If I were to be famous here on Earth, in the sense of celebrity that won’t really matter in the long run, would people in heaven know who I was, what I accomplished? Would they know I won an Oscar or a Grammy or an Emmy or some other silly award? What about the time I got a trophy for little league? Would it even matter? What matters in life doesn’t matter in the afterlife. Or does it? What if God told you that you weren’t valuable enough to stay on the swanky side of the pearly gates? I know there would be a lot of mortified supporters of good ole JC.
“Oh, sorry, not enough people knew your name to get in here.” Thanks a lot St. Peter! I’d probably have to hop the velvet ropes and dive into the VIP section, very important person indeed. I’d buy a round of drinks for Mother Teresa and Gandhi, sit and chat with none other than Marilyn Monroe, dance with Abraham Lincoln and Audrey Hepburn. It’d be a riot. Sadly, not being in the same caliber as those upstanding legend-wait-for-it-dary people, I would be escorted out to live the rest of my everlasting life in the lowly parts of heaven, scorned for my peasantry and nothingness. Oh how dreary it is to not be somebody. Thanks for nothing, Emily Dickinson.
But let’s be serious. God would be a pretty alright guy, or lady, let’s not jump to conclusions. We’d all come together and sing kumbaya and do other holier than though shit. We’d all be equals and live in harmony. But if not…remember celebrity matters and God is watching, and judging, and placing bets on all the award shows, seeing who is worthy of a VIP spot in his MTV crib.