A Soul’s Trek to Heaven: A Parable

Triggers: References to sexual violence, general violence, substance abuse, and terrorism.

An old man has lived a fruitful life as an influential evangelical pastor in rural America. In his final days, he is visited by many members of his congregation, all of whom express their admiration for his faith and his convictions. He drifts into a final sleep amid the well wishes of his loved ones, convinced of his assured journey to Heaven.

The pastor’s soul awakes in a dreamlike state. Reality is more sensed than seen or felt, and everything is beautiful. He must be in Heaven! As he takes in the surroundings, however, he senses that he’s not actually in Heaven but is in fact somehow just on the edge of the realm. Not quite the reality of the Universe, he is able still to sense that his surroundings are essentially a park with a long circular path around it. Along the path are a series of park benches at perpendicular crossings leading into the interior, like spokes in a wheel. He can’t quite perceive what is in the interior, but he would desperately like to find his way in. He begins to walk the perimeter path.

At the first intersection, the pastor finds a man in a long robe and turban seated at the bench. As he nears the bench, eyeing the other man suspiciously, the turbaned man waves him closer and introduces himself. They somehow speak the same language, but the pastor can sense that this man is clearly Arab, and most likely Muslim. What is this man doing in Heaven? The Arab asks the man about his life journey and is regaled with a proud synopsis of the pastor’s professional résumé and a description of his beautiful Christian family. The Arab compliments him on his good fortune in life and says he, too, had a family in the Universe. The pastor asks him about his faith, and the Arab replies that he was a devout Muslim and a patriot to his country. With a twinge of sadness, but with no real pride or humility, he remarks that his brother and one of his sons were both killed in combat against American forces during the wars, and that he, too, was killed by Americans. He was a collateral casualty, having died in a Predator drone strike against his cousin, a bomb maker and a terrorist target of the West. Shocked, the pastor asks how it must feel to be the only member of his family in Heaven, and he is even more shocked when the Arab invites him to follow the spoke path to meet his family inside. Sensing a test of his faith, the pastor declines and proceeds along the perimeter.

At the next intersection, the pastor encounters a woman. She is beautiful, and he is distracted by how attractive she is, sensing immediately that his fidelity is being tested. He resolves not to speak with her, but she stands at his approach, smiles, and waves him over. Wary of temptation, he also knows he can’t be rude to the woman, so he decides to meet her. The woman asks about the pastor’s life, and he provides a similar summary, focusing more on his wife and family to ensure she knows he can’t be tempted. She compliments him on his beautiful family and tells the man that she never had such a chance herself. She was born in a male body and transitioned to female as a young adult. Her immediate family had rejected her, and she tried to find comfort in sports, but when the NCAA found out she was biologically male at birth, they stripped the titles from her college volleyball team. She had become a youth counselor in the inner city, was married in her late thirties to a man she adored, and she died in a freak bus crash two years later. Shocked that a transsexual person could be so close to Heaven, the pastor finds himself questioning where he is and even suspects that the spokes may lead to evil. Could Hell be inside this amazing perimeter path? If so, where is Heaven?

He scurries off towards a third intersection. Here, the pastor meets a man in jean shorts and a muscle shirt. Nearly every inch of his exposed skin is covered in ink. If this were the Universe, he knew, the pastor would find a way to be on the other side of the street from this man. He looks dangerous. Knowing he needs to be brave, the pastor resolves to walk towards and past this thug. As he gets to the intersection, the other man blocks his path and asks the pastor about his life. The pastor tries not to crinkle his nose at the smell of cigarettes and booze on the man’s breath. The pastor dutifully relays his life story, taking a little more time to talk about the few times he ministered to the state penitentiary. The gruff man winks and says he thought the pastor might look familiar. In the Universe, the man had been a convict, imprisoned for his participation in gang violence with a rival group of drug pushers resulting in the deaths of three people. In addition, the man recalls with evident sadness, they had laced their product with fentanyl, and at least a few of his “customers” had died of overdoses. He had died in prison, just after making a full confession to the pastor and accepting a new life of faith. When he had returned to the prison yard, he had thrown himself in the path of a shank meant for another man, sacrificing himself in hopes that the other man would live. This last detail is relayed strangely without pride, but more matter of fact, like discussing what he had eaten for lunch that day. The pastor is sorely tempted to follow this man’s invitation to the interior but hesitates when he senses that this test is about his own pride in saving the man’s soul. He declines and moves on.

At the next intersection, he encounters a Black girl of maybe sixteen. She is dressed in baggy basketball shorts, a puffy jacket, and wearing untied sneakers. She is wearing gaudy costume jewelry. Her fingernails protrude nearly an inch from her fingertips. Sighing to himself, he wonders what trial awaits him at this crossing, certain that he has nothing in common with her. She approaches him and asks about his life. He dutifully relays the basic particulars, only taking the time to indicate that he has a grandson and granddaughter who must be about her age. She smiles, tells him that it’s nice that he has a family where everyone knows each other and looks out for each other. She relays that she doesn’t know who her grandfather is, or her father, either. She grew up in the rougher neighborhoods of Memphis, where both her mom and grandmother were prostitutes. She was smart and wanted to go to college someday, but had made a bad decision one afternoon and gone on a “date” with an older boy she didn’t know well. She had been drugged and raped, finding out after missing her period that she was also pregnant. Too poor to pay for travel to the nearest state that had legal abortions and unable to find her mom to sign off on the procedure anyway, she hired a veterinary doctor her friend had told her about to “take care of her problem.” She had died during the botched D&C. Disgusted, but trying not to show it, the pastor makes an excuse and hastily moves along.

At the next intersection, there is a small group of people waiting. At first, he doesn’t trust his eyes, but as he gets nearer, he realizes that the Arab, the trans woman, the criminal and the street girl are all there together. Scratching his head, he resigns himself to the confrontation and heads towards them. They see him coming. All four are standing together, and they stop their polite conversation as he approaches them. There is an awkward silence.

“I don’t get it!” He tells them. “I’ve lived such a devout and pious life as a good Christian. I have devoted myself to serving Him in all things. You four are classic examples of all things I have spent my life telling people to avoid. I mean, you lived with terrorists and worshipped Allah.” He points an accusatory finger at the Arab. “You lived your life in sin and rejected the body God gave you to live in.” His finger shifts to the trans woman. “You may have converted just in time, and I’m grateful for my role in that, but you killed people with your careless and selfish life.” The pastor’s finger stabs out towards the gang member. Shaking, he finally turns his finger to the little girl. With a catch in his voice, he chokes “And you would murder your own daughter? A gift from God. I thought for sure this path circled Heaven, but I just don’t understand how you all are on the inside while I am walking around out here!”

“You’re right. You don’t get it.” The pastor turns in surprise to find a non-descript man standing behind him. “They all want you to see them for who they are, not for the flaws you perceive in them.”

“And who exactly are you?” asks the pastor.

“That’s not important. What is important is that you confront your own flaws.” The man says.

“What flaws?” The pastor asks incredulously. “I mean, I am a man. I have been tempted. I’ve made mistakes. Before I became a pastor I fooled around with women, and I drank too much on occasion, and even smoked a couple joints in college… before Seminary, of course. But if all these people are worthy of Heaven, surely I must be at the front of the line.”

“Why is there a line, my friend?” Asks the Arab.

“What do you mean? You say you were a pious Muslim and a patriot for your country. I see now that your devotion to Islam and mine to Christianity must be equal in God’s eyes, as my American identity is equal to your connection to your tribe and region… But your cousin was killing indiscriminately, and you kept your family near him.”

“Yes… one of my flaws was blind allegiance to family. I was clouded by desperation, since we could clearly never defeat your American military. Still, I fought for what I hoped was the best outcome for my people, a cause I felt was far more important than my life. And I died for that, just as many Americans died defending your homeland and way of life. Despite my flaws, Allah still chose to accept me.”

“What about you, though? You chose to defy God.” The pastor pleads with the trans woman.

“No. I could no more defy God by being trans than a person born with Autism could defy God by learning how best to interact with the world through therapy and training. We were simply born with challenges and gifts that helped to define many ways we would interact with the Universe around us. None of us choose the bodies we are born into, nor do we get to select the physical and mental conditions we are given at birth. Pastor, my major flaw wasn’t about my sexual identity. I held a grudge for years against those who rejected me. I refused help from people who might have been there for me, and I demanded change from people so set in their beliefs that I was only screaming at a wall that I reinforced with my own anger.”

“I’ll be the first to admit that I have flaws, man.” The criminal chimed in. “I have more regrets from my life than any two men should have. I won’t even try to justify my selfishness. I guess at the end of it all, I realized that the only way I could have any worthwhile contribution would be to try and help someone else the way you helped me. So I took the blade, man. Not sure why that earns me a spot in the shiny palace, but I suppose I did okay.”

“You sacrificed to save another man.” The pastor acknowledges. He appraises the criminal again in a new light, smiling with a twinge of pride.

“Naw. After they gutted me, the guys went to work on the other dude. It was a real bloodbath, but I wasn’t around to see it.” The pastor’s jaw drops at this revelation.

“And yes, I feel awful that I could have had a daughter…” the little girl’s voice is far more brittle than the pastor remembered from their first conversation. “But I just couldn’t see trying to raise a child the same way my mama and grandma did. I was already a drain on society… that’s all that was ever on the news about my neighborhood. How dangerous my friends and me were. We was just going to be stuck on welfare, and I couldn’t ever have gone to college.”

“You could have put her up for adoption!” the pastor insists.

“Yeah. And I’d have known that the guy who raped me put a kid in me, and I’d have had to carry that around in me for nine whole months. E’rebody judging me and calling me a slut and stuff. Only to put her in the system. How many White families in the suburbs want a Black whore’s kid, mister?” Her eyes meet his, the hurt evident in them, “I didn’t want to kill her, but I didn’t think she had a chance.” She swallows. “No… my flaw was in not believing in myself. I knew there were kids like me that could make it out, but I guess I gave up a little. That’s why I let that guy get with me. The whole time, I knew I was making a mistake, but I let him hold my hand and buy me drinks. I knew he was bad news.”

“These are all worthy people, pastor.” The non-descript man reminded him. “They are all flawed, worthy people. All people are flawed. That’s what it means to be Human.”

The pastor reflects on this revelation. In his mind, he re-runs the highlights of his life, ticking off his major accomplishments and trying to see the mistakes. Then it dawns on him. He wasn’t wrong to encourage others to be devout in their faith, nor was it wrong to support his American identity and encourage other patriots to do the same. His error was in deciding that others who felt equal conviction for another faith or homeland were inherently wrong and evil. He wasn’t wrong, per se, in steering clear of people who were unable to commit to his definition of family, but he was wrong to assume that people should deny a fundamental part of their identity because it didn’t conform to a norm. He was wrong to fear that these differences somehow could be contagious or could lead to the dissolution of morality. He wasn’t wrong to be wary of criminal behavior. What was wrong was the assumption that people may never have a change of heart. And while his heart ached for the loss of what he regarded as an unborn child’s life, he realized that his flaw was in not having any empathy for the plight of someone less fortunate.

He recalls the lesser-quoted portions of scripture and remembered that Jesus often catered to the cast-offs in society. He had ministered to the weak and suffering. The wars of the Old Testament were largely fought to defend oppressed people, not to advance or impose a specific agenda on others. Jesus’ own message was most effectively delivered through his passive defeat at the hands of a powerful enemy. Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed not by man, but by God, the ultimate judge. Suddenly, the once opaque scene on the interior of the path becomes clearer to him. It is indescribable, but it is very beautiful and welcoming. Instantly, he is aware that the gates to Heaven are open. He smiles broadly, recognizing he has made several new friends and grown as a soul. He reaches out to shake hands with the five souls gathered nearby to thank them. “Wow! This is amazing. I never knew my test would be like this.”

“Not a test.” The non-descript man says, placing a hand on the pastor’s shoulder. “Just a path.”