I love living in this Buddhist country with its homogenous, religious unity and a Wat (temple) on every block. You can walk in with your own personal spirit, dressed in the clothes of your choice covering the required amount of skin and get a blessing without confessing. (Sorry, men filled with woe can not enter this temple.) Western man has basically brought God down to his own level and argues over who, why or what is immoral, illegal or fattening. As a young lad of ten, standing on the corner by the biggest Lutheran Church and the biggest Catholic Church in town, a younger lass of five or so asked me, “Which church do you go to?” I said, “First Lutheran.” She said, “Oh, you’re going to hell.” I smacked her in the face with my Bible. (Just kidding!)

In Asia you can worship a plethora of messiahs, spirits, ancestors, animals, minerals or vegetables. At some temple altar somewhere, nestled amongst the Buddha, the WhoHa and Jungle Creature Icons, a picture of Elvis and the King was prominently displayed. Elvis the King is certainly still a Rock ‘n’ Roll God in America and, in his final years, had the girth of Buddha because of his massive, decaying sweet tooth and an other-worldly spirit because of his excessive drug use. (Once I was six feet from Elvis. I visited his grave.)

Great clarity comes when people accept only one God, giving them the divine authority to invade other countries and save them from themselves. It gets confusing when people mingle, cultures blend and messages mix. Friends visiting a village in the hills asked about their beliefs. Their host said, “We worship Jesus,” and to verify his devotion, led my friends into the temple/church/sacred space/club house/whatever. Above the animist icons and Buddha statues hung a large, framed photo of the pope.

It can be confusing in heaven as well. I’m not sure which book, chapter and verse contains this parable, but one Christmas holiday, Jesus visited St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. Peter mentioned he was tired and hadn’t had a vacation for a few centuries. Jesus said, “Take a couple weeks off. I’d love to greet people here at the gates.” A few days later Jesus noticed an old man who looked very familiar and asked, “Excuse me, sir, were you a carpenter down on Earth?” The old man replied, “Yes, I was.” Jesus asked, “Did you have a son who left home at an early age?” The old man said, “Yes, I did have a son who ran away!” Jesus asked excitedly, “Did he have holes in his hand and holes in his feet?” The old man exclaimed, “Why, yes, he did! Why do you ask?” Jesus asked passionately, “Father?” The old man said quizzically, “Pinochio?”