Heaven and Hell: Seating preferences

While driving to work I accidentally tuned in to a radio evangelist, extolling the beauties and general  wonderfulness of heaven.  It was beautiful beyond imagining, he said.  Streets were of gold, he said.  Didn't say anything about park benches, I noted, or bowling alleys or fishing or libraries. 

Then he went on to  list the activities available  on the Heaven cruise.  A lot of singing was involved,  and some playing of justly obscure musical instruments.  He described this singing with such gusto that you would think he loved it all, and spent all his spare time practicing hymns and lyre-playing.  I am willing to bet as much money as you wish that he never in his life laid a hand (or anything else) on a lyre. And I don't care how many hymns they have:  over an infinite period of time they are bound to get monotonous.

My first thought was, I don't want to go there.  If I weren't already dead at that time, the boredom would surely kill  me, but not nearly as quickly as one might wish.  I would guess that the number of people who actually want to go to that Heaven for.... wait for it.... eternity, might be a smaller  number than you think.  As Mark Twain said (and I paraphrase) we have populated and decorated Heaven with all the things we least like. And it goes on, the evangelist said, without end. 

I had a lot of trouble believing that he could feel as enthusiastic as he wanted to feel.

I found myself thinking that there must be an alternative, and so  there is. Hell!  Now, I grant you there is a lot of talk about sulfur and blazes and lakes of fire and the like, but I ask you, and try to be honest, would you not prefer that to an eternity of harp-accompanied hymn-singing?

I think I would apply for the Hell cruise, if I could also request being assigned to some useful duties.  I don't mind starting with  a broom.  Somebody's got to pick up the trash and stoke the fiery furnaces.  And there are a lot of troubled people down there, not only your every-day villains but a lot of folk who have no idea where they are, much less why they are there.

Well, you might see where this is going.  Being a psychologist/psychotherapist (not one of those psychologists that make people fill out forms and stare at obscene ink-blots) it occurred to me that I might be able to help some of those people.  We'll have  plenty of time on our hands, and we'll need something to do to take our minds off of the eternal unbearable torment assigned to us by God.  Incidentally, doesn't the amount of misery and torment seem a little excessive for having doubts or saying bad words about ... you know who?

Anyway, maybe I could work with some seriously disturbed people, a lot like I do already, only famous.  I can imagine using cognitive-behavioral therapy techniques on Hitler or even Vlad The Impaler.  Assuming they are there, of course.  Maybe I could hold some evening courses in how to come to terms with and accept one's lot with grace.  In the rest of my time, which should be pretty much infinite, I could clean up with a broom and a dustpan.  Or maybe a pickup truck, and they're bound to have those in Hell.

I wonder if  there is a union for cleaners down there?  I bet I could get some people to join up.   Once we have a union going, we can do as much for Hell as the unions have done for America.  And once we get  some political power, who knows where that might take us.  But I think it best to stop with that line of thought.  God knows who's reading over my shoulder.