The Journey: The Mudroom of Heaven

Grief and pondering life after death

See Part 1: My father’s last goodbye

There are moments in life that bring us face-to-face with ourselves – our identity – and what we believe. Part of grieving the loss of a loved one is the reordering of our life without that person. Until my father’s death, there had never been a time that he wasn’t a part of my life, my narrative of who I am. Even the bickering over driving directions was part of my life story with dad. So was sharing the love of sailing and a good scotch whisky.

For those with a belief in life after death, there is the question: “what happened to my loved one?” I lead a parish-based bereavement support group with participants from a variety of faith journeys.  While Christianity generally embraces the concepts of Heaven and Hell, I’ve found individual beliefs are as frequently based on conversations with friends and family as they are an awareness of what any organized religion teaches. Toss in the concept of Purgatory, and the waters become even more muddied.

Why are our concepts of life after death so varied? I believe this comes from our overall discomfort with death – our mortality and that of our loved ones. While we grieve the loss of a loved one from our day-to-day life narrative, we can draw comfort that mom or dad is “in a better place.” Or, we can find ongoing anxiety from the fear that someone we love is irrevocably in a place of eternal punishment.

My extended family is no different. We look like America: Catholic, Protestant, Pentecostal, Evangelical, non-denominational, spiritual-but-not-religious, and atheist. So, it is no surprise that we have differing beliefs and understanding of what happened to my father after his death.

Before Christianity became the state religion of Rome, there were many myths and misunderstandings of what Christians believed. And, when Christianity dominated the western world, Protestants and Catholics often held hearsay-based opinions of what the other believed. As our society enters a post-Christian era, I find many of my spiritual-but-not-religious and atheist friends have a similar straw man view of what Christians believe. Add to that a cultural sampling of eastern religion beliefs, and you have a potent mix of uncertainty, misunderstanding, and disagreement on what happens when we die.

It is not just my friends and family. The Pew 2014 Religious Landscape Study found 85% of Christians believe in heaven — defined as a place “where people who have led good lives are eternally rewarded.” Another 70% believe in hell — a place “where people who have led bad lives and die without being sorry are eternally punished.” Among Buddhists, 47% believe in heaven, while 32% believe in hell. Among religious “nones,” belief in heaven and hell is slightly higher than Buddhists. Surprisingly, five percent of atheists believe in a heaven and three percent a hell.

The mudroom of Heaven

The house I grew up in had what we called a back entryway. It was a small room off the kitchen where – after a day of sledding – we children entered through the back door and kicked off our dirty boots and shed soggy coats. In the spring, it was the room where I left my muddy shoes after an afternoon chasing frogs or building and demolishing dams in the nearby stream. I’ve since heard these back entryways referred to as mudrooms, a more apt description of ours. Woe be unto the child in our household who tracked mud throughout my mother’s clean house.

The mudroom – or back entryway – was a place for family members to enter the house. My wet and muddy dog was never to be granted entry, though she often tried. And strangers – perhaps wandering salesmen – came to the front door but were not admitted. The front door was for guests, friends, or family – without muddy boots and soggy play clothes. As married adults, my wife and I, in our clean clothes, came to the front door as welcome guests. The Christmas Eve we got engaged, this was the door we entered to cries of happiness, followed by oohs and aahs at the little ring sparkling from my future bride’s finger.

However, as a child, there was nothing quite like entering that back entryway after a freezing afternoon of sledding or romping in the snow. We kids piled our damp clothes on the radiator, our little bodies soaking in the warmth as the smell of cooking supper made our tummies growl. We were welcome home, and we knew it. But we also knew our mud was not. We had to be at least somewhat presentable before sitting down to supper. Depending on how dirty, soggy, or smelly we were, it could take a bit of time to become the presentable children we were expected to be. But home was home – the place where I belonged – and my mother loved her smelly, mud-caked son just as much as the cleaner version that emerged a few minutes later.

So, while it was true, we went straight from the outdoors into our house, it was also true that we had to enter through the back entryway for a little cleaning before being admitted to the dinner table from which my already presentable family impatiently called for me.

As a Protestant, I had a wrong concept of what the Catholic Church teaches about Purgatory. I emphasize here what the Catholic Church teaches, as opposed to what some Catholics believe. My misunderstanding of Purgatory was based, at least in part, not just on the misunderstandings of Protestants, but also ill-informed Catholics and former Catholics.

I believed you lived your life, and immediately following death, you woke up either in Heaven or Hell, depending on the state of your relationship with Christ. But I believed Catholics saw Purgatory as a second chance, a place where careless, sin-encrusted Catholics got another opportunity to either get cleaned up, or get kicked out of the house (Heaven) for good. If you failed in Purgatory, you went to Hell. If you succeeded, you went to Heaven. This all felt to me like a belief in works, not God’s grace, as the source of salvation.

Yet, I was keenly aware of my sinful nature – my attachment to sin – and that it was not a thing completely in the past. It was something I expected to struggle with until the day I died. While I had come to believe Christ had died to forgive my sins, it was not hard to believe I’d need a powerful shower of His powerful grace at death to cleanse me of my attachment to sin.

The Catholic Church calls this the final purification, or Purgatory. To me, it seems we could call this the mudroom of Heaven. If you’re not part of the family, you won’t be admitted to the house. But, if you are, you’ll have to kick off your muddy boots and get a good scrubbing before joining the family at supper. Here’s how the Catechism of the Catholic Church describes it:

All who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven.

The Church gives the name Purgatory to this final purification of the elect, which is entirely different from the punishment of the damned.
(1030 – 1031)

For my brothers and sisters who trust only the books of the Bible, there are supporting references.

1 Corinthians 3:12-15

Now if any one builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble — each man’s work will become manifest; for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. If the work which any man has built on the foundation survives, he will receive a reward. If any man’s work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire.
(NRSV-CE*)

Peter 1:6-7

In this you rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire, may redound to praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
(NRSV-CE*)

Matthew 12:31-32

Therefore I tell you, every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven men, but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven. And whoever says a word against the Son of man will be forgiven; but whoever speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come.
(NRSV-CE*)

In the case of Matthew, it is clear that at least some sins will be forgiven in the age to come. In the case of 1 Corinthians, we learn our works can be burned up, though we will be saved, but only as through fire.

Malachi 3:1-2 describes the messenger of the covenant – who Christians know as Jesus – as one who will be like a “refiner’s fire or like fullers’ soap.” Most of us understand a refiner’s fire. In ancient times as well as today, metals dug from the ground are impure. Refiners’ fires were part of the process of removing those impurities with great heat. Fewer of us today understand what fullers’ soap is used for. In ancient times fulling was part of the process in clothmaking that cleaned dirty lamb’s wool – removing oils and dirt – transforming it into something pure and white.

Writers of ancient scripture used analogies that people of their time and ours can understand. An analogy for our times could well be that back entryway of my childhood. A place where we leave behind the impurities that cannot be tracked into our home. Do we give that place of cleansing and forgiveness a name? We don’t have to, but we may call it Purgatory: the place of purging or purgation of sins. Or, if you wish, the mudroom of Heaven. But, you won’t be admitted to even the mudroom if you are not part of the family, one who died in God’s grace and friendship.

* Scripture quotations are from New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Note: Bible Gateway is a useful tool for comparing various translations of the Bible.