Beyond Heaven and Earth

by Steven H. Propp

  People say, “We know just how you feel.” They don’t fucking know how I feel; they don’t know shit about what this is like! So what if your favorite aunt died last year, or your parents died a few years ago? So did mine. But what have you experienced that is even remotely like this?

  Probably the stupidest argument that people have tried on me is the “God did-n’t cause this problem, yet he is your fellow sufferer throughout the painful times.” How is God supposed to be suffering with me? I certainly don’t see him anywhere around here, and I certainly haven’t felt his presence throughout any of this. Anyway, how could the “suffering” of an eternal, omnipotent and omniscient being be even remotely comparable to mine? “Because he lost his only Son, Jesus.” Please; God had all of Jesus’ ministry planned out anyway, and Jesus is supposedly sitting at the right hand of the Father right now, whereas I don’t see or feel Sophia’s presence anywhere. Besides, the whole notion is misplaced: I don’t want God to suffer along with me—that doesn’t do either me or him any good— I want him to give me some answers to these questions and doubts that I have!

  A friend of mine thought he was being real helpful when he gave me a copy of

  C.S. Lewis’s book, The Problem of Pain. The whole premise of this book is absurd; he tries to claim that most of the suffering in the world is the fault of human beings, not of God, and it’s due to our sinful nature, and all of that other crap. But was it a human being that implanted that defective heart inside my Sophia? While she was pregnant? But Lewis finally redeemed himself, in my eyes, with what he wrote after his own beloved wife died. The C.S. Lewis who wrote A Grief Observed was not the arrogant university professor that wrote The Problem of Pain. The self-satisfied smugness of the university professor is gone; now, there is just another hurting human being, who is aghast at the inhumanity of it all. “The cosmic sadist,” Lewis calls God; that’s just about the size of it—you got it right there, brother Lewis. You and I do understand each other, now.

  When people try and comfort me, I can’t wait to see them leave; the only thing I pray for while they’re here is for them to shut up, and quit spouting out these meaningless clichés and platitudes, with words that don’t accomplish anything. I hide in the other room when I hear them drive up, so that I won’t have to face them, and see their smug and condescendingly smiling faces.

  The only people that I can even stand to see are people who themselves have gone through deep suffering. You know right away who they are—you can see it in their eyes. And that’s because I know that they understand; there is a kind of community of suffering, of deep feeling, of those who have been touched at the very deepest levels of life by overwhelming sorrow. They’re the only ones who understand. Usually, they don’t even try to offer any words of comfort: they just sit with you and hold your hand, being there with you and for you, while you weep, rage, curse, or whatever. You feel a kinship with them because you know that they don’t have any answers about life, either; it has kicked them in the face just as surely as it has you—but they just want to let you know that you’re not alone in going through it. Those are the only kind of people I can stand to be around, now. Unfortunately, such people are few and far between.

  What the hell is the purpose of life? From what I can tell, there is nothing you can achieve, no degree of personal holiness you can attain to, that will give you any guarantees or security from unbearable torment. By getting your hopes up, all you are doing is setting yourself up for the ultimate crushing blow that will defeat your spirit, once and for all. The battle isn’t always won by the swiftest; many times in life, it is just pure chance that determines who gets ahead, and who doesn’t. So don’t sweat about the whole thing; it’s just not worth it. Just live for now, and don’t bother…

  Or as the wisest man Solomon said, “Eat, drink, and be merry…”

  * * *

  So what do you say now, God? Still no answer?

  Even after I’ve been pouring out my innermost soul, my deepest feelings, in these pages?

  Then I guess I’m on my own, in this one.

  * * *

  My mind is now clear. I have found my purpose.

  This much is undeniably, irrefutably clear: Existence without Sophia is unendurable. I cannot face it; and I will not accept it.

  I must believe that somehow, somewhere, my Sophia is still existing, still living. She is in some place—someplace that is not here. Somehow, some way, I will be reunited with my Sophia. Since she cannot come to me, I must go to her.

  This I vow, with the most solemn vow I can possibly make: This I swear, in the name of my love for her—I will be reunited with my beloved Sophia.

  Sophia will be mine again. And there is no power anywhere that will stop me, or stand in my way.

  Even if it means I must go beyond Heaven and Earth, to find her.

  PART II

  THE QUEST BEGINS

  2

  PASTORAL COUNSEL

  Father Sanchez handed the cup of coffee to Jobran, who was sitting on the end of the couch. “You’re sure you don’t want any cream or sugar with that? I have sugar and cream substitutes, if you’d prefer that?”

  Jobran shakes his head, and says, “No, just black. I like things simple, these days.”

  Father Sanchez sat down next to Jobran, placing his own coffee cup on the table. He adjusted his priestly collar slightly, to be more comfortable while sitting down. “Well, Jobran, it’s my duty to tell you—as your pastor, but also as your friend—that I think you’ll be making a serious mistake by not continuing.”

  Jobran replied in a monotone, “I just don’t see the point of continuing with RCIA classes. After what has happened, what need do I have for a ‘Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults’? You yourself already told me that you felt that I was already a Christian, even though I wasn’t baptized, right? I was taking the classes because I promised Sophia that we would raise our child as a Catholic, but that’s obviously not going to happen now. So what’s the point?”

  Father Sanchez looked at Jobran and said, “The point is to prepare you to be baptized, and to be able to participate in the sacramental life of the Church.” Sympathetically, he added, “This is obviously a time of great stress for you, so I can understand how you might want to suspend taking the classes temporarily; but even then, I’m not sure that would be your wisest move. You will probably find that the Church is of its greatest comfort to us in our times of greatest distress, and need.”

  Jobran replied, “And what I’m saying is all this theology we’re taught now seems like a bunch of meaningless words: All this doctrine about God, Jesus, the Trinity, the Church, the Sacraments, and the Liturgical Year means nothing to me now; it pales to insignificance in the face of what I’ve lost. The whole edifice seems fake, an empty shell.” He leaned way back in the couch, his face staring up at the ceiling.

  “Jobran, it’s entirely natural for you to experience doubts, even serious ones, when you’ve been through an experience such as you’ve been through,” Father Sanchez said, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. “But that’s the whole point of participating in the Church; by following her rituals and practices, you’ll come to see that it ultimately does comfort you, when nothing else could.”

  In a low, bitter voice, Jobran said, “I’m afraid that I lack any sort of faith in the efficacy of the Church’s rituals and practices.”

  With vigor, Father Sanchez said, “And in those times when we lack faith, that’s precisely when we should be turning even more to the Church. That’s why we pray to God to look not on the sins of individuals, but on the faith of the Church. You don’t have to have all the faith by yourself; you’ll be part of a glorious institution that has preserved the faith from the days when Jesus walked the Earth. By participating in its sacramental life, you will find yourself growing and being strengthened in the faith.”

  “‘Fa
ith’ is not one of my big priorities in life right now,” Jobran said, sarcastically. “Knowledge and answers—those I could use; so if you’ve got either of them, I’d be glad to hear it.”

  Father Sanchez persisted, “Jobran, don’t despair if you feel you lack faith. Jesus said that if you but had faith the size of a mustard seed, that’s all you needed. The mustard seed was the smallest seed that was known in the Middle East; it’s almost too small to be seen with the naked eye. So Jesus was saying that you don’t need to have a great amount of faith. But the point is that you shouldn’t do things that will sabotage your own ability to develop faith. You should be praying to God, reading the Scriptures, and reciting the Rosary.” He paused, then said fervently, “I think you will find that the Holy Mother will be of especial comfort to you, in your sorrow,” and he held up his own Rosary beads.

  “I don’t need beads, Father, for crying out loud!”, and Jobran stood up and walked to the corner. After a moment, he looked back at Father Sanchez and said, “Quite frankly, I’m starting to think that maybe I should have just remained within my own religious tradition; I was raised a liberal Protestant, and I had no ‘deep,’ ‘spiritual’ convictions that I was following by converting.” Then he added, “I was mostly just converting to please Sophia.”

  “But by the same token, you surely don’t have any strong convictions that the Church is false, do you?” Father Sanchez waited for a reply that was not forthcoming. He then stood up and went over to Jobran, putting his hand gently on his shoulder. “You are simply beset with doubts, my son, because you’re going through a horribly bad time—that’s understandable. But this is not the time to turn back from the path that you’ve started down.”

  Jobran remained silent, not looking at Father Sanchez.

  Gently, Father Sanchez said, “Look at it this way, Jobran: You’ve told me that your goal is to be with Sophia again. If that is your goal, don’t you think you’re best off to follow the religious tradition that she followed faithfully? Wouldn’t returning to your Protestant roots—which weren’t all that deep, from what you’re told me previously—perhaps lessen your chance of following Sophia into eternal happiness?”

  Jobran thought for a moment, then replied, “I don’t know, Father. Frankly, until this experience, I hadn’t really thought about the whole matter of life after death very much.”

  Father Sanchez said, in a slightly sharper tone, “Sophia was a faithful daughter of the Church, and a member of this congregation since before I began serving here. Since Sophia was such a faithful child of the Church, aren’t you in a sense contradicting her by doubting the path that she followed?” Again, there was no answer from Jobran. “If she were here now, you surely wouldn’t tell her that you doubt the path that she followed!”

  “If Sophia were here now, I wouldn’t have had the experience that has caused me to have these doubts in the first place!” said Jobran, almost shouting.

  Father Sanchez looked remorseful, and said, “Look, why don’t we go and sit down again, all right?” Jobran nodded, and they resumed sitting on the couch.

  Father Sanchez sipped his coffee, and after a moment said, “I really think, Jobran, that you’re best off by simply continuing in your RCIA classes. I’d be glad to also continue talking with you privately, about any questions that may arise during your studies.”

  With sudden energy, Jobran said, “Look, you’ve spoken your piece, right? Do I get a chance to talk, now?”

  Father Sanchez looked crestfallen, and apologized, “By all means! I certainly didn’t mean to seem to monopolize the dialogue. I’m very interested in what you have to say, Jobran.”

  Jobran stood up, and began pacing about, as if he were a lawyer addressing a jury. “Let’s get down to cases, right down to where the rubber really meets the road, OK?” Father Sanchez nodded his agreement. Jobran pointed at him, and said, “Now, in your understanding—that is, the understanding of your Church—at this very moment, Sophia is in Purgatory, right?”

  Father Sanchez was taken aback by the directness of the question. “Well…we can’t really say who is in Purgatory, and who isn’t…Augustine said that all the just, not just martyrs, entered Heaven immediately after death…and anyway, Purgatory isn’t necessarily a place that is separate from Heaven…”

  Jobran cut him off, saying, “I’ve read in authoritative Catholic books that only those ‘saints’ who have achieved a state of ‘sanctifying grace’ in this life are normally considered to go to Heaven directly. The rest of us must undergo a period of ‘purging’ before we are ready to enter Heaven and experience the beatific vision of God, right?” Jobran added sharply, “And that is an article of the Catholic faith, right?”

  “Well…yes, that is correct,” Father Sanchez answered, uncomfortably. “But time in Purgatory isn’t the same as earthly time. No one talks any more about, say, an Indulgence granting someone relief from ‘500 days’ of Purgatory, for example, because that’s imposing an earthly standard of time—one that originated with Medieval penances—on it. In fact, since Purgatory is sometimes compared to a fire, by earthly standards a person’s time in Purgatory might actually be very short, and practically nonexistent…”

  “It’s been less than two weeks since Sophia’s death,” Jobran interrupted. “I don’t want any of this American liberalized Catholic theology—whereby you practically beatify all ‘good’ people who pass away, and eulogize them as if they were going to Heaven immediately after death. I also don’t care for any of this garbage about time being ‘different’ in other places—the only thing I’m concerned about is right now.” And looking Father Sanchez directly in the eyes, he said, “So in the eyes of the Catholic Church, is it not to be assumed that Sophia—who was a ‘good Catholic’ but not a saint—is at this very moment in Purgatory?”

  With extreme reluctance, Father Sanchez replied, “That’s…the teaching of the Church.”

  “So in your understanding, Sophia will have a significant ‘head start’ on me in Purgatory anyway, right?”

  Father Sanchez waved his hands, as if to stop Jobran from going down the wrong way on a one-way street. “Jobran, the importance of Purgatory is its theological significance, not its factual existence

  “Are you saying it’s not real?” Jobran demanded.

  “No, of course not,” Father Sanchez said. “Purgatory is one of the infallible teachings of the Church. It’s just that you can’t properly speak of one person having a ‘head start’ or something like that on someone else; the length of time that one spends there is outside of time, so it cannot be measured in human terms, and it is entirely dependent upon an individual’s life…”

  Jobran interrupted, “You yourself said that Sophia was a faithful Catholic, right? In my case, at best, I’m only a convert—a somewhat lukewarm one, with loads and loads of doubts, anyway. So doesn’t it stand to reason that she would be far ahead of my own progress in Purgatory, assuming that I even make it to Purgatory? I mean, I don’t seem to be on any sort of ‘fast track’ to Sainthood, so I won’t go directly to Heaven, right?”

  Father Sanchez was getting frustrated, “Well, again, I don’t think this is exactly the right way to put it. One’s time in Purgatory is dependent upon how much purifying work needs to be done, as well as many other factors…”

  “Such as offerings of Masses, prayers, and alms of the living faithful, right? Not to mention indulgences, acts of penance, and the intercession of the saints,” Jobran finished for him. “If the sufferings of souls in Purgatory can be reduced or minimized by the prayers and penances of those of us here on Earth, and if you tell me that I can reduce Sophia’s time in Purgatory by paying to have a few Masses said in her behalf, then the process can’t be entirely ‘out of time.’”

  “I’m only saying that it is a complex matter, Jobran,” Father Sanchez said, patiently. “I don’t think it is possible for us to compute w
hether a given person is ‘ahead’ or ‘behind’ another, spiritually. Every soul must proceed at its own pace…”

  Jobran interrupted again. “The bottom line is that unless I receive a plenary indulgence—and I would practically have to be in a state of perfect grace, then be martyred immediately, for me to qualify for a plenary indulgence—in the Church’s understanding, my chance of being reunited with Sophia soon after my death is rather small anyway; or at the very least, it will be considerably delayed, until both of us have made it out of Purgatory, which could take thousands or even millions of years.”

  “That’s certainly not the way I would put it,” Father Sanchez retorted. “As I said, in earthly terms, the period of time spent in Purgatory might be relatively short…”

  “Or it might be relatively long,” Jobran said, sharply. “If we’re preparing ourselves for eternity, who’s to say that one hundred thousand years of ‘purging’ is too much?” He then added, “By way of contrast, in the liberal Protestant tradition that I come from, they would say that righteous people—even Roman Catholics—go directly to Heaven at death. With Sophia having been such a fine person, I don’t know of any liberal Protestant who would say that she hasn’t gone to Heaven; in fact, most of them would say that she is there right now, probably waiting for me. So under that interpretation, I could be reunited with Sophia immediately after my death. So if reunion with Sophia is my goal, wouldn’t it make sense for me to follow the tradition that at least allows that as a possibility?”