The Key to Heaven

No one’s gonna believe me when I try to write down this story. No one’s gonna believe me for two reasons. First, because I’m still a kid, barely eighteen, and everyone knows that an eighteen-year-old cannot be trusted. Like when I casually ask my friend’s parents for a glass of wine, and they laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever, like I’ve just told the cutest joke, when the truth is that I want a glass of red wine to go with my goddamn steak. That’s what being a minor means.

The other reason people won’t believe me is because everyone’s an atheist these days. Everyone worth talking too, that is. Suddenly all my intelligent friends don’t believe in God’s existence—they want proof—and all my not-so-intelligent friends are afraid to speak out because they may be ridiculed.

I am too, more and more.

It’s hard to argue about God’s existence when all you have is a dusty old book for proof. That…and the blind trust that what you’ve been told since you were a child is the absolute truth. I mean, I’ve never seen a miracle or anyone walking on water or anything. Have you?

That doesn’t mean I don’t like my faith, though. I think all the churches and synagogues and shrines and mosques have done wonders for humanity. We learn to be compassionate and charitable, even though humans are evil and greedy by nature. That’s impressive. That’s worth believing in—if not God, at least the future of humanity.

As it happens, however, I do believe in God. Part of the reason is because I have a hard time swallowing death as the “end” of everything. There has to be more—otherwise, what’s the point in living? What’s the point of doing good work, sacrificing your life to help others, living in misery and wretchedness—what’s the point of all that if you’re just going to lay in the earth and rot?

The other reason I believe in God is because, last week, I had breakfast with an angel. Her name was Chrysandra, like “Chris-sandra,” and I kept calling her “Cassandra,” but I don’t think she got angry about it. After all, she was holy and whatnot.

So here is the story—I decided to type it up on this laptop, while I am at the beach with my family, because it is really hot outside. Like one hundred and twelve degrees, with suffocating humidity, and my dad wants to go golfing, and I decided to stay inside this particular day. It’s not sunny enough for a tan outside, but it’s humid enough to drown out there. No kidding.

Two weeks ago I was dreaming in my house up in central Pennsylvania. I was asleep, you see, and so I was having some sort of dream about horses and templar knights and zombies. In the middle of this huge fight, everything got really quiet, and I looked up, and this hot babe I may have known was coming down from the clouds. She was surrounded by a halo of light, and I remember thinking how corny and cliché the whole thing was.

She called me by name. “ Jack,” she said. “ I want to talk to you.”

Jack is not my real name, by the way. I’m just using it for this story, because it’s just too awkward to write about yourself, your real self. It would be like drawing a picture of yourself—no one can do that accurately; no one can capture all the flaws and blemishes fairly. Everyone tries to make themselves look better and smarter than they really are.

“ Jack,” she said. “ We need to talk.”

“ I am busy,” I told her. I waved my bloody sword for emphasis, then pointed at the headless corpse of a zombie at my feet. “ See?”

She glanced at the ground from where she was hovering, ten feet up, all golden and beautiful, even without makeup. “You are having a dream, Jack. That’s not important. Who I am is important. I am an angel. I am Chrysandra. I’ve come to talk to you about your faith.”

“ Why?” I asked. “ What’s wrong with my faith?”

She glared. “ When was the last time you went to church?”

I fidgeted. Not that.

Chrysandra didn’t seem to want to judge me. She smiled, radiating warmth, and said in the sweetest voice, “ It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, Jack. I want to talk to you. Meet me this Sunday at St. Drogo’s café at eight, early in the morning.”

This did not sit well with me, this waking up early business. A thought came to me—I’m sure Satan planted it there—but I said it anyway: “ Hey, listen, St. Drogo’s isn’t open that early. It’s a small coffee shop, and I think they open at like eleven or twelve on Sundays. Can we do it then?’

Chrysandra did not look pleased. “ No, I have places to be, Jack. Fifty-two, to be exact. We are going to meet at eight. Where would you be comfortable?”

It took me all of two seconds to have my answer. “ Sheetz. It’s a gas station, open twenty four hours a day. Well, it’s not just a gas station. We all hang out there all the time and-”

“ Jack!” she held up a soft, glowing palm. “ I know.”

She swept the air with her arm in a huge arc, and golden stardust showered the ground, which had turned into a grassy meadow. All the bodies and zombies were gone. This got me a little irritated. I had been kicking some serious ass before she showed up.

I struggled to control my emotions, however. It’s not every day you talk to an angel, you know.

“ Anyway, I’m talking about the Sheetz by the Meadows,” I said, as helpfully as possible. “ Not the one in Altoona, on 17th street. Do you need instructions? Like…I don’t know, Mapquest or something?”

She smiled, a little condescendingly. “ Jack, I know where to go. I can read your innermost thoughts.”

“ Well, Jesus, woman,” I snapped. “ I’m just trying to be helpful.”

She frowned. Not in anger though—I don’t know if angels are capable of human emotions. They can mimic them pretty well, though. I think she was trying to show disappointment at my vulgar vocabulary.

Things were getting awkward, and the fact that she was really, really hot did not help matters. So I cleared my throat and said, a little more softly, “ Well, I guess I’ll see you Sunday, or whatever.”

She nodded and swept the sky with a hand, blinding me for absolutely no reason. Her voice faded out to the sound of heavenly choirs, which did not fill me with awe. Rather, I was kind of pissed because I couldn’t see, and I had those bright blindspots in my vision, and I am definitely not a fan of that kind of music. It says it right there on my Facebook and Myspace accounts, right under music preferences: Do Not Like Heavenly Choirs. Couldn’t she have used some Creedence, or Eagles or, hell, even the Beatles?

I woke up shortly afterwards. It was Thursday morning, but for the sake of this story, let’s just skip the crap and say that it was Sunday.

I didn’t need to shower, because I always smelled good, and I didn’t comb my hair, because my hair was always perfect, and I didn’t shave, because no razor blade could tame the rugged grizzles of hair on my manly jaws.

That’s not narcissism or vanity. That’s called “artistic license.” It is my story, after all.

I drove to Sheetz at top speed, because it was already eight thirty, and I had overslept my appointment. I didn’t want to mess up the Timetables of the Heavens, or anything, but you think God would have helped me wake up a little sharper if He had really wanted me to be on time.

Chrysandra was waiting for me when I got there. She had on a very revealing mini-skirt, and a tight tank-top that said: “ I’m an angel, kiss me!” She was also wearing dark sunglasses and sipping a strawberry-lemonade slushy out of a straw.

I took a seat across from her, straightening out my rumpled shorts and adjusting my own sunglasses. It was bright and humid—probably close to eighty, even though it was still really early in the morning.

“ Can’t you do something about the weather?” I asked.

She shrugged. “ Not my department. And you think this is bad? Jack, if you were to spend one day in southern India or Sicily, you’d think this was heaven.”

“ Oh, real cute. Real funny, Cass,” I said.

“ Chrysandra,” she corrected me.

“ Alright,” I said. “ I get it. I’ll play your game, Chrysandra. So you’re an angel, huh? You got any proof?”

She raised an eyebrow. “ You mean…besides the fact that I appeared in your dream?”

I nodded, a little uncomfortably. “ Ye-eeah. That kind of stuff happens to a lot of people. Déjà vu, you know? It could have been coincidence.”

The angel stared at me—not with disbelieve, mind you—but blankly with the most gorgeous, stunning green eyes. I mean, I know I said she had sunglasses on, but I could see her eyes, and I felt my insides turn to jelly.

“ Unbelievers shall suffer the worst of their shame—so says your Bible, at least.”

“ I’m not an unbeliever,” I retorted. “ Why would you say that?”

Again, her eyes swept through me, deep into my soul. She made a quick x-ray of what was in there. I asked her I had any broken bones. I was trying to be witty. She didn’t laugh.

“ Jack, you’re in denial,” she told me. Then she paused to take a huge slurp out of her drink. “ You think you’re a believer because that’s how you’ve been raised. You’re afraid of what your family will say if you ask them for proof of God’s existence. You’re ashamed to not have strong faith when those who love you most have it.”

I felt miserable. She was uncanny with her assessments, this woman. I would think twice before challenging her to a game of Heads-up Hold’em.

“ But…” she continued. “ Despite what your intelligent friends say, despite the respect you have for them, despite the overwhelming lack of proof that God doesn’t exist, you can’t help but cling to that last bit of hope, can you? You think that the world will come crashing down when everyone decides that God is dead. You think that your society has descended into a ruthless rat-race, that life has become a gladiatorial arena where the strong, the powerful, and the wealthy can slaughter the weak and the humble.”

“ Hasn’t it?” I asked quietly. “ You’ve been up there, watching from above. Aren’t things spiraling out of control? Haven’t we started rationalizing everything? I mean, holy crap, Evil itself has been debased into simple relativism. Everything wicked thing that we do—poisoning our minds with drugs, wrecking the sanctity of marriage with sex—all that crap has become normal. Hell, we encourage it. We laugh at those few poor religious bastards, call them close-minded and fanatical. We scorn them.”

Chrysandra leaned back in her chair, studying me. She said, “ Those people who you speak of—the militant fundamentalists—they’ve perverted their sense of purpose as much as any of you. They are just as proud, arrogant, and confident as any of the others. While one extreme of your society embraces only science, medicine, and technology…the other extreme embraces only the Bible, the Koran, the Tora. They are both blind.”

“ Yeah,” I said, “ but the atheists act out of charity and compassion. They are driven to solve Humanity’s problems, the diseases and food shortages, in order to ensure the future of our people. The religious zealots, on the other hand, don’t care about this world. They’re convinced that there’s a future after death, a glorious afterlife, so what do they care if Mankind is on its way to hell in a handbasket?”

The angel pursed her lips. “ Don’t be so quick to judge, Jack. And don’t be so quick to defend, either.”

I let these words sink in. I felt scolded, like a little child. I really did. I respected this lady a lot already. She was a good conversationalist, and she seemed to have the answers.

I tried for a cheap trick. I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but it’s not every day that I get to talk to a supernatural being, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let the opportunity slide.
“ Cass…”

“ –Chrysandra.”

“ Right, Chrysandra. I know now that you are definitely an angel. So you must have the answers, or at least be able to help me. Your very existence is proof that God exists, but…I need to hear it. Is it all true? The Bible? Was Jesus the Son of God? Did he walk the earth? I mean…does God exist?”

Her response was so unexpected that I gasped. When faced with this ultimate question, the most serious moment of my life, she began to laugh. It was a loud, mirthful sound, very melodious and heartfelt.

I was so confused.

She reached over and laid her hand over mine, gently, on the table. The last few giggles escaped her lips, and after she caught her breath, she began to speak.
“ Listen, Jack, I go through this little speech every time I do one of these talks with your kind. Yes, you want the answers. You want a simple yes or no. You want to run home and tell all of your atheist friends that they were wrong all along—that you had always been a believer, and now you have proof. You’re afraid that I’ll tell you that God doesn’t really exist, that Jesus never came, and maybe it was the Buddhists who actually got it right.”

My mouth was dry, and my heart was pounding furiously. Fire burned in the palms of my hands, but her touch was soothing on my arm.

“ But the truth is,” she said. “ No matter what answer I give you, you would never be satisfied. The world would not be satisfied. You would walk away from here wondering if our talk hadn’t been a wild coincidence—two people meeting for drinks outside of a gas station. Two strangers who had an incredible talk, but nothing more.”

I had trouble finding my voice, but I managed to get a whisper.

“ I need to know.”

“ No. “ She was shaking her head. “ No, you don’t. Billions of people go through life without ever hearing the truth. Many come up with answers of their own, be it for or against God.”

“ Chrysandra, think about it!” I shouted—suddenly I could not control the inflection in my voice. “ If God and heaven do exist, it would alter the world. All he has to do it show himself, give his people a sign, and they’ll come flocking back to him! I hear from all the priests and ministers about trials of faith, and how God doesn’t perform miracles because then the spiritual journey would be too easy. That’s ridiculous! Two thousand years have passed since Christ walked this earth. Why can’t we get some sort of sign, some indisputably omen or prophesy that would put an end to this war? Think of the misery we have now.”

“ If God were to show himself,” Chrysandra said slowly, “ It would be the end of Humanity.”

“ What?” I asked. “ Like, we would die from the sheer power of his Presence?”

“ No,” she said. “ The Raiders of the Lost Arc did something like that, if I remember. Too holy for the eyes of men. That’s foolish. What I meant was that the repercussions of God’s unveiling would destroy your world. Wars would unfurl. Law and order would disintegrate. Mankind would stop caring about its survival, because everyone could expect an eternal afterlife. Men would stop working in order to pray; criminals would go mad for fear of hell; sinners would scream and beat their breasts in regret; and sects of resistance would spring up. God’s existence would prove Satan’s existence, and there would be many who would choose to lay their fate in Lucifer’s hands, even though he may not exist. The wars and the neglect would destroy Humanity.”

“ But God could fix everything,” I insisted. “ He’s all-powerful. He could make it so that everyone believes in him. He could clean the wickedness and sins of this world, give us a fresh slate.”

Chrysandra seemed to ignore this. She reverted to a generic statement: “ Knowledge of God’s existence would destroy your world, Jack. Likewise, if I were to announce today to all people that there was no God, no Allah, no Redeemer, the consequences would be devastating. For many millions of suffering people, God is all there is. They have no money, no luxuries, and they’re dying. Without faith to cling to, there would be anarchy. Without the judgment of God to fear, all the believers would become cruel and soulless. Charities would collapse, and millions in the third world would die, or rebel. Desperation can do that to your kind.”

“ But why?” I screamed. “ Why can’t he FIX IT? Fix us, fix this whole fiasco, fix the way we think?”

“ Calm down,” she said. “ You are frustrated because you expect me to feed you answers. You think that’s what you need to confirm your faith. But that’s not it. That’s not why I’m here.”

“ Then why are you here?” I asked. I was starting to become very frustrated and impatient with this lady.

Chrysandra tucked her hand inside her tank top and removed a piece of folded paper. She held it up for me to see, and I could recognize my scribbled writing on it. She read it aloud:

“You think that vampires live only in movies? Take a look at the world around us. Our young people thrive in the hours of the night, feeling the security and warmth of the darkness, drinking and racing until dawn. Our colleges are flooded with sex and drugs and rape. Our cinemas are crowded with audiences thirsting for blood, so that millions of dollars are paid homage to witness spectacles of torture and human agony. Churches and holy places are slowly emptying as the world turns from faith to godless relativism. Have we truly lost a hold of reality? Has morality become a crucifix which we cannot tolerate to touch or feel? You think that we can enjoy this darkness for an eternity, my friend, but you are wrong, for the light of dawn will surely make ashes of us.”

I watched her face. Somehow the words sounded alive when she read it back to me. I had written that little piece during a storm one night, as I was contemplating the future—my future, and then the future of all my friends, of all my people. I had been shocked to realize just how far we had all drifted from compassion, how reality had become such a cruel, phony game.

That’s all it is for any of us anymore, isn’t it? Just a game that needs to be played by the rules. No one’s sincere anymore.

“ You wrote this,” she said, “ because, more than anything else—more than God’s existence—you are worried about the future of your fellow man. You are worried about society’s journey into godlessness, not because of the lack of God, but because God’s fate and Man’s fate seem to be intertwined. Without God, without religion and faith, Man will lose its morals.”

I began to protest, but she held up a hand to cut me off.

“ You can’t foresee that now because you’ve been brought up in a world where everyone is affected by religion. If God died now, you would all still get along for a hundred years, two hundred years. But then it would all start to deteriorate. When all the parents and grandparents have died, the future generations would lose their way, begin to tear one another apart, be consumed by their own greed and vice. Compassion and charity are not the greatest motivators of Man.”

“ But…” I said.

She held up a hand, again. “ Don’t you see, Jack? Your society, your world, your life, does not depend on God for its future. It depends upon religion. Faith is the key. Faith is the glue that is holding your shattered people together. Faith is what holds your sanity together. That’s the grand design. And God may have planned it, or you may have derived the conclusion yourselves, but that’s the still key, always the key: faith. Now is the pinnacle of history, Jack. Now, like never before, faith is in jeopardy. So if you want to take a message back to your friends, to the world, take this one: Have faith. Whether it is in God, in Jesus, in the afterlife, in science, in medicine, in Humanity—always have faith. Don’t be ashamed of your curiosity and your skepticism. That is what Humanity is. But you must have faith.”

“ So what’s our future?” I asked. “ Where does this lead us? Where’s the end?”

She stood up, abruptly. I was afraid she would leave my hanging, like some sick version of a Dean Koontz novel, but she didn’t.

“ Mankind will end when It wants to end,” she said. “ The choice, Jack, has always been yours.”

And she vanished. No kidding. She was standing right there, looking gorgeous and sexy in that outfit, sipping her strawberry-lemonade slushy, smiling down at me. Then—poof! I blinked, and she was gone. No halo of light and heavenly choruses this time.

But out of the gas station speakers, Creedence began with the sweet guitar strumming of my favorite song: Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

I don’t know how much I could get out of this whole experience. I feel like Chrysandra gave me some real gems, buried deep down somewhere in there. Maybe you’ll find them before I do.

That is, if you even believe this story. That would require a leap of faith.

One thing I do know is that I can stop worrying about our future. God is not going to die anytime soon. And Man isn’t going to lose its thirst for life, for survival, in the next few hundred years. I guess the day might come when we’re ready to call it quits, to take another road. You and I won’t be around for it, though. But, hell, we may be watching from another place.

Who knows?