Groucho in Heaven


“Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?” (Matthew 20:15)

This is what I bet: There will either be a lot more people going to heaven than I think, or a lot fewer. No way is my current calculation going to be right.

The case I can come up with for there being more tickets to Paradise is pretty strong. It basically revolves around the parable Jesus told about the workers in the vineyard. The story ends with both the early workers and the latecomers getting the same pay. When the first workers complain that they should get more than the last ones, the owner jumps all over them: “Are you envious because I am generous?” Frankly, I think the boys have a point, but Jesus doesn’t seem to be into fairness at that moment. The moral of the Jesus story? Take your check and quit bitching. Or how about the boss likes to throw his money around? Or maybe it doesn’t pay to show up early?

So, if God is wacko generous about salvation he may open the pearly gates for a whole bunch of dweebs, ditherers, dunces, dippos, and dorks. After all, Jesus did hang around with those types when he was in town (though I’m thinking he did it more out of obligation than for a good time) so he may carry on the tradition in his new place.

The upside of a low heavenly bar is that I may actually get in myself. Still, I’ll be miffed if a bunch of jerks get in too. It’ll be like living in a transitional neighborhood. Oh, I’ll definitely move in (considering the alternative) but I’m not going to sit around the holy kegger with just anybody. I do have my standards, for God’s sake.

On the other hand, it’s possible that a whole lot FEWER people will make the cut than I think—especially if all those Biblical innuendos about giving up everything and following Jesus are real. If all that is for reals, I’m toast; it’s bye-bye sweet by and by. Maybe all those narrow-minded religious freaks are right. Maybe it is a narrow road.  Maybe only a few find it.

Maybe it’s time to pick up an asbestos Bible cover.

.   .   .



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