My Pre-screening At The Pearly Gates

Near the end of college I took a vocational interest inventory test.

It identified careers suited to people with my personality type and confirmed my own sense that physician-psychiatrist was a good choice. The test also indicated I’d be well suited for the practice of law, for becoming a musician-performer and…surprise! a minister. Well, given my lack of interest in organized religion I ruled that out. Reluctantly, I ruled out musician since, much as I would enjoy that profession, I also like to eat. Law would be OK but Mom needed to boast about “my son the doctor,” so medicine seemed to be the best option.

Psychiatry actually was a good blend of two options, physician and secular pastoral counsellor. I loved my job, but it was demanding in many ways. Readers know I had several other interests that I pursued to the degree time permitted, but as Beethoven said “Life is short, the art long.” I squeezed as much time and energy into my other passions as I could, never feeling fully satisfied with how far I had developed them.

By happenstance (or maybe not?) for a period of time I often wound up using an elliptical trainer at the Albany Jewish Community Center alongside a rabbi, Dan Ornstein, who worked out at lunchtime as did I. Being fascinated by religion in the historical, ethical, political and philosophical sense, I engaged him in mutually stimulating discussions.

One day he told me I should have been a rabbi. “Me a rabbi?” I scoffed,” You know I’m an atheist.” His reply, “So what difference does that make?”

Well, let’s be clear. It isn’t that I don’t believe in God so much as my concept of God is atypical. It’s that God is not an entity, a big guy in the sky, but an intellectual concept, a shorthand way of perceiving the mysterious creative process underlying the workings of the universe. This intelligence, this creative force, compared to which we are as nothing and before which we should stand in awe, is the aspect of God’s “image” we are cast in. It is what connects us to that supreme power. Whether or not most Jews thought about God that way, this was, I believed, the concept of God at the heart of Judaism. For me, Rabbi Dan’s comment affirmed that idea.

I never believed in an afterlife, so imagine my surprise when I was transported to the Pearly Gates the other night for my pre-screening interview with St. Peter. Hardly looking up from his cell phone, Pete, in a bored tone inquired, “Dovberg, huh? I take it you’re not an evangelical.”

”Lord no,” I replied, “lapsed Jew.”

”Alright,” says St. Pete, “that takes care of that. Take the elevator to the sub-basement and Satan will take you on a tour of your future eternal digs” He waved me in the direction of the elevators and called out, “Next applicant, please.”

”Hold on just a minute here,” I implored, “I demand to speak to your supervisor.”

”One of those troublemakers, huh? Bah, alright.” St Pete pushed a button on his lectern. “Sorry to bother you, boss, but a guy here demands to talk to you. Yeah, yeah, I know but this one is pretty insistent. Yeah, pushy Jewish guy. OK, I’ll tell him.” “Go sit on that cloud,” Pete says to me, “he’ll be down shortly.”

Soon enough, out walks this short, swarthy dude with a Yiddish punim (Jewish face). “Nooooooorm!” he calls out with a chuckle. Oh boy, that tired old joke from “Cheers,” a show, believe it or not, that I never watched. At least JC didn’t seem annoyed.

”That’s me, and I take it you’re Jesus.” JC nodded. “Pardon me if you find this insulting but you don’t look like the Aryan type depicted in all the paintings of you.”

”And what else would you expect from, if you’ll pardon my bluntness, those goyem? They understand me the way a dill pickle understands quantum mechanics. All I wanted was for them to be good Jews and send the Romans packing. Just look at the muddle they made of my teachings.”

”No argument from me on that, but tell me, how come you send them up and us Jews down?”

”Up, down, oy. Listen boychuck, they have the facts so screwed up, even smart guys like you are confused. We have three levels here, upper, middle and lower. The middle level is for the average Joes, nice people who are content to eternally consume booze and bottomless snacks and binge watch their favorite forms of entertainment. The lower level is for people like you. They wanted to strive toward perfection but life was way too short for them to make much headway.

“Poor old Satan,” JC went on, “He’s totally misunderstood. Remember he got Eve to eat from the tree of knowledge? He’s in charge of our eternal learning program staffed by the greatest scientists, philosophers, artists, musicians, etc. You’re pre-enrolled with Segovia, B.B. King and Jimi Hendrix for guitar, Mel Torme and Caruso for voice, Aristotle and Einstein for philosophy and science, Keats and Shakespeare for poetry and drama, Hemingway for prose writing, Jumbo Elliot for track and legendary swim coach, Doc Councilman. Nick Bollettiri for tennis. That’s just the beginning. You can pick from electives galore, all taught by the best teachers. By the way, your wife, Sandy, whenever she arrives, is set up with Monet, Tintoretto and Picasso. We also pre-enrolled her with Julia Child, seeing her great progress in the kitchen under your DOKE program. Of course you’ll both get Sundays off to watch football with Vince Lombardy’s personal analysis. Oh, and those tailgate parties? Pardon the pun, they’re to die for.”

”Really? Wow! ( I didn’t mention Julia had her work cut out for her.) But, JC, isn’t your dad miffed at me for questioning His existence?”

”Miffed? Au contraire. He gave you a brain and is glad you use it. I mean, how can any intelligent person simply swallow all that religious hocus-pocus? So are you ready to get back to the misery of your final phase on Earth or do you have any questions?”

”Just one,” I ventured, “whats on the top floor?”

”Ah yes, the top floor. That’s where the evangelicals and MAGA voters go, the big church in the sky where they hold an eternal church service just the way they say heaven is. We put it up there to cut down on the noise from their prayers and glory hallelujahs. It all dissipates into the vacuum of space just like their earthly prayers. Tell me, how long could you tolerate church before you could’t stand another minute of it?”

”Oh, maybe an hour or so, ”I say, “Eternal church is my idea of hell.”

”Exactly,” says JC, “that’s why we send them there. We’ve reserved a special pew of dis-honor for Trump that will look out on a golf course he’ll never get to play.”

”Perfect,” I say. “By the way, when will I meet your dad?”

”I’m afraid you never will see the Big Boss, not in the usual sense.”

”Why not?”

”Because you were correct all along. He doesn’t exist– at least as a corporeal entity. He’s the invisible intelligence embodied in the power of the universe. Don’t feel bad, though. Actually you’ve already met Him many times.”

“I have? Where? When?”

“Come on, smart guy, isn’t it obvious? When you wrote those song lyrics that seemed to come into your head of their own accord, played guitar solos, your fingers just seeming to find their own way along the strings, when you found just the right words to make an essay sing. Where did it come from? When you crossed the finish line that time, half unconscious on your feet, to achieve a new personal record. What carried you to that line? When you fell in love with your dear wife and looked into your daughter’s eyes for the first time — and now, as friends and family rally around you with love and kindness in your waning days on Earth. What put them in your path? No, you didn’t see Him, but you’ve always been connected to that omnipresent, all enveloping intelligence with your mind and in your heart.

“In those realms, there can be no doubt. He is there. You, all of us, have touched and been touched by the vast and mysterious power that we call, for lack of any other name, ‘God.'”