The Price of Heaven

Or, The Trouble with a Shallow Gospel

One of my dogs, my sweet Pigeon, died nearly three weeks ago. To be more precise, we had him put “to sleep.” One of those terrible decisions dog lovers must make when the price of living is just too high. In Pigeon’s case, the sarcoma in his leg left him lame, which he dealt with, until he began to drag one foot in a way that clarified it was time for a merciful ending. It was time to “fly to Jesus,” as I’d tell him.

Even still, Pigeon was happy. He ate, he slurped, he wagged his tail, he snuggled, and he loved me so, so much until his last breath.

And I loved him. To be more precise, I love him—as I believe 100 percent that his precious pit-bull spirit lives on.

While some question my faith and “terrible theology” based on my inclusive views of queer people or my concern for immigrants or my rebellion against our authoritarian regime, one should really question my thoughts about heaven.

Indeed, since the days after Pigeon’s death, my family and I have imagined all sorts of heavenly happenings: from Pigeon’s “Welcome Week” festivities, to awkward encounters with squirrels and cicadas he’d previously sent to Glory, to his first day of Spooky School (Pigeon was sneaky, a lovey lurker, so if anyone’s gonna be a ghost, it’ll be him. Another of my pits will for sure be put on Judgement Day duty. IYKYK).

While there’s a lot to critique about my views on the afterlife—and animal souls—it’s been wonderful spending so much time imagining heaven and glorying in the amazingly high and wide and deep love of a God who is so good to give us dogs.

I share all this not to be a downer, but because when Charlie Kirk was brutally murdered, gunned down in broad daylight like too many Americans, heaven was already very much on my mind.

Perhaps that’s why I noticed all the heaven talk so much.

Not about Charlie going to heaven, mind you. (And yes, I believe he’s there.)

But rather, about Charlie’s legacy—of reaching young men with “the gospel,” of assuring they get to heaven.

As I wrote earlier, I’d barely heard of Charlie Kirk. I certainly had no idea Charlie was Christian or that he proselytized. As I’ve come to see, this was yet again another example of how algorithms silo us—and what we know about issues, people, politics, whatever.

So in the days after Kirk’s death, I began to read more, watch more, learn more about this man so many idolized—as I do when I realize how one-sided I’ve become on anything. And indeed, I did see him saying some nice stuff about Christianity—the faith I proclaim. I also saw him say plenty of inaccurate stuff about the Bible, about our faith, about the treatment of Christians, in his apologetics. But, we all get stuff wrong. And, good for him, I guess, spreading the faith and helping people “get into heaven.”

But as I saw more and more of his racist, misogynist, homophobic, anti-immigrant comments in context, I began to wonder about the cost—not of following Jesus. But of following Charlie.

American Evangelicalism (a tradition I was adjacently raised in and have long worked in!) has made “getting to heaven” its highest priority for as long as I’ve known it. Well, I suppose it’s been tied with “fighting” for the unborn and “traditional marriage.” But officially, most Evangelicals claim—I think—the whole point of believing in Jesus is to be forgiven and get to heaven. That’s why Jesus was born, why he lived, why he ministered, why he died, and why he rose again. So long as we—yes, even wayward, apostate me—accept Jesus into our hearts, we can go to heaven. That’s the deal.

And that is a great deal—and even better news! I believe that! I can’t wait to see Jesus and my dogs! (I’ll let you guess if I switched the order for optics or not…) I can’t wait to see loved ones, to meet historical figures, to ask Jonah about that big fish.

But I don’t believe getting into heaven is the actual point of believing in Jesus. Why? Because Jesus doesn’t say it’s the actual point of believing in Jesus. It’s a point, for sure. But getting us “into” heaven certainly doesn’t seem to be Jesus’s main reason for being born, for living, for healing, for ministering, for dying, for rising again.

The main point—at least as far as I can tell from Jesus—is how we live. Here and now. The best things we can do, according to Jesus? Love God, love others. Love and bless enemies. Seek the lost. Turn cheeks. Make disciples. Heal. Help neighbors. Be peace-filled and merciful. Forgive. Be honest, true, and faithful. Give generously. Pray. Serve God. Trust God. Repent. Be baptized. Take up our crosses and follow Jesus. Watch out for false prophets….

And the reward? Treasures in heaven, yes. But also, the kingdom of heaven. Life abundant. Peace. Hope, Love. Joy. Redemption. Restoration. Christ with us.

Here. Now.

Which brings me back to Charlie Kirk. Sure, he reached young people with a gospel, but his words about others reflected so little of Jesus. In many ways, they ran counter to Christ—as “Christian” Nationalism does. And a gospel disassociated from the life of Jesus, how he lived and what he taught, a gospel that only focuses on his resurrection as a “ticket to heaven” comes at that great cost.

To the gospel. To the Christian witness. And to the believers themselves.

The gospel suffers because it’s hollow. Shallow. Selfish. It’s transactional rather than transformational (gosh, I sound so Evangelical!).

The Christian witness suffers because rather than sharing love and mercy and hope and peace, a this weak gospel highlights fear, mockery, cruelty, exclusion. Rather than a Christianity that embraces like Jesus did, it excludes. Who would want to know this kind of Jesus (except those who already delight in fear, in mockery, cruelty, exclusion and don’t feel like changing)?

And believers suffer because they miss out on so much. I see this in the angry, young “Christian” white men—so eager to make sure they get back what they believe they deserve, what they think has been ripped from them. So eager to make sure others suffer so they can get ahead without having to do the work others do.

And I see this “fruit” in many of the Charlie-Kirk and MAGA disciples who post on my social media and DM me. The depth of their despair, of their anger, of their brokenness is so clear. So heartbreaking.

But this is what happens when we make heaven the end-goal. When we are willing to do anything, promote anything, any words, any cruelty, any false gospels—just to ensure people, especially our kids, come to Christ. Even if it’s a false one.

I’ve never been willing to risk that. I’m a mom of three young adults. Of course, I want them to know Jesus. But not some selfish, greedy, white American “Jesus” who speaks ill of others. And not just for some ticket into heaven.

I want them to know the real Jesus, the brown one, the suffering one, the loving one, the welcoming one, the good one, the challenging one, the confusing one, the one who costs everything to follow. Because that is the Jesus who gave up everything to be born of a virgin, to lay stones—figuratively and literally—to show us how to live, fully, here and now. That is the Jesus who was crucified, died, and buried. Who rose again to conquer death. To conquer sin. To put redemption into this world. So that we know that the worst part of the story is not the end of the story.

And that’s what I want my kids to know. That’s what I want my kids to believe. That’s what I want Charlie Kirk’s followers and all of us to know and to believe.

Because this is where hope lies. For now. For later. For heaven. For earth. And Lord knows, for this mess of a country.

In proclaiming forgiveness of her husband’s killer, it seems Erika Kirk—Charlie’s widow—understands this. I sure hope she does. And I hope as she takes over her husband’s organization, this spirit of grace and mercy shapes it anew—away from a shallow gospel and toward the real, rich one. Away from one that’s about heaven at any cost and toward life abundant. Away from Christian Nationalism and right toward Christ.