[With thanks to Erasmus of Rotterdam]
Peter looked through the lens, pulled his head from the observation binocular and asked Messenger Gabri-El, “What are those?” Gabri-El shrugged his shoulders. Peter looked again and turned back to Gabri-El. “Whoever he is, he doesn’t belong here.”
The Genius of God [I knew this would happen one day.]
[ For the reader: Listening in on the conversation is a ‘genius’, one who speaks, and is a stand-in, for God.]
“I don’t think it’s a threat,” said Gabri-El, “but you’re the gatekeeper; you’ll have to deal with it. Do you want me to stick around?”
Looking through the binocular again Peter said, “Yeah, I think so. Nothing to fear, but it might be something to talk about at dinner. Let’s go.”
***
A golf-cart cavalcade trundled up the switch-back way to Heaven’s gate. By the time Peter and Gabri-El arrived, the lead cart had stopped at the gate. A paunchy orange-haired man stepped out of his favourite toy, looked down into the valley from whence he came and said, “Ah, magnificent! Prime real estate! But what are all those trees doing there?”
His current fav fan #1 said, “Don’t know boss. But there are two people inside the gate. The short one’s waving at us.”
As they approached, Peter sniffed and said, “Who are you? What do you want? And it stinks: have you been moving those things through thousands of cubits of fresh donkey dung?”
“Who am I? You don’t know me? Don’t you have TV here? Don’t you get the news?”
Peter looked at Gabri-El, before turning back. “No, to both your questions. We have better things to do.”
The orange-haired man, soft hands on ample hips, said, “Better things? No TV? Well, that’s gonna change… I am… The Donald!”
[Cue the bandstand.]
Peter looked at Gabri-El, then back at the apparition. “What’s a ‘Donald’? I remember some years back a few children untimely arrived and talked about a Donald Duck. Are you this Donald of Duck fame?”
The Donald said, “I’ll tell you who I am. I am the great dealmaker! I am the C in C of armies! I am the greatest, richest, most powerful being on Earth! I ruled the greatest nation on Earth. And, you should know, I have done more for Christianity than anyone in the history of the world!”
[Eh, what’s that?]
Peter leaned forward, his nose between two bars in the gate. “Come a little closer so I can get a better look at you. Hmmm, the smell is stronger. The coarse smell of rank impiety. Glenmuir clothing with the stains of sin; debauched, insolent, a soul washed clean of compassion, a narrow mind and an ego like a black hole.”
The Donald said, “Who are you? You’d better pay attention. I will be your greatest resident! I will transform this place into a luxury country club! I… ”
Peter said, “You’ve never heard of me? Or my friend Paul or the Lord of Heaven and Earth, El Shaddai? Or any of our cousins, the Jews or the Palestinians? Who are you again?”
“I AM THE DONALD! You don’t want me as an enemy; I can destroy you! I have done as much and more to hundreds of fools who’ve gotten in my way. You will feel the thunderbolts of my lawyers!”
“Not a duck?” said Peter.
The man roared, “No! Now let me in! I belong here, and so do all my fans.”
Peter said, “No admission without a stamped ticket.”
“What ticket?”
“You don’t know what the ticket is?” Peter said. They were joined by Messengers Micha-El and Ari-El. “What’s the commotion, sir?” they asked Peter. “Any rubbish to take out?”
“No, just this guy. Somehow he got past the outer watchtowers and climbed up the treacherous way in these… contraptions.”
Gabri-El whispered to them, “He’s named after a duck.”
“It’s not a DUCK! It’s just Donald; THE Donald!” said the Donald.
“Ok, Mr. Just the Donald,” said Micha-El, “state your business and don’t threaten the gatekeeper.”
The Donald’s face was a red-ish purple. He huffed, and he puffed. His current fav fan #2 stepped in. “Now, look here you. Everyone knows the Great Donald, and he’s not a duck. So answer for why the gate is locked against him. He belongs here.”
Peter said, “Does he? Then show us the ticket. Blustering and threatening and yelling and ordering may have worked elsewhere, but not here. And while you’re at it, where’s your ticket? And pass the word down the line. Whoever has a ticket gets in. Merits first, a ticket, then entrance.”
The Donald found his voice. “Merits? I have great merits, the greatest merits! My current fav fan #3 just said you were a fisherman. Just a fisherman. I was the president of the greatest nation on earth. I became rich by being quicker, more ruthless and cunning than anyone else. I turned my country from a nation of layabouts, do-gooders and ‘nice’ people who were treated badly by everyone else into a nation that everyone obeyed and looked to for leadership.”
[Or feared.]
The Donald said, “I keep hearing a voice. Who is that?” He looked around. “It doesn’t matter; another nobody. Everybody’s a nobody but me. I was hunted by the deep state. They persecuted me, tried to jail me, convict me without a fair hearing, made me give away millions of dollars in defense, tried to destroy my great and imperishable name by dragging me through court after court. They tried to cheat me of my rightful place as the great One, the Great Donald, the master of the world! But I showed them. I won; they lost. And I made them suffer for their sins.”
[Who is he to judge sins?]
Micha-El and Peter had been whispering together, only half-listening to Donald the Great. Peter turned back to the Donald. “Hmmm. What exactly did you do?”
The Donald puffed out his chest. “I raised our GDP to heights it had never been before. I invented new positions of government to better govern. I made my country great again by putting great businessmen – less great than me, of course – in charge of government agencies. I granted freedom to the wrongfully imprisoned. I loved and helped my friends. Isn’t love and setting prisoners free a part of the mandate here? I left behind a country that is wealthy, powerful and safe. Isn’t the achievement of these goals what it means to be a great leader?”
“Ah,” Peter started… but the Donald wasn’t done.
“Not only all this; I rescued other people from leaders who were communists and socialists. I liberated other countries to keep my country safe. I established beachheads all over the world, not just for the safety of my country but for other oppressed people, even in the country where you were born, I believe.’’
“And these other people? Who are they?” asked Peter. “Will they testify for you?”
“They aren’t all here, but I brought a lot with me. These are the true believers. Many of them are of your persuasion, faithful to me and faithful to your Master. I promised that in life I would save them from imprisonment and, at death, from hell, if they served me with faith.”
[Does this guy think he’s a messiah?]
“Like your Moses, I led my people from bondage into freedom. Yes, that’s it; I’m,” – more chest puffing – “another Moses, no: The Moses! You should be impressed.”
Peter looked at the Messengers. They shrugged. Peter looked back at the Donald. “Ah, no. What you consider impressive has no relevance here. The ones who enter these gates are they who did justice and mercy, who loved their neighbours as themselves, clothed the naked, visited the sick and those in prison, who gave water to the thirsty, even to their enemies. Only the people who bear tickets with the imprimatur of these sorts of acts are admitted; those who don’t have them, are not.”
The Donald stared and shook his head. “If I’d only known.”
Peter looked hopeful, “Known what?”
“If I’d been in charge, I’d’ve fired you a long time ago.”
[Eh?]
Peter said, “In charge, here? Do you know where you are?” Peter rubbed his forehead with his eyes closed, pinched the bridge of his nose, opened his eyes. “That raises a question: is there no way to fire a wicked, self-serving leader in your country?”
“That’s ridiculous!” said the Donald. “You can’t remove anyone from the highest office in the land!” He smirked. “The haters, the deep staters, the anti-Donalds tried, but it didn’t happen. Justice prevailed. A president can only be removed by the members of the Senate and the House. But if the members of the House and the Senate are owned by the king… ah,” – he coughed – “the president… and supported by his fans… ”
[Where are the citizens?]
“… then he is invincible.”
Ari-El commented, “A country is in very poor shape indeed if a perfidious leader cannot be relieved of duty.”
“Perfid… what?” said the Donald. “What does that mean?”
Gabri-El whispered to Peter, who nodded and said, “A few of your former compatriots want a word with you.”
The Donald said, “Who?”
Peter had his back to the Donald because a large crowd of men and women stood waiting for ‘a word’. Peter rubbed his sun-browned bald pate and said, “So many? I don’t think we have enough time for them. Ah, pick two,” he said to Micha-El.
“Ok, you there, with the magnificent craggy face and you with the gaze of a true leader and coiffed white hair, come forward.”
The others grumbled but patted the men on their backs as they went by, with dignity and blazing eyes.
As they approached the gate, Peter and the others stood aside. Both men were wrapped in simple white robes with cinctures. They grasped the bars in the gate and stared at the Donald, who bent his head back to his current fav fan #3 who, with the rest of the fans, shrank from the figures. The Donald grabbed the man’s shirt and pulled him forward. He cocked his head at the gates and whispered, “Who are these guys?”
Fav fan #3, wide-eyed, gulped, and said, “George Washington.”
“What, the guy who’s named after the city?”
The fan stared back for a moment and then said, “No, you idi… he’s the man after whom the city was named.”
“And the other guy?”
Fav fan #1 groaned and said, “OMG!” and pressed himself further away.
[Thank you for that.]
“Who?!” demanded the Donald.
Fav fan # 2 said, “Lincoln… ”
The Donald said, “He looks familiar.”
“He’s on the penny.”
“Penny? I’m too rich to have pennies.”
Fav fan #4 said, “There’s a statue of him… ”
“Really? Where?”
“You walk… ”
“Walk? I don’t walk.”
“Yes, everyone can tell. You walk from the White House down Pennsylvania Avenue to 17th street, turn left, go a short distance to New York Avenue, turn left at 18th, cross Constitution Avenue, turn slightly right, walk half way round the Constitution garden, follow the only road NW to Lincoln Memorial Circle and on your right, in front of the long reflecting pool… ”
“Yes? I’m tired already.”
“… is a huge building made of marble, granite and limestone. Standing in front and peering up between the two central pillars you can see a massive marble statue of a man sitting on an armchair of white marble.”
“That’s Lincoln?”
“Yessir.”
“What’s his first name?”
[Eh?]
At the same time, all fav fans said, “Abraham!”
“Oh. My statue will be bigger’n his.” The Donald turned back, walked three steps forward and said, “I’ve heard of you; explain to this sad person that by my Great name and my position in life, the post you both once held, I have a right to be in there.”
Abraham stared at the man. “Your name and former position mean nothing here; no one’s does. As my friend Peter has been telling you this dreary half-hour, it is by acts of kindness, mercy and true justice that one is admitted.”
“I’m sure you weren’t perfect.”
George said, “Neither of us was, but who said entrance was based on perfection? You cannot enter, and neither can your… fans. Pollutants are not allowed. Good bye.” George and Abraham turned and started back to whatever they did in that land.
“What? What? Hey, you two! Come back here. I order you… ”
Abraham and George looked back and shook their heads. One could hear them talking together as they and their other compatriots went up a hill and down the other side.
“Mr. Just the Donald,” said Micha-El. “Stop shouting; you’re disturbing the contemplation of millions.”
A pillar of fire appeared over the gates.
[That’s enough everyone. Your patience is admirable. But this thick-skulled creature is too benighted, too lost, to get it.]
“Get what?” the Donald said. “I AM THE DONALD! Your people even said I was saved by your Master to save our great country! Everybody wants to be my friend! And who is that, that’s talking?”
[It will be a surprise to those people who think they are of my people when they find they also have no ticket] said the Voice. [Imagine! Linking my Name and the Book to salvation by cash and to guns and your name] the Voice finished with a tone of disgust. [Good bye and good riddance.]
“Who was that? Come back here! Where’d he go?” The Donald shrugged and said to Peter, “So you won’t open the gates and let in the glorious Donald, and his fans?”
“Better anyone than you;” said Peter, “people who turn from their worst selves and become better humans. You have the image, but not the soul, of God. You have turned the nature of a human into something worse and you have no ticket.”
The Donald opened his mouth, his face purple. Peter raised his hand. “No more. There is plenty of what you call ‘prime real estate’ below. You have people who chose to follow you. You are a famous – what was that word, Gabri-El? – Ah, yes, ‘land-developer’- and think you have enough worldly goods to pay; build a paradise down there. You’d better make it strong, lest devils break in on you. They’re always hungry.”
Peter flicked his fingers and a devil and his angels were thrown from Heaven’s gate. One or two, including the one who called the Donald what he is, were exempt.