When he arrived in heaven there was a bit of a stir. It wasn’t that there was any question of him getting in or not. He had no merit, but he pleaded the proper plea, “Guilty as charged!” and the “It’s on him,” and he was good to go.
The problem was that he didn’t want to be there.
“No, you’ll have to stay now,” they said. “We can’t reverse a plea once it has been accepted.”
“I won’t go to church!” he yelled.
“There is no church here,” they told him.
“Thank God!” He exclaimed.
“So what’s the deal with you?” They asked, “Why all the drama?”
“I liked earth,” he said, “I liked my family; I liked my friends. I liked church, the music, the cool concepts, helping people, but I didn’t fit with the hyper-religious types, and I really don’t want to be stuck with them here. And besides, I say bad words sometimes, and I really don’t want to stop. It’s fun!”
“So,” said the angel in charge, “And you think that’s a problem because …”
“How about this?” He asked. “How about if you send me to a little corner spot where the other bad people in heaven hang out?”
“Sure, but you don’t get sent anywhere here; you get to pick,” they said. “There is a rough crowd that hangs out down by the sand bar, a couple of ex-preachers in that group. Try them out.”
And off he went. Before long he had settled in at the sand bar and could be seen eating, drinking, waving his hands, dancing and gesticulating wildly. Over the loud music you could here him yelling crazy, wild hilarities, and you could hear loud guffawing and unrestrained hooting.
And glancing around heaven, quite a few saints could be seen looking longingly toward the sand bar, much as the wedding guests at a long wedding meal might keep glancing at the loudest, happiest, craziest table at the party.