limbo, how low can you go?

I couldn’t agree more with our commenter about Augustine. Though I always did like the concept of limbo. Not that I know that much about it, but I always assumed it was kind of a rundown heaven where you never got to actually see god, but then who wants to see him anyway, it’s like the when the boss comes over and lingers over your desk, you are more comfortable when he’s gone. And since you didn’t have to spend all day singing hymns and there was no saving you anyway, you were pretty much left alone.

So I kind of guess you hung out with your buds, played some cards, some basketball, went down to one of the corner pubs in the evening, and though they didn’t have a fine pale ale like I like, they would have something like PBR and though it was probably not ice cold, it was cold enough.

And I believe this was not only the stomping ground of unbaptized babies (okay there would be a lot of bawling going on upstairs while you were dealing poker in the basement) but of pretty good guys who died before Christ was even begotten, and those who lived faraway and never even heard of him.

So there you are living your pretty good life somewhere in China or one of the
Americas or wherever, and you’re bound for limbo, which as I’ve said, seems like a nice enough place, and along comes this missionary and tells you about Christ, and now limbo is over, now you have to really toe the line to get into heaven, and odds are that you will end up in hell, so how has that missionary done you any favors? You would be better off if you never heard of Christ. If these missionaries wanted to help mankind they would do a better job of it by staying home.

The Catholics have dropped limbo, and I think purgatory too. Brrrrr. I never liked purgatory, because it wasn’t like ten to twenty you did, the sentences always seemed to be more like thousands of years. Of course we Elsdon Methodists only had heaven, as I recall, and hell was iffy, and I got the impression that as long as you didn’t kill anybody and dressed nice and went to church most Sundays, Saint Peter (though he wouldn’t be a saint, we didn’t go for that Roman tomfoolery, but he would be a nice enough chap, and certainly well-dressed) would wave you in. Which was all pretty nice, but I didn’t like dressing up so I dropped out.