Starting with Heaven

A long time friend with whom I've shared most of my adult life experiences traveled to Wheaton Illinois to visit a friend who lives there. During her visit she and her friend took their young children to see the Billy Graham museum and told them that the museum had an exhibit that had been named "heaven." My friend noticed that her young daughter was especially excited to be on their way to "heaven." No one knew, however, that the child was expecting to see her little brother who had died in infancy before she was born. My friend's description of her daughter's disappointment brought tears to my eyes.

Years later I visited my daughter while she was a student at Wheaton College and one afternoon, in possession of a few quiet hours,  I visited the museum. Coming up to the information desk, I asked the receptionist where "heaven" was and noted a slight look of confusion. She pointed in the direction of what I assumed to be heaven and, having passed a shelve of books for sale "Heaven's" direction, came into a small, bright alcove which seemed to place me, mid-air, in blue sky and white clouds above and below my feet. Interesting, I thought as I experienced the eternity of smoke and mirror magic. Guessing I had arrived in the Heaven of the museum I was, like my friend's daughter, disappointed. Music at least would have helped, I thought, then wondered if perhaps the mid-air idea was meant to simulate the rapture, an idea that terrifed me when I was a child. But whatever I may have expected to see, this space didn't give me any new incentive to die. 

As I moved away from "Heaven," a recording of The Hallelujah Chorus suddenly blasted behind my back.  Returning to the lucite ledge I stood and listened, humming along on the alto line and remained standing there until the song ended.

Leaving Heaven, I approached the next exhibit and sat on a bench before a large screen and waited a few moments.  Nothing happened, so I read the message posted on the wall which described the video that was evidently supposed to be playing. Doesn't anything work around here? I mused. When I finally left that space, the video switched on and the film began. So I returned to the bench and watched. And so it continued as I meandered through the museum. I'd walk into one alcove or another, some with seats, some without, expecting my presence to flip some switch and signal a video or slide presentation or dialogue. At each space I paused and waited; leaving, I'd inevitably hear the sound of voice or music and realize that the action was happening behind my back. What a strange museum, I thought to myself.

It didn't occur to me until I had passed by Billy Sunday and the history of Salvation Army and finally the travels and accomplishments of George Whitefield that I had journeyed through the museum backwards and had experienced the history of Evangelicalism in reverse order.

I visited that museum multiple times thereafter, always beginning at the beginning. I have to say, though, that I didn't find those visits more interesting than the first. "Heaven" at that museum still seems a small reward for all the effort.