Clouds of Witnesses

A young man had remarkable spiritual experiences and was very happy.  But one morning he woke up and found that he just didn’t believe.  There may have been reasons for it–he thought of some himself–but he eventually decided that if ti was possible for a mood like to come on to you, everything you experienced was just moods, including the spiritual experiences.

He didn’t look back.  He led a vicious life.

When he died, he found himself in a vast space filled with people who were all himself.  Most were older, but not all.  Many looked different, but not all.  They were all recognizably him.  They were all looking at each other with more or less the same look of surprise that he had on his own face.

Angels were threading their way through the crowd.  One stopped in front of the man who had led a vicious life.

“Yes,” the angel said, “these are all versions of you.  One mortality alone is not enough for the sons of God!”  The angel chuckled.

“Now, to business.  Let’s see . . .”  The angel considered.  “Do you recall a morning some years ago where you decided faith and truth and so on were just neurochemicals?”

The man nodded.  “It was a defining moment in my life.”

The angel nodded.  “Yes, but only for you.  You are the only you for whom it made a difference.  The rest of you just shrugged off the mood.  I doubt more than a handful of you remember it.”

The man was shocked.  “I’m . . . pious?”

“Mostly,” the angel said.

“So what’s the point?” the man asked.  “Is this judgment?”  He laughed.  “How do you judge someone who has led multiple lives?”

“What happens next,” the angel said, “is integration.  You become whole with yourself.”

“You mean . . . ?”

“Yep,” the angel said,  “all of you will be just one you.”

“I don’t know that I will like being forced into some kind of union with a bunch of smarmy holy guys.j”

“No,” said the angel.  “You are going to hate it.”

“At least,” the man brightened, “we’ll go to heaven.”

“Mostly,” the angel said.  “For you it will be hell.”