like to share some thoughts I put on paper a few months ago. That day I had attended the funeral of a dear friend, a young man, a good man...a musician. My peace with the loss came through sorting out what heaven and hell means to me.
Yes, I believe in an afterlife. But maybe not in the traditional way. It's a question almost everyone will ask themselves at some point in time. Usually it's a question people don't want to think about. Having been around death all my life, it's a question I can't keep from asking, or at least thinking about. I grew up in a house where people had died. Grandpa and Grandma Riley died there. And when I was eight, Aunt Dinnie died there. And I guess there were others along the way. The day Aunt Dinnie died, we were in town visiting Aunt Louanna on Mama's side of the family. We got the phone call from my cousin Ernestine. On the ride home I wondered what heaven is like.
I remember showing up at home where neighbors and cousins and the undertaker were waiting for Daddy to get there. I felt lost in the swarm of grieving adults. Aunt Dinnie lay still in her hospital bed and looked like she was sleeping. I sat in a chair
in the corner, dangling my bare feet, and I wondered if she knew yet what heaven is
like. After the crowd left and the body had been moved, we noticed that my aunt's
parakeet, Ike, was dead also. We put his limp little yellow body in a cardboard
matchbox and took him to the back of the garden where we buried Ike under a sassafras tree. And I wondered if parakeets go to heaven.
That night I had the worst nightmare of my childhood. I dreamed that I was the
only human being left on earth...or where ever I was. And I wondered, "What if I get to heaven and no one else is there?" I've seen pictures of what heaven is supposed to be. And heard it in the hymns. Angels and roses and a choir and golden streets and mansions and harps and clouds and the whole nine yards. And I've read in the Bible about the so many cubits by so many cubits and the seven levels. Then life happened.
I found heaven revealed to me by life. And I still wonder what it's like, but I needed to form my own mental picture that I can live with--to come up my own formula for heaven. I decided at last that heaven will be different for all of us. And that our heaven will be what we make it. And I think God has spoken to me in hushed tones in the dark of many nights; in the hours that I have grieved; in the moments I have rejoiced. Little by little, He's helping me figure out what heaven is. He's made it apparent that heaven comes in the form of light. In the form of a bright spiritual cell within each of us that has no defined, physical limits.
I have come to believe heaven is the accumulation of the brightness of many
spirits, the Light of Jesus Christ being the brightest. And each of us will be unique
in our brillance. As a unit of spirits, we'll be brighter than the brightest day and as
different as the stars in the sky. Our perception of heaven will also be as unique as
the individual. The level of our heaven will be determined by how much goodness we found, or created, in our lives.
Life is basically black and white. Good and bad. Negative and positive. Hot and cold. Up and down. Right and wrong. Happy and sad. Front and back. High and
low. Which way our ball bounces comes through the choices we make. Our black is really the absence of white, our down is the absence of up, our sad is the absence of happy; it's all in what we make it.
Imagine. Remember the light at the end of the tunnel that everyone talks about? I think it's the brillance of many lights. The spiritual lights of those we loved who
went before us, waiting to greet us on our arrival. So I think we get there, greeted by a warm bright welcome. And then everybody does their own thing. Just like we do here. But since there is no reason to work for earthly needs, we are free to experience heaven...eternally.
Imagine. All the things that made us happy. All the things that made us proud. All the things that made us smile. All the things that made us laugh hysterically. All the things that tasted good. All the thrills of roller coasters, and romantic kisses, and new clothes, and losing weight, and unwrapping presents, and surprise parties, and finding money, and chocolate, and Halloween boos, and all those small thrills we could have forgotten. All the things that are stored in the spiritual cell that make us who we are.
Imagine. What if we can relive any one of those thrills, those loves, any one of those happy moments; just by calling them up from within? Because we want to. What if we can live them over and over as many times as we wish? That we can be with the people who mean most to us just because they are stored in our spiritual cell. That we can visit the ones we left behind just by the desire to be there.
Imagine. What if we can listen to our favorite song being played in surround
sound just by thinking about it? Or have fresh strawberries and snow cream on the same day without getting full. Or our favorite coffee in a cup with no bottom. Or the best wine we ever tasted, regardless of how expensive. Or bask in moonbeams on a night that has no beginning or no end. Or nap snuggling in a featherbed to the sound of rain and thunder that will never bring on a flood. That we can fast forward the spiritual video of life and push pause or play or rewind and make it real.
Imagine. Prayer with the Man right in front of you. Forgiveness that has already happened in multiples of seven. That there is no need for forgiveness. Thankfulness that is existence. Knowing what grace is without having to think about it.
And if this is heaven, what is hell? Could it be a toothache that has no relief, or a migraine that won't stop, or a toothache and a migraine at the same time. Or feeling embarrassment, and fatigue, and frustration, and debt for an eternity. Or driving across a hot desert on a straight and narrow road that goes no where. Or fingernails on a chalkboard, or a crying baby, or a barking dog, or a ringing phone, or a dentist drill, or a dripping faucet, or a siren or ringing in your ears....that doesn't stop....forever. Or shivering coldness, or hot flashes. Or the taste of spoiled meat in your mouth. Or the sight of emptiness. Forever.
What if every pain, every humiliation, every hurt that you ever inflicted on
another soul, every fear comes back to you in multiples? What if the hell you
experience is the hell you made?
Maybe I'm wrong, but for now that's what I've come to believe. That heaven will
happen for those who believe and won't for those who don't. That it is between your Lord and the spiritual cell he made you to be. But what if hell is what happens to those who do not believe it is there? And doesn't happen to those who know it to be real.
There is an old saying that the devil has won when he convinces us he doesn't
exist. I'm not willing to take any chances. And I'm convinced there is a Superior Being who brought me the miracles of giving birth, dancing in the moonlight, tasting pure water, smelling saffron, hearing the sounds of a quiet night or the harmony of music. And touch. The many pleasures of touch. Those are the things that will be my heaven. Maybe heaven is just what we make it.
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