MG Three Point One enters into his Exaltation

[Gadianton]

MG Three Point One enters into his Exaltation - or - Investigating the Religious mode of Kierkegaard,

a short story in four parts,
by,
anonymous.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Part I

Dear Diary,

Wait; that sounds secular. This is a journal. A "diary" is a catalogue for summers and recipes. A journal records important matters both secular and of spirit. Nephi kept a journal, as did I, in mortality.

Behold, I -- whoever I am -- do make this record for things of greatness, both of the heavens and of the earth.

Assuming earth still matters.

My last memory of earth has me on my back looking about a room. I am surrounded by people although their faces are blurry. I have a tube in my nose and it is irritating. The walls are familiar; those white walls with lots of pictures; the pictures are of temples. I know that they are temples even though in my mind's eye they are blurry. I'm at home. The people around me sing a hymn, an all time fave: How Great Thou Art. I feel a tear form as that blurry room melts into pure light, a light that pulls itself into a burning ring, a ring that extrudes into a fiery tunnel. I try to stop myself from getting pulled in but I can't! I can't even shut my eyes to block out the brightness.

I land in a giant chamber of a most fantastic white palace. It's filled with people, many in stadium seating and many standing around me. And there's a blinding light blasting straight at me, but I can't close my eyes, neither can my hands cover them. My hands -- they just go through each other! There are pictures streaming on the walls, as if a hundred movies are playing at once. I can recognize but a single face from the crowd -- a man standing just to the side of the blinding light. He smiles and nods. And then -- bam! -- I'm here. Not "here" here, where I'm writing this, but standing in a park, in this place. It's beautiful, my hands can feel each other again, and I'm wearing a robe.

I am alone. Although there are people around me and everyone is friendly, they are strangers. I chat with several of them about the weather and scenery. I can't even describe the mountains, they rise so tall in the distance. And the buildings far off -- they make up the city of all cities. I long to explore it, but the folks recommend I come here first. To where I am right now. A library. It's magnificent. And it's just a small local library from what I gather. Book shelves stack up ten stories high. The shelves are filled with books of all kinds, including stone tablets, plates, papyri, and electronic tablets along with media I don't recognize at all.

The librarian approaches me right way. A friendly woman with flowing auburn hair. Like everyone else, her features would put her at forty, yet with the color and texture of a person half that age. She got to the point, that everyone is overwhelmed upon arrival and the best thing to do is to grab a journal and start writing. It's literally scripture. And so I pick my medium; you can't believe the options, but I guess I'm old fashioned and opt for a hard-backed rectangle of a book with ruled pages. And a pen for writing. I want a pencil, but that is restricted! "Can't change scripture," she says. And she laughs. We both laugh. I can't even recall the last time I laughed that hard. They say people in heaven are boring but that is so untrue. You are totally allowed to be yourself and enjoy the moment. "You'd better enjoy it, they say, because there are a whole lot of those here!" -- the moments. Another wicked joke.

Now here I sit at a large, sparsely populated table, and I write. This was before. And after a bit of writing, a man takes the spot across from me and grins right at me. A square face topped with short, blonde, spikey hair. And he glows a little. I pull my head out of my journal to meet his gaze.

"I got something for 'ya buddy," he says.

I can't think of anything to say and so I just look at him like a scared kid on a playground.

He pulls something from a pocket of his robe and sets it on the table.

"A white stone," I say.

He grins big in return. "A white stone on white stone," he says, with his hand that deposited the saucer-shaped talisman still hovering over the epic stone table. As we both laugh, that hand pulls into a fist, his index finger springs out at me and his thumb pulls back. "Pew" he spits, softly, dropping his thumb as if it were the hammer of a pistol. I slap both of my hands over my heart as if I'd been shot.

"You got me," I say. I reach for the stone, eager to read what's inscribed upon its face. "MG Three Point One?"

The man turns out both his hands high in the air as he shrugs. "Mine says Ezekiel, but you can call me Zeke if I can call you G3."

I laugh, sort of. I mean, what am I supposed to think? That's my new name?

"Yeah, great, G3. Lord's got humor," I say.

Zeke puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together. " Jokes aside, G3, how 'ya doing? it's a heck of a trip."

"I'm more than a little confused. I love it so far, don't get me wrong, but it's --"

"Not what you expected."

"I mean, where am I really? It's got to be heaven, but, what about the Spirit World? Unless -- but we had to be right. Mormons had to be right."

"Whoah, hold up G3," he says, as his hands wave in my face as if to tell me to keep my voice down. "No idea who you're talking about." He whispers that last part as he looks around.

I ain't playing, and so I ask him straight.

"The Book of Mormon is true, right?"

"Certainly," he sniffs.

"Joseph smith is a prophet, and so is Russel M. Nelson?"

"Yeah -- and the Pope and whole lot of others aren't and they never were."

With that I can exhale. Not that I doubted, and I hope Zeke didn't take it that way.

"I can feel the table and my hands and everything -- what happened with the Spirit World? Aren't I supposed to go there first and be a missionary?"

"Did you serve a senior's mission in mortality?"

"No but..."

"Not your thing. No big deal. They say we go where we're most comfortable. Everything ultimately works out for each of us."

"True, but I intend to go to the very top. If you try to tell me I'm in the middle but it will 'work out', then I'm not interested. I need you to confirm I'm at the top."

"Top? Recall, there are three main levels plus outer, but within the top, which around here we call the Guild of Creators, or the Creator's Guild, there are three sub-levels. We're stage one; you and I both. Don't tell me you think you're stage 3 on the first day?" And he chuckles. "You have no idea the learning you must undertake. Sure, there's some Paul, but it's mostly James. You've got a long road ahead, pal."

So I think really hard about what he's saying, it's difficult to hear, but I like it. "Sterling McMurrin. Always learning. Always progressing," I say.

Zeke leans back, nodding. "The man was right, about a couple of very important things."

"So I'm resurrected and at the top, or at least, on my way to the top? But what about my wife, my kids and mom and dad? What about..."

"Your parents are here," Zeke interrupts, "they are quite busy, but you'll see them eventually. The rest of your family is doing great in mortality. No need to rush them. You're going to see everyone again."

Now I'm thinking. I need to connect with at least somebody from mortality. The new folks are nice, but it's not the same.

"Hey -- what about Richie? My uncle. He moved on a while back, but he told me to look him up as soon as I get here. He was making light of his situation, but even in humor, Richie always meant what he said on some level."

"Oooh," Zeke replies, face falling. "Richie. Hmmm." Zeke is scratching at his neck now. "He uh..."

"No way. He must be here. He was a Stake President! He did all this insurance stuff for the Church for free. Big family..."

Zeke rolls his head over those broad shoulders. He draws a long breath and lets it out slow, exaggerating.

"Out with it," I demand.

"Richie ain't here, G3, sorry."

"Well now you've got me worried, can we go see him?"

Zeke squirms. "I really hate to be so blunt, but no, we can't, he's kind of at the bottom. No can do."

I'm stunned. There must be a mistake.

Zeke continues. "Look, G3, you know the rules. We can visit a single level down; light of the moon we do; light of the star not ours. Richie did some great things, but he harbored dark secrets."

"We all make mistakes, Zeke."

"Richie's mistakes may have been greater than yours or mine. He was a member of an online forum that wasn't so good, that's the main issue."

"Well so was I. I hung out with a bunch of apostates. Jesus kept company with publicans. Big deal."

"Nothing like that, G3. Richie was big into the, er, red room community. A community about as underground as it gets. You don't just stumble in by accident and talk about the weather. I really don't like getting into details of these things, but we're talking the worst stuff you can imagine, and Richie; his chat log is the biggest cheer fest you've ever seen. "Oh come on! Get a saw with a duller blade! Make it last a little this time!" As just one of thousands of examples of things he said.

I try to blurt to Zeke's face that he's lying but I can't, somehow I know that he's not. For the first time, I feel a real loss.

"And there's more," says Zeke. "His job: he was running ponzi schemes all over the place. Bankrupted hundreds of fellow saints. Now, he did consult for the Church. He moved money around quite expertly -- he was trustworthy in that capacity, allowing the leaders to avoid knowing of problematic details, and that counted for something, but it wasn't enough."

I'm sitting defeated. Sulking at this point. It just couldn't be.

"You two have parted ways G3, and that's just reality. You both move on. Maybe there's someone else we can hook you up with?"

"Oh I know. Somebody I sort of knew. During my online community ventures, people called him 'DCP'"

"Perfect, G3." Zeke's eyes rekindle their sparkle. "Great call. He's totally here. Stage 1 like us."

"Really? Can we see him?"

"Absolutely, but, he's also busy, and so it can't be right away. But I can ask around."

"What's he up to?"

"He's a great example of what I'm saying, you know, about how people find their place. He works at the bar."

"Bar?"

"Yeah. As a witness. You wouldn't have guessed that, would you? Of all his options. For starters, in mortality, he earned a Phd. The Lord was tremendously impressed by that. And then, he travelled the world like crazy. Hot air balloons over Egypt, lunches with government figures of the Middle East. He ate the finest of foods and enjoyed acclaimed symphonies. And the universe being such a massive place, his talent to travel and speak with important people is sorely needed."

"What does he do as a witness?"

"Nobody gets resurrected without standing at the judgment bar. You did it and I did it. You don't remember it because his presence is too much. The Lord's, not Dan's. Over time, as you advance, your memories of the judgment will be restored. I had my first glimpse recently. Now, justice and mercy aren't set in stone. It's through a glass darkly. We, as active agents, make up the kingdom, and the order of things is a construct of our free agency. If our fate were set in stone, why have the judgement? That's the nonsense the Christian world believes. A witness such as Dan concerns himself over people others of the court might naïvely allow in. People who are members of the Church on Sundays but then criticize the brethren during the week. People who claim to believe the Book of Mormon is true, but then say it could happen just about anywhere or that it even might be fiction."

"I like to see people make it but somebody has to do what he's doing," I say.

"As do I. I'd be like, ah, c'mon, just give a guy a chance. Not Dan."

As Zeke carries on, my mind swims through questions, but I realize I'm getting off track and need to know more about my own situation here rather than worry about what's going on with others.

"So Zeke, if you don't mind, I am a little concerned that I didn't spend any time at all in the Spirit World. It doesn't feel right. Maybe I did and just don't remember it?"

"There's nothing to be concerned about, G3. Hey, do you recall in mortality, there was a psychologist who wrote some popular books about spirituality? Last name was Fowler. He came up with these levels or stages of spiritual progress, or of faith, as they used to say. Do you recall any of that?"

"Oh I do, now that you mention it. That was a big thing for me. One of the discoveries that really kept me in the boat."

"Where do you think you landed? What stage?"

Now I'm sweating. I'll look silly if I go too high, but go low and that itself betrays a low score. I guess it comes down to telling the truth.

"You know Zeke, I always thought I got to a four or a five. I'd like to believe that I did."

"You're wrong."

My heart sinks. Those naysayers in mortality, especially those on that apostate discussion board, they couldn't have been right.

"Tell me straight, Zeke."

"You landed a six."

I'm totally frozen.

Zeke continues, "Look, honestly, the Spirit World is for twos and threes. Gotta' have some fours to keep things on track, but around four or five, and definitely six, folks often pass right through and on to the judgment so they can get on with the real work. That doesn't always equate to the work in this kingdom. You might have a five who was a good Christian but couldn't accept the full truth, but that person might be sorely needed down a level. But a six like you in full fellowship? Well, you've got Stage 1's calling dibs on your time. We've got to get you into a full training regiment post haste."

My mind is racing now. The honor of my achievement, a wave of joy rushing over my raw senses, recedes from the bay and leaves me cold with crippling expectations. Should I have toned it down a little? Fumbled the ball once or twice on purpose?

"What do you want with me?" I ask.

Ezekiel pulls his arms to his side and his eyelids slump. "The Lord, G3. Not what I want. What he wants."

"What does he want?"

Ezekiel lowers his voice as he slowly leans forward. "Jesus wants you for a stage 3 architect."

And my nerves crumble. I glance around the grand shelves and epic stone tables of the library in search of a fellow desperate face, but the handful of patrons appear calm and confident in their tasks. How did they get off so easy? Are they fours, and so they have time to relax and figure things out? I want to leave, but I get the feeling my linebacker of a senior companion isn't going to allow that.

"I'm feeling a little rushed here, Zeke. I Know myself pretty well. Sure, I'd like to think I was a five, but if we're being realistic, a four is more like it. Mistakes can happen, Zeke, I think we should double check."

"Six. It's not a mistake."

I'm getting short now. "So what am I supposed to do? Read all these books? Maybe you can pick a good one, we can both read it and get a discussion going. I can't even imagine how long this is going to take."

"Look down," Zeke says; his eyes pierce me.

I gulp. "Down?"

He nods.

I slowly pull my chair back, sliding its feet across the large blue and gold throw rug spanning the length of our table and the width of the table's seating. As I catch the floor at just the right angle with my gaze, the rug dissolves and the entire room gives way to a bed of tightly packed crystals, or diamonds, and my hands fly to my face to cover my eyes. It's the noon-day sun reflecting from an ice sheet.

"You've got to look directly," he says.

No duh. That's what I'm trying to do but it isn't easy, that painful glare jerks your head back as you try and position it. I convince myself that it's an illusion, that I can't really get hurt here. So I brace myself and thrust my face straight to the floor and pull my eyes open as I scream at the top of my lungs. There's a blast of light and then the room disappears and I'm looking upon an empty field of wheat. It's serene and warm. But it's not exactly like being there, but like sitting in an IMAX multiplied by a hundred. And then the scene changes to outer space with nebula and stars. Totally cool. And then that changes to the surface of a burning sun and I can see right into it, the huge whirlpools of fire, and that's when I lose control again and jerk myself away.

I'm off my chair and standing. I'm looking directly into Zeke's blue eyes. He's smirking, still as a rose with his arms folded over his big chest.

"Did you see the star?" he asks.

"Yeah. I think so."

"You should have gone right into it."

"No way! My eyes are burning as it is."

"You're a being of flesh and bone, G3, you feel. These Christians, you know, they think they've made it as they float around in Spirit Prison. It's exactly what they expect heaven to be. And boy, are they confused when along come a couple of guys to tell them about the Book of Mormon. As spirits, you can't pick up a book, but you can talk about it. Want to know why you read the Book of Mormon so many times and memorize all those verses in seminary? Well, I was a missionary there, and I can tell you why."

Fun and goodness fills my soul once more and I can't help but chuckle at this "slick Willie" of a trainer I'd been assigned.

"Hearing you talk about it makes me wish I didn't skip a level, Zeke. I'd have loved to see you in action preaching down there."

"We've all got our path, G3. And your path starts with submersion exercises."

[Marcus]

A pleasure to read. Thanks, Gad.

[Everybody Wang Chung]

"I can feel the table and my hands and everything -- what happened with the Spirit World? Aren't I supposed to go there first and be a missionary?"

"Did you serve a senior's mission in mortality?"

"No but..."

"Not your thing. No big deal. They say we go where we're most comfortable. Everything ultimately works out for each of us."

"True, but I intend to go to the very top. If you try to tell me I'm in the middle but it will 'work out', then I'm not interested. I need you to confirm I'm at the top."

I’m loving this! Pure gold.

[MG 2.0]

MG Three Point One enters into his Exaltation - or - Investigating the Religious mode of Kierkegaard,

a short story in four parts,
by,
anonymous.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Good to know.

Regards,
MG

[Everybody Wang Chung]

"You're a being of flesh and bone, G3, you feel. These Christians, you know, they think they've made it as they float around in Spirit Prison. It's exactly what they expect heaven to be. And boy, are they confused when along come a couple of guys to tell them about the Book of Mormon. As spirits, you can't pick up a book, but you can talk about it. Want to know why you read the Book of Mormon so many times and memorize all those verses in seminary? Well, I was a missionary there, and I can tell you why."

Fun and goodness fills my soul once more and I can't help but chuckle at this "slick Willie" of a trainer I'd been assigned.

"Hearing you talk about it makes me wish I didn't skip a level, Zeke. I'd have loved to see you in action preaching down there."

"We've all got our path, G3. And your path starts with submersion exercises."

Dean, please tell me there is going to be a Part II.

[Gadianton]

Good to know.

Yeah well, don't let that stop you from testing the seed. I'll bet if you read at least 5 paragraphs, slow enough to follow it not just skim, that you'll totally get into it. touches on things you may have an interest in, including faith stages from different perspectives. I'll bet if you give it a try, you'll enjoy reading it MORE than reading the Book of Mormon.

[Gadianton]

Dean, please tell me there is going to be a Part II.

there already is a part 2, 3, and 4.

[Marcus]

Dean, please tell me there is going to be a Part II.

there already is a part 2, 3, and 4.

Excellent!

[Morley]

[Marcus]

Seconded.