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In a very schmaltzy YA book<\/a> I read in middle school, a whole school bus load of middle schoolers died in a car accident and went straight to Heaven. I\u2019m pretty sure the protagonist and his eventual girlfriend got to come back to life by the end because they had Unfinished Business<\/a> back on Earth, but before they do, they get a preview look at Heaven as all their friends settle down for the rest of their afterlives.<\/p>\n The Heaven of this book most closely resembles a glitzy theme park. The children don\u2019t miss their earthly lives. In the Heaven of the novel, they get the opportunity to do everything they would have wished in life. Several of the students go to see Joan Jett in concert, an opera aficionado gets to sing the parts she longed for in front of full amphitheatres.<\/p>\n At first, when reading these descriptions, I was excited and jealous. I have a decidedly mediocre singing voice and a deep and abiding love of musical theatre. The idea of being able to play the parts I\u2019d dreamed of was deeply tempting, but a moment\u2019s consideration quickly dampened my enthusiasm. The Heaven of the novel sounded like a simple lowering of standards. The only way I\u2019d get a standing ovation as Emma Goldman in Ragtime<\/em> was either if the audience were composed only of clones of my tone-deaf father or was instructed to appear enthusiastic. A hollow victory.<\/p>\n But it\u2019s hard for a twelve year old to give up on instant gratification too easily. I rejected talent without effort and then, after a little thought, decided talent without training (the \u201cI know kung fu<\/a>\u201d ethos of The Matrix<\/em>) would be equally unfulfilling. I just couldn\u2019t imagine mastery without effort.<\/p>\n When I was trying to find the book again to link to, I was surprised to find it praised as contemporary Christian fiction, since I had been so repulsed by its puerile Heaven. Upon reflection, though, I\u2019m not sure how far off it is from mainstream Christian doctrine.<\/p>\n Ultimately, I rejected the gifts bestowed in the novel because I couldn\u2019t count myself the owner of my virtues in that universe. There was no possibility of feeling pride in my accomplishments. Which, I hear (from Lewis<\/a> anyway), is exactly the point.<\/p>\n In a Christian world, any ability I have to be good is given to me by the grace and mercy of Christ as gifts. I don\u2019t earn it, don\u2019t deserve it, and certainly have no standing to take pride in it. \u00a0It\u2019s undeserved grace<\/a>. \u00a0It\u2019s as miraculous, absurd, and, ultimately, as vaguely unsatisfying for me as any other magical gift.<\/p>\n I can be pleased with the kindness of a friend only as a gift of good fortune, undifferentiated from the providence of catching a lucky break in traffic on my way to work. \u00a0My friend\u2019s moral action is as impersonal and unmotivated as the eddy in the traffic pattern. \u00a0Presumably, in a religious framework, I would feel grateful to God for both, but I feel as unsettled and disappointed by this idea as I was by Magical Wish Granting Heaven. \u00a0To my mind, both profoundly devalue any human striving.<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n