Heaven’s consumption system doesn’t care about your job title or what number of a long time you spent on the clock—up there, the VIP perks are strictly based mostly on measurable efficiency metrics.
A distinguished minister died and located himself ready in line on the Pearly Gates. Straight forward of him stood a man who regarded like he belonged at a rock live performance: neon sun shades, a loud Hawaiian shirt, a leather-based jacket, and light denims.
Saint Peter regarded up from his huge ledger and addressed the trendy traveler. “Identify and occupation, please, so I can decide your standing.”
“Joey Shasta,” the person replied easily. “Retired business airline pilot.”
Saint Peter consulted the display screen, smiled warmly, and gestured to an angel. “Glorious. Hand Mr. Shasta his premium silk gown and his solid-gold workers, and escort him straight into the Kingdom’s luxurious suites.”
The pilot grinned, took his golden gear, and strolled by means of the gates.
Subsequent, the minister stepped ahead. He stood completely erect, cleared his throat, and let loose a booming, theatrical voice. “I’m Joseph Snow, senior pastor of Saint Mary’s Church for the final forty-three consecutive years!”
Saint Peter checked the ledger once more, nodded politely, and mentioned, “Ah, sure. Take this commonplace cotton gown and this wood workers, and luxuriate in your keep.”
“Maintain on only one minute!” the minister protested, deeply insulted. “That man was a primary airline pilot and he will get the VIP platinum bundle? I devoted almost half a century to the pulpit! How is that honest?”
Saint Peter shrugged and provided a peaceful, logical clarification:
“We function strictly on a curve of precise outcomes down on Earth, Pastor. Whenever you preached, everybody fell asleep. However when he flew, everybody prayed.”
