“Many will say to Me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name, and in Your name cast out demons, and in Your name perform many miracles?’ And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you.’” ----Matthew 7: 21-23
“Hello, Mr. Gray.”
“Yes, hello. I assume that you are St. Peter,” said Mr. Gray
“Hardly my dear sir, I am simply your guide. You will meet Peter at the end of your journey, hopefully in good spirits.”
Mr. Gray nodded and glanced past the robed figure, whose words were being uttered from a black hole beneath a hood, to the white sky that surrounded them both. It was as if they were standing in the white glare of a window; a complete world enveloped by snowdrifts that stood so high that they blotted out the sky.
“Is this heaven?” asked Mr. Gray tentatively.
“No Mr. Gray, but fortunately for you it is not hell either,” said the robed figure.
Mr. Gray wrung his hands together nervously and let his eyelids droop, which caused his eyes to form slim, slits of vision against the bright blankness around him, “It’s Reverend Gray, and I don’t believe in Hell so it comes as no surprise that I am not there. May I ask who you are? Some sort of guardian angel. I watched It’s A Wonderful Life every Christmas and Clarence never impressed me, couldn’t blame George for not believing, can you?”
“Yes, I can blame him. And I am not your guardian angel, my name is Dante and I am the guide to your place in line, the line at the end of the world.”
Reverend Gray rested his hand snuggly against his eyebrow to better view Dante, who seemed a living shadow, a black silhouette against the whitewashed sky behind him. “Oh, a line you say. From my time on earth I didn’t think there would be a line for heaven.”
Dante turned his back and nearly disappeared from sight as he stood sideways, “I didn’t say it was a long line, Reverend.”
Dante stood with his arms crossed; arms that were lost in the ill-fitting sleeves of a Monk like habit that he wore, making it appear as if he had only one over-sized arm resting contentedly on his stomach. Reverend Gray stood beside the now mute Dante, his thoughts shrouded by uncertainty and cognizant of nothing but the few minute movements of his guide. The hood of Dante’s robe would stir for a moment, a moment in which Reverend Gray would let his eyebrows rise in anticipation only to find that Dante had done nothing.
“Rest for awhile, we have a long walk ahead and the other member of our party should be soon to arrive,” said Dante, still facing away from Reverend Gray. Reverend Gray obliged, letting his knees creak out of their locked positions and kneeling slowly to the ground, a white ground to match the blank sky. Or perhaps all was ground or all was sky? His head ached. With his crouched view of the world Reverend Gray could see a black dot in the distance, a hazy utopian mirage against the white sands of a desert.
“Excuse me, but I believe there is someone in the distance, is that the member we are waiting for?” asked Reverend Gray.
“Today is here so we can wait for tomorrow, Reverend. That dot is the line that we will soon be seeking.”
Reverend Gray eased both of his hands to his forehead, squinting into the whiteness for the black dot, “All I can see is white. I don’t know where the sky and ground begin and end. Where is heaven? Where are the gates, Dante? John could see the illustrious city of glass in the book of Revelations where he said ‘a door opened in the sky.’”
““Heaven wheels above you, displaying to you her eternal glories, and still your eyes are on the ground. In due time Reverend, I believe I see our other member,” said Dante.
“No trumpets, what a shame.” A plump figure appeared in front of Dante, clad in a purple and red robe signifying his royalty, along with an ornate crown with eight points perched precariously on his bulge like head. Reverend Gray watched as the man swirled his robe with a certain sinuosity reminiscent of an overweight, slightly dysfunctional superhero.
“You there, in the black robe, fetch me something to ride on. The normality of my welcome is hardly acceptable and I expect you or whoever is running this organization to compensate by means of my living quarters,” said the robed man.
Dante remained stolid, speaking evenly, “Everyone is greeted the same Henry, you shouldn’t expect anything lavish.” Henry let the fat of his cheeks droop into a frown and removed a gold scepter, encrusted with multi-colored jewels from his belt, like an aristocrat’s sword. “You see this, every jewel is a woman,” Henry spun the scepter slowly in his hand, letting Dante and Reverend Gray observe the numerous stones, packed like sardines onto the gold finish. “I don’t know about the two of you, standing here in your drab clothes and frowning too much, but I intend on adding to this scepter, for what kind of a heaven lacks women.”
Reverend Gray retorted, somewhat sheepishly, “Sir, pardon me for my rudeness and I may be wrong in my assumptions but it appears as if you have not studied the scriptures thoroughly so it is not your place to say what heaven will consist of.”
Henry spun his scepter with surprising limberness through the fingers on his right hand and pointed it curtly at Reverend Gray, “And you appear a man that doesn’t know what he wants heaven to be. You don’t dream enough, I can tell.” Henry sheathed his scepter and averted his attention to Dante who had begun walking toward the black dot in the distance. “Excuse me, where are you going and who are you? When do we get to the concubines?” Henry squinted at Reverend Gray for answer.
“He told me he was the guide, a guide to the line. He said his name is Dante,” said Reverend Gray.
Henry sauntered forward, his stubby legs tensing with every step, “I’ll wait here for my ride, for I am certain that guide is going to fetch me my transportation and perhaps a few offertory nymphs. You can follow him if you wish; I grant you permission of leave, as is my right as king.”
Reverend Gray turned and ran after Dante, who was slowly gliding into the distance. The closer he came he could more easily discern Dante muttering, “In the middle of the road of my life I awoke in the dark wood where the true way was wholly lost.”
Reverend Gray put his hands on his knees, gripping firmly, trying to coerce his lungs into opening wider than they were able. Short breaths. Quick breaths. Air whistling through the tiny gaps in his teeth. Swift gusts went in and out of his lungs, leaving him speechless at the side of Dante who stood underneath a splintering wooden sign and next to a man who was as splintered as the sign. Rough patches of grisly hair grew on the man’s face in blotch like patterns. The man’s hat was haggard by weather and time, smooth with consistency and age. He leaned against the sign, or perhaps it was the sign doing the leaning, but the two leaned together. Reverend Gray read the sign: “I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference.”
The man spoke, with a frostiness that chilled Reverend Gray at first, “Reverend, do you believe that you traveled in life in a manner befitting of reward?”
Reverend Gray could not see the man’s eyes, for they were hidden by the brim of his cap, but he could feel them watching his heart discern. “I believe so sir, I took notice of the good teacher Jesus, teaching that the world would be a better place with more good men like Jesus. My congregation consisted of thousands. I brought the word to them every week, faithfully, teaching them to better themselves.”
“And who of these thousands repented, who became followers,” asked the man.
“Numerous people tithed and became involved in ministries, serving the misfortunate. I did not focus on words but actions, because I believe that God requires us to live well and serve others and as it says in James, ‘What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him?’” Reverend Gray wrung his hands together as the man continued to lean silently. Reverend Gray let his gaze waver in the direction of Dante who stood uselessly to the side of the situation.
“Do you believe in God, Reverend?” asked the frosty voiced man.
“Being a Reverend I would hope so. Although, I don’t like to discount other religions; all good roads lead to
“Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it.
Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it,” said the man beneath the sign.
Reverend Gray felt fear, not fear of death or fear of life but fear of incorrectness, the fear of realizing ignorance. Dante let the silence die, “We must move along to the line Reverend, quickly please.”
The line came to a point in the distance, a point in eternity or forever or somewhere around there, just round up. Reverend Gray stood beside Dante who was standing at the end of the line, right behind a stout man with a blue baseball cap hugging his broad head.
“My place in line is last? It seems a waste of time for you to guide me to such an obvious terminus,” said Reverend Gray while massaging his legs.
The rounded fellow with the baseball cap interjected sporadically, “Do you have anything to eat, either of you. This line isn’t moving at all and…I…heaven seems far off…and I can’t wait until heaven to get something to eat.” The number 3 on the front of the man’s jersey jiggled and bounced as he talked, causing the lines on the shirt to wiggle to life.
“Babe, you will have to be patient. Man cannot live on bread alone,” said Dante.
The Babe snorted indignantly, “Who said anything about bread man, I need some meat, red…meat, or a candy bar…with nuts and crunch.”
Dante ignored The Babe and turned to Reverend Gray who was still watching the lines on The Babe’s jersey jounce and jangle. “Reverend, we must find your place in line, for everyone has a predisposed place in line, and yours is not at the end. Let us proceed.”
“Don’t you boys go forgetting about me. Tell
Dante glided alongside the line, quietly searching for a gap, a gap in the row of man and woman that was reserved for one particular being, and only that one man could fill the space. Reverend Gray shuffled along behind him, staying close enough to not lose sight of Dante but far enough that he could observe the line. They passed by life, passed by Romeo and Juliet who were refusing to hold hands, passed by an unmoving Jack Kerouac, passed by a smiling Quasimodo, passed by Yogi Berra who was yelling at everyone to take the fork in the road when they came upon it. They passed by Oprah, John F. Kennedy, Sylvia Plath with her head in the oven, a sullen Robert E. Lee, Jimi Hendrix, Salvador Dali painting elephants on the ground, Greg Brady, 2-Pac with a bullet in his head, Scrooge, an orating Cicero, Elvis, Pilgrim, a self-loathing Kurt Cobain and even the Queen of Hearts with her flamingo croquet mallet. Reverend Gray remained mute with awe, gazing at those who were tattooed into the history of the world, and here they were at the end, waiting in line with everyone else, alone.
“Why are these people waiting in line still, why do I get to go before them? The first shall be last and the last shall be first, am I not correct,” asked Reverend Gray shakily, his voice cracking at the end of the questions. Dante continued to move forward, answering without turning, “The Lord’s ways are not ours Reverend, I thought you of all people would know that. The only men who enjoy the idea of the last being first are the last.” Dante stopped suddenly, pivoting quickly, his hooded face now casting a shadow on the Reverend, “You don’t appear a man who has ever been last Reverend. How many people did you say were in your congregation?
Reverend Gray swallowed, sending his
“Were you paid Reverend?” asked Dante.
“Yes, of course, a man cannot live on bread alone, as you said.”
Dante leaned back, “Yes, I did say that. Let’s move on.”
As Dante turned and began his usual swift movements across the blank ground, a man stumbled out from the middle of the line, a top hat angled slightly on his head, and a price tag sticking out of the brim reading 10/6. The man turned quickly to Reverend Gray, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” asked the man in the top hat and a suit unbefitting to his shape, it sagged off his limbs.
Reverend Gray thought for a moment, his clouded brain trying to untangle the inexplicability of the question and the man’s sudden appearance. “I don’t know, seems like a silly thing to ask,” said Reverend Gray.
The man frowned, surprise misting over his features, “Yes, I suppose it is, but that is not the correct answer.”
“Is there an answer,” asked Reverend Gray.
“Of course dear sir, questions always have answers. The answer is there is a B in both and an N in neither.” The man froze as a pallid hand rested on his shoulder.
“Mr. Dodgson, please return to your place in line,” said Dante, without moving his hand.
“My name is not Dodgson, its Carroll, don’t call me Dodgson,” said the small man. Dante lifted his hand and watched Dodgson and Carroll sulk back to his spot in line, between Herman Melville and Captain Ahab. The line moved.
The walking continued, Dante blazing a trail through open air while Reverend Gray pondered the strange encounter with Dodgson and Carroll. Questions always have answers, a strange thing to say. The Reverend passed by Seneca, who was berating the Scarecrow.
“A brain is all there is, without the brain there is no life.”
The Scarecrow whimpered, “I can still feel, is that nothing?”
“Yes, that is nothing. You are living in nothingness,” said Seneca.
Reverend Gray hardly heard them, still thinking about the man with the frosty voice, and the man asking the strange riddle.
“Is living well enough, Dante?”
Dante continued to walk, “If you believe there is no hell, what is the point in living well, Reverend?”
“In order to gain heavenly rewards, and do God’s work,” answered Reverend Gray.
A man with poison hemlock around his neck stepped out from the line, cutting off Reverend Gray’s forward progress in movement and thought.
“If death were escape from everything, it would be great boon to the wicked…but now that the soul appears immortal, there is no escape from evil,” said the hemlock man.Reverend Gray pushed past him, running to catch up with Dante, who did not stop to listen to the hemlock man. The line crept.
“Welcome to your place in line Reverend,” said Dante.
There were gates, gates that spread out for miles putting the white sky behind bars. Picket white gates, first snowball white, Emily Dickinson white, blank pages white. Reverend Gray understood now why he could not see them, only the golden edges differentiated the gates from the white sky behind them.
“I’m second in line, how can that be. I don’t believe I’m ready to go in quite yet,” said Reverend Gray, wringing his hands together, the sweat making them slide.
“I have done what I need to do Reverend, may the Lord make his face to smile upon you and give you peace.” Dante glided quickly away, back to the beginning of the end of the world, where he stood, awaiting lost souls.
Reverend Gray stood in his place, staring at the white ground, staring at himself reflected in purity. The line moved at the single, jarring toll of a bell as the man in front of him who wore black makeup that streaked his face like mascara tears and a large python around his neck approached the gate. An old man sat behind a lectern, containing a large book with crusty, yellowing pages. The old man licked his thumb and pushed his slim spectacles up on the brim of his nose, where they balanced indecisively. After a few moments, the old man handed a card to the man with the snake. The man read the card, just loud enough for Reverend Gray to over hear: “Mr. Cooper, Welcome to the end of the world. Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
Reverend Gray strained his eyes against the blinding white backdrop of sky. A man with a stringy gray beard and renegade hairs sticking out haphazardly from his eyebrows blocked his view.
“Excuse me sir, but I was watching something,” said Reverend Gray, somewhat irritated. The man ignored his tone and handed him a book with an old man standing up in a boat, his old back bent at the same angle as his old fishing pole with a giant Marlin jumping out of the water. The fish and the man both had mustaches crudely drawn overtop their faces. Reverend Gray read the title, “The Old Man and the Sea.” He had read it. He opened the title page, where words were scribbled carelessly, “The old man is an old man, and the fish is a fish. Thanks for the Pulitzer Prize, I used the money for a better shotgun, insincerely, Ernest Hemingway.”
Reverend Gray dropped the book, and watched Hemingway hand books to everyone in line; he pulled a wagon full of them, a red wagon of Old Man and the Seas.
A bell tolled for Reverend Gray. He approached the lectern, wringing his hands and then wiping the sweat on his pants.
“Are you…St. Peter?” asked Reverend Gray, almost too quietly to hear.
The man licked his thumb and stared up at Reverend Gray. Blue shards of sky floated behind the thin spectacles, overcast by bushy, gray cloud eyebrows. “I am Reverend Gray, here is your card.” St. Peter handed Reverend Gray his card and rang the bell.
Reverend Gray squinted at the card, squinted hard to see the letters written, the letters that were bouncing from his nervous shaking. He read, "Welcome to the end of the world Reverend Gray. I never knew you."
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