Opsías dé genoménēs [“when evening came”]. Heaven is Miller Time [I, and God, would pick a better beer, but that’s for a different time]. Heaven is the party in the streaming sunlight of the world’s final afternoon. Heaven is where all the rednecks, and all the wood-butchers, and all the plumbers who never showed up — all the losers who never got anything right and all the winners who just gave up on winning — simply waltz up to the bar of judgment with full pay envelopes and get down to the serious drinking that makes the new creation go round. It is a bash that has happened, that insists upon happening, and that is happening now — and by the sweetness of its cassation, it drowns out all the party poopers in the world.
Heaven, in short, is fun. And if you don’t like that, Buster (hetaíre [“friend”]), you can just go to…well, you’ll have to use your own imagination. You’ll need it: this is the only bar in town.
Robert Farrar Capon, Kingdom, Grace, Judgment, 397
