Going Home

- jim Young 920218/080301

I have flown to star-stained heights on bent and battered wings in search of mythical kings. - Dory Previn

We used to discuss religion a lot in the sixties. "Isn't it more reasonable," Graham pondered "to think that instead of one religion being right that they're all wrong?"

I should have asked, "Doesn't it seem even more likely that all of them may be a little bit right?"

Whatever your concept of heaven and hell may be, wouldn't the guy that follows whatever his beliefs, in a loving and kind manner on a daily basis, at least have a shot at heaven?

I believe that the roots of almost all religions are pretty much the same. 

Two Mormon missionaries came to visit me one night about 20 years later. I related to them this little story.

My two children, Michael and Angela had been estranged from myself for several years. No one was even sure why any more. I think they disobeyed me one day and in a fit of rage, I threw them out. It was silly really. After all – they had learned a lot from the experience.

(It was true that I had two children named Michael and Angela – the rest, including their estrangement is a parable.)

One day Michael picks up the phone. "Dad, I want to come home!"

"Of course you can, son. Where are you calling from?"

"I'm in a little town in New York called Port Jervis."

"You've suffered enough son," I tell Michael, "Come home at once."

"But I don't know the way."

"It's easy. Take a taxi to New York City. Bucky's taxi will take you to LaGuardia airport. From there catch a plane to Toronto. Simcoe Airport Services will pick you up and bring you home. I'll be waiting for you."

Angela walks by and sees Michael with his suitcase, waiting for Bucky's to pick him up.

"Where are you going?" Angela asks.

"I just talked to dad. I'm going home. Wanna come?"

Skeptical, Angela replies, "Nobody's talked to dad for years."

"No, it's true. I talked to dad and he said we could come home."

"It's been so long," Angela says considering the possibility. "I'm not sure I could find the way."

"It's easy." Michael says, excited about the prospect of a complete family reunion. "We take a taxi to New York, a plane to Toronto and catch a ride home from the airport."

Angela studies Michael's face. "I think you're nuts! That's not how I remember it. We have to catch a bus to Ottawa and connect with the train that takes us to North Bay. From there, another bus will take us right to dad's doorstep."

"You'll get lost." Michael warns. "Dad told me this is the only way to get home."

When Bucky's taxi arrives, Michael and Angela are still arguing over which is the proper way to go home. Saddened, and convinced that he may never see his sister again, Michael quietly gets into the cab.

Bucky's is about to pull away from the curb when Angela calls after him, "Taxi wait."

For a brief moment, Michael's face lights up.

"Drop me off at the bus terminal?" Angela asks. "Maybe on the way I can show my brother the truth."

Of course Michael and Angela are both right. One path may take a little longer to reach its ultimate destination, but there's bound to be rewarding and exciting experiences along the way for both of them.

"I can see you're quite a storyteller," one of the Mormons said to me. (I didn't tell him that I had made most of it up as I went along.)

We shook hands and parted. I also often invite the Jehovah Witnesses or anyone who comes knocking on my door in. Most people of any faith agree that all things happen for a reason. I think that just maybe, god didn't send them to save me, but rather to be saved by me. 

Who am I to turn them away?

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