Our drive to Denver was fairly quick as far as nine-hour drives are concerned. We talked about the future, the past and the needs of ‘now’. We talked about the weather; Oklahoma during the summer seems like punishment for a crime we didn’t commit. And we sat in companionable silence. It was a good drive. Road-weary as we were, we decided to head down to the hotel bar for an hour. Nicole and I rarely have a moment to share a drink in a public space for a lot of reasons. It almost never works out for us, as one of us will invariably know someone in the surrounding space. That’s a good thing, yet it also takes away from our time together. So, to the bar we sojourned. Fifteen minutes passed, the Lakers G-League team was trouncing Golden State, and we were happy.
Then he sat down.
Listen: I’m not one of those people who typically mistakes someone for someone else. I have fairly decent recall for names and faces, so I know when someone is or isn’t … well, who I think they are. That being said, I swear to the Lord Almighty that Justin Welby, Archbishop of Canterbury, sat next to us. I did a slow-motion head-turn to Nic, and we locked eyes. “That’s not…no way, dude. No. Way.” She giggled and said, “No, hon, that’s not him. Believe me, I would recognize the man who celebrated the Royal Wedding.” We laughed and seemingly went back to our drinks.
And yet…I couldn’t help myself. As he ordered a vodka soda, a crisp British accent lilted over the bar and my inner-church-nerd started screaming at me to be the extroverted person I am. I HAD to talk to him. So much for private time, eh…sorry Nic. Time to run for Mayor of Nowhere.
I turned toward him and asked his name—it was Grant—and asked what he did for a living, after telling him that he looked exactly like our Archbishop of Canterbury. His response was priceless, “I don’t have use for that man.” He explained that he didn’t align with the Church of England, that its archaic views ‘buggered’ him. Then he asked what I did for a living, and I told him. But as much as he was ‘buggered’ by his nation’s belief system, his next question sent me reeling.
“So, Sean, how do you know you’re going to heaven?”
A nuclear scientist asked me how I knew I was destined for paradise. I paused for a moment and said, “I guess I really don’t know.” He sat back, stiff upper-lip, and smirked. A pregnant pause, another drink order, and I turned back to him and said, “I’d like to revise my answer: I’m going to heaven because of grace, not because of what I have done here.” Grant looked at me and grinned, “Sean. That’s the right answer.”
We talked for another hour or so, Nicole joining in a bit here and there, and parted ways as friends. But his question, my two responses, and the whole conversation stuck with me. Why did I say I didn’t know? In my heart of hearts, I believe I’ll join God wherever heaven is, without a doubt. And yet, my first reaction was based upon the things I’d done to ‘earn’ a place there. That’s not how it works, though. And I know that. Yet, I couldn’t help myself from answering with qualified words due to my own insecurity surrounding my deeds and faith.
But grace doesn’t require deeds. And grace asks for the faith the size of a mustard seed. I have that. Too many times in this life we are conditioned to recognize our deeds as a means of worth. But as the Great Thanksgiving says, “For the means of grace and for the hope of Glory,” we must remember that, ultimately, God sees us as lovingly created beings, drawn from the dust and meant to roam this world with free will. When we choose to accept grace freely offered? Our paths are destined for paradise, no matter our failings. Living into God’s commandments is a secondary step to a primary and primal beginning: We have to choose to believe that God is greater than we can fathom and that nothing we do ‘earns’ us a spot in eternal glory.
Jesus already did that.
Our job is to believe in God, love God, and believe in ourselves. We are to take the grace that is freely given and spread it about the world. We are called to be harbingers of the world to come, being saved out of sin into righteousness, out of death into life. So why do anything at all, if grace is all we need? Because once we accept that grace, the love of God moves us to act. True belief acts as a catalyst to fan the flames of faith, burning away wrongful desires and ill-intentions. To disallow us to think that we can do it on our own, and to encourage us to include our fellow humans in the greatest gift ever given to humankind. It isn’t our free-will. It isn’t our deeds. It’s grace, all the way down.
And it always has been.
That’s how I know I’m going to heaven. And how I know that I’ll see you there.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+