One Hell Of A Thing
I wonder what it takes to find your way into Hell.
I mean, I suspect axe murderers, paedophiles, and divorce lawyers get a one-way ticket to the fiery depths of Satan's lair, but who else is sent packing to the Boiling Hot Springs Resort For Sinners.
The guidelines might be the Ten Commandments, but those have become rather hazy over the years. The eighth commandment is: "Thou shalt not steal." Does that mean that every little shoplifter is going straight to hell? Man, the place would be standing room only.
And what about the seventh commandment: "Thou shalt not commit adultery." Does sex-on-the-side mean you're destined to spin on some eternal wheel of fire?
To top off number seven, we have number ten: "Thou shall not covet your neighbor's wife." Never mind the sex. Just thinking about Florence DeGrandknockers in a sexual way while flipping wieners at the block barbecue is going to spin you through the turnstile of debauchery and into the molten pit.
Are there shades of transgression? Or are the lines absolute?
You see, I'm thinking there are things you probably shouldn't do, but you do them anyway, because, well, you're only human. If Florence DeGrandknockers walks by in a tube top and hot pants, and your brain short-circuits for a couple of seconds and starts to covet, is that completely your fault?
And what about forgiveness? Are we not allowed to make mistakes and be forgiven for them? Or does our sinful record follow us all the way through life, past death, and pop up at the ivory gates to Heaven, when St Pete swipes our Out-Of-Time card into his computer and says, "You're in the wrong place, my friend, you'd better leave."
Without some kind of forgiveness, I suspect I'm toast, as the saying goes ... and I don't mean toasted to just a lovely golden brown. I'll be burnt to a fine charcoal black and on the expressway to Hell.
The best I could hope for is that Florence DeGrandknockers shows up too ...
I wonder what it takes to find your way into Hell.
I mean, I suspect axe murderers, paedophiles, and divorce lawyers get a one-way ticket to the fiery depths of Satan's lair, but who else is sent packing to the Boiling Hot Springs Resort For Sinners.
The guidelines might be the Ten Commandments, but those have become rather hazy over the years. The eighth commandment is: "Thou shalt not steal." Does that mean that every little shoplifter is going straight to hell? Man, the place would be standing room only.
And what about the seventh commandment: "Thou shalt not commit adultery." Does sex-on-the-side mean you're destined to spin on some eternal wheel of fire?
To top off number seven, we have number ten: "Thou shall not covet your neighbor's wife." Never mind the sex. Just thinking about Florence DeGrandknockers in a sexual way while flipping wieners at the block barbecue is going to spin you through the turnstile of debauchery and into the molten pit.
Are there shades of transgression? Or are the lines absolute?
You see, I'm thinking there are things you probably shouldn't do, but you do them anyway, because, well, you're only human. If Florence DeGrandknockers walks by in a tube top and hot pants, and your brain short-circuits for a couple of seconds and starts to covet, is that completely your fault?
And what about forgiveness? Are we not allowed to make mistakes and be forgiven for them? Or does our sinful record follow us all the way through life, past death, and pop up at the ivory gates to Heaven, when St Pete swipes our Out-Of-Time card into his computer and says, "You're in the wrong place, my friend, you'd better leave."
Without some kind of forgiveness, I suspect I'm toast, as the saying goes ... and I don't mean toasted to just a lovely golden brown. I'll be burnt to a fine charcoal black and on the expressway to Hell.
The best I could hope for is that Florence DeGrandknockers shows up too ...
