The Week Before

The week before my heart attack I was in Colorado. I was in Tennessee the week prior and California two weeks before. Airports are made for younger men, or at least men with golf clubs, not briefcases.

The airport at Burbank wasn’t too bad, but walking through the Denver airport was brutal. Atlanta, my starting point and ending point, was always brutal.
I’m talking about chest pain. I discovered I could walk about 30 yards, but then I had to stop, rest and  pop an aspirin tablet, crushing it with my teeth. Quite often, this made the pain go away.

I finally wised up and made the following doctor appointments:
December 8, my gastrointestinalologist. (I have Barrett’s syndrome, which is glorified heart burn in the upper gastrointestinal tract and sometimes heart attacks and heart burn feel about the same)
December 10, my cardiologist in the morning and rheumatologist in afternoon.
December 14, my internist and family doctor.

As you know, I didn’t make any of those appointments. My wife later asked why I didn’t insist they see me earlier. The answer: Because I’m a man.

Also, because twice in my life, ten years prior and 5 years prior I thought I was having a heart attack and went to the emergency room. The first time was excellent. I had visions of sitting in the waiting room for hours until I died, but they took me right in not even bothering to check my insurance. I was admitted, kept over night and given an angiogram (heart catherization) which showed I had no major blockage in my arteries, but a lot of small ones.
Following this episode I was put on several prescriptions for various heart related things and told to make yearly visits to the cardiologist. The official diagnosis was stress. Not a bad heart, just too much stress.

The second time, five years later, the culprit was indigestion.
I remember standing in our study, short of breath, saying to Barbara, “I don’t know if this is a heart attack or not, but I’d rather find out at the hospital than stay here and die on the floor”.

I’m not sure the hospital had their “A” team on the ER floor that day. The welcome wasn’t quite as positive and it went down hill quickly once they determined my chest pains and shortness of breath were caused by a Mexican and Italian diet rather than bad valves or veins.

So, I was confused. At this point I was almost willing to die, just to prove a point. “I told you I was sick”, my tombstone would boast. But the big enchilada finally hit Dec. 3, 2009, late at night, and it was a pain that had me begging for mercy.

Thursday Becomes Friday

The flight from St. Louis to Atlanta was uneventful, except for being late. I took the shuttle to the off-site parking venue I use, and naturally was the last person to be squired to their car. This was because the shuttle driver 4 days prior had written the wrong space number on my ticket and now we couldn’t find my car. We were driving around a 10 acre lot, clicking my key lock to see if any lights came on. We found it and an hour later I was home.

Being empty nesters (our youngest, Parker, was a delta chi pledge 240 miles away at the University of Alabama), Barbara wasn’t crazy about me being gone and leaving her home alone. So we communicated through the night via texting. Keep the lights on, close the garage, I’ll use my remote to get in. Good night.

Thursday morning came. I probably slept in. The only thing on my calendar, written later, are the words heart attack! After a Sunday thru Wednesday road trip, I needed an office day. Friday’s calendar was packed with appointments, contract signings, business deals and a baptism that evening for a friend’s new baby boy. I retired from being a United Methodist Pastor 10 years before, but I occasionally officiated a wedding, funeral or baptism.

But why am I talking about Friday. I don’t even remember Friday. I just know the contracts didn’t get signed and the baby didn’t get baptized.

Thursday was a good day. Slept in…I think. Did my work. That evening, Barb and I went out to meet friends for food and fellowship. In the car, I handed her a list of my prescriptions and told her if I had a heart attack to take me straight to Atlanta's St. Joseph’s hospital. In other words, drive past the closer hospitals and get me to the one known for their heart program. I’m sure she thought I was crazy, but somehow I knew it was coming.
That night, about 11:30 pm, I awoke with chest pains. I crept out of bed, went downstairs to the kitchen and crunched an aspirin. Then I waited. No help, so I did another. Still no help, so I did one more.

I was walking back to the stairs to go back to bed when I realized this is bad, really bad. I sat down on the bottom step and took stock of the situation. I called out to Barbara to take me to the hospital. She came to the top of the stairs from the bedroom. “I’m having a heart attack. I need to go to the hospital”. She understood.

People ask me what a heart attack feels like. There are different symptoms. Shortness of breath, sweating, nausea, pain in the chest, arms, jaw or neck are some of the typical symptoms. On this occasion I would describe it as “an elephant standing on my chest”. I later learned this is a well used phrase among the heart afflicted.

I knew this wasn’t indigestion. I also knew I didn’t have long. The kind of heart attack I was experiencing is called the “widow maker”. It is a complete blockage of the LAD (left anterior descending) artery which takes oxygen rich blood to the front of the heart. One doctor told me you usually have about five minutes to get help when this happens. I would say the crushed aspirin probably stretched my time limit to 10 minutes, because that’s how long it took to leave this world.

Barbara did a great job calling 911. I had previously asked her to drive me to the hospital instead of calling 911, but she is smarter than me and wisely called for help. She came down the stairs with a pair of jeans in hand.  Do you know how difficult it is to find a pair of jeans that fits just right. Well I had finally found a pair I liked. Within a few minutes the emergency room staff would be frantically cutting the jeans off of me never to be seen again.
By this time I was sitting in a living room chair with my legs sprawled out in front, Barbara trying to dress me.

She went to call 911 again. “They are on the way”, she reported. And then they came. I wasn’t sure they would take me seriously so I said, “I’m having a heart attack”.

Since they didn’t answer right away, I then asked quietly, “I am having a heart attack aren’t I”?

I reported on my aspirin consumption. They took my blood pressure, did some other things then put me on a stretcher and loaded me into an ambulance. The EMT, a kind and competent fellow, placed a sublingual nitroglycerin tablet under my tongue. But I was gone.

My Heart Stopped

I woke up 2 weeks later with quite a story to tell.

Except I couldn’t talk because the ventilator in my throat and the l4 or so other tubes and devices attached to me kept me tied down and quiet. My only recollection of the event is what I  just described. But I knew I had died and gone to meet Jesus. That was very real.
I also had 2 weeks worth of really strange dreams.

As the emergency vehicle pulled out of the driveway, Barbara called Tommy and Ellen Youngblood, good friends who had been with us earlier. Most of what happened next is reported through their eyes. They met Barbara at the North Fulton hospital, about 6 miles from our home, arriving just after the ambulance.

My heart had stopped and the E.R. staff used defibrillator paddles to shock my heart. Barbara reported I sat straight up. I told her I died but not to be concerned because I was ready to go. Apparently this happened twice. I don’t remember this but Barbara, Tommy and Ellen remember it well. Tommy brought his Bible to the hospital. I had given it to him years before when I was his Pastor. He went outside, squeezing his Bible now worn with use, and asked God to let me live.

A helicopter had been summoned and I was airlifted to Piedmont Hospital, downtown Atlanta. I don’t know how that decision was made, but it was a great one. Tommy said as I was being wheeled out to the helicopter, I looked up and gave him a thumbs up. I don’t remember but I must have been trying to look positive. Someone described my look as the kind you get in western movies when the cowboy tries to remove an arrow from his own chest. The bill for the helicopter ride was $15,000 and I don’t remember any of it but I know it was worth every penny. I later had a vague notion of feeling my toes hanging out the door, but I’m not sure. If I hadn’t been told I went for a helicopter ride, I know I would never remembered it.

The heart doctors I thought so much of, who worked with St. Joseph hospital, had recently moved to Piedmont. I asked Barbara how she knew to send me to Piedmont and she replied she didn’t. The emergency room physician at North Fulton made that decision. As it turns out, my brother in law, Terry McGuirk, serves on the board of directors for Piedmont hospital and some of the best and brightest heart doctors just happened to be on call. Although it would be two weeks before I could see him or shake his hand, that night I met my newest best friend, Dr. Victor Corrigan, who literally saved my life.  Turns out his daughter and my son both attend the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa.   But, what a great doctor.   I have been known to study the ways and credentials of my doctors and he is the best of the best.

Sometime about 1 AM or so, Dr. Corrigan opened my left anterior descending artery via angioplasty, using a balloon to restore blood flow. He then inserted a small stent to hold it open. Dr. Corrigan’s credentials are amazing and to have him be on call that night, already at the hospital, saved a tremendous amount of time and in this case, time is heart muscle. But I did lose heart muscle that night. I will now live with congestive heart failure as my diagnosis. But because of Barbara’s quick thinking, the agility of the EMT team, the great job by the emergency room team, the helicopter pilot and crew and ultimately Dr. Corrigan and the Piedmont Physicians group, I am here to tell the story.

Heaven, Part 1

So tell us the story.

That’s what most people ask me to do. They want to know what it’s like to be “absent from the body and present with the Lord”. Keep in mind I was only there a matter of minutes or maybe just seconds. But there is no concept of time in heaven as you and I know it. That is why God can give each of us so much personal attention. Spending time with me doesn’t take Him away from you. It is like reading a novel, putting it down for a few hours, then picking it up again. The characters are right where you left them. I think C.S. Lewis first understood that concept.

I don’t remember bright lights, choirs of angels or legions of dead relatives coming to meet me. But then, I was never given the gift of observation. I could easily tour the Vatican without seeing a priest or statue. I tend to have tunnel vision and a very bad memory. My dead relatives were probably busy digging up the streets of gold and the choirs of angels realized I preferred rock-n-roll.

Perhaps you have read or heard Don Piper’s similar account, 90 Minutes In Heaven. I didn’t want to read his or anyone else’s account until I had clarified in my mind what happened to me.  He heard singing, saw people he knew, and experienced a more detailed glimpse of heaven than me.

My last earthly memory was the EMT saying he was placing a pill under my tongue. Somewhere in time, either in that ambulance or in the emergency room or both, I suddenly found myself standing in a short line directly facing Jesus. He was speaking to the person in front of me. I was totally amazed he was taking so much time with that person. He was in absolutely no hurry. And He was the embodiment of what I now call love.

His love was contagious, refreshing and so perfect. I felt at home, peaceful and safe. There was no mystery or confusion.  Everything made sense.  And there was no feeling of condemnation.  To the right was a wall with a door or gate. Let’s just call it an entrance. Clearly I knew this was the door to “heaven”. We seemed to be in heaven’s front yard. Later I thought of Samuel Shoemaker’s story, “I stand by the door”.

The person in front of me had no distinctive features I can recall, except I somehow knew he was male, and I later remembered he was probably of the region in or around India.  At the time, it didn't matter.  Where you were from held no importance, a total non issue.   I also realized I was going to leap to the head of the class somehow because I recognized who Jesus was and had accepted Him as Lord and Savior here on earth. But watching and listening to Christ deal with this soul, who had apparently never heard of Him on earth, or at least never seriously considered accepting Christianity, was thrilling.

I am finally writing this six months later, so I will not be expected to quote word for word. In essence, Jesus was witnessing to this person, not preaching, more like explaining or teaching. He was doing what we should have been doing here on earth. He was explaining to this man, his “options”.

“Okay. So you have arrived here from earth. I am glad you are here. As you know now, there really is an afterlife. I am the one on earth, they call Jesus. You may not have heard of me (Jesus is being gracious). Here in heaven, I live with my Father and Our Spirit and this is our home”. “You are welcome here”.

The temptation here is to put words in Christ’s mouth, invent fanciful dialogue and become the heavenly wordsmith. Let’s just agree that the previous statement was made in a universal language that sounded like English to me, but was understood by all. The point was to introduce, with love, the soul to heaven…a place he may not have heard of, believed in, or wanted to be in. Trust me, it all made sense when you were there.

So next, he asked the man if he wanted to get in the Baptist line or the Methodist line…JUST KIDDING!

Seriously, what happened next was totally amazing.

Heavenly Intermission

Before we get to the rest of the story…let’s review what this blog is about.  (My heart attacked was December 3, 2009.  I began writing in June, 2010)

This is an account of a 56 year old man having a fatal heart attack.

It chronicles him living, working, then dying...talking to Jesus in heaven’s waiting room, then waking up in the CCU of a downtown Atlanta hospital. He realized he acted stupidly not taking his symptoms seriously. He was a believer in Christ. That should count for something. He loved his family and his God, but it happened anyway.

He is alive on earth today because people prayed, God heard, and apparently God determined that to not restore the departed (in this case, me) would cause some to doubt the power of prayer, the love of God and even to question the very existence of the Almighty. Also, by restoring the man to earth, it was determined he probably wouldn’t hurt anything back there too much and heaven could continue on normally for awhile longer without the saints getting upset about God’s grace being so tremendous it could even make room for a fellow like this.

Later, we will discuss heaven, hell and purgatory. We will also discuss Lazarus, Dorcas (also known as Tabitha), the widow’s son from Nain, and Jairus’ daughter. These are all New Testament cases recording death and coming back to life. We will also discuss the experiences of a few present day folk who, like me, died and somehow made it back to the land of the living. All in due time.

For now, let me make it clear I am not an expert on any of the above. I’m not even an expert on my own experience. It is just my experience.

If you want to know about life and death, heaven and hell, God and Jesus, I suggest you read the Bible.  I am more convinced the Bible is faithful than I am my own experience. But I am convinced my experience is valid. It is faithful, it is legitimate, it is true. I believe it is Biblical, but I have to read some passages in a new way, looking through lenses I didn’t wear before. Let me say it this way: I believe the Bible, I believe my experience, and I believe the two are compatible. You can make your own determination. In fact, I hope some will point out any flaws, if they exist, so they can be corrected if possible. I know several folk who have the gift of flaw finding, so I’m sure we will have numerous revisions.

When in doubt, believe the Bible. John Wesley preached what he called the "quadrilateral". Four things. When seeking truth, he said, ask four things.

Is it scriptural? What does the Bible say? If the Bible clearly speaks to the subject, the matter is done.

If you are not sure, you can then inquire what tradition teaches. What did the church fathers believe on this subject? What is the tradition of the Church?

If still not certain, you can ask, “What is reasonable? God is logical, reasonable, and therefore so is truth. Does it appear reasonable that this would be so?

Last, you can ask, if still not sure, “What is my experience?” A person’s experience is very powerful, but as you notice, Wesley places it last in the sequence.

A wise thing, because we can sometimes become overly involved in ourselves and not see the bigger picture. Some of us are even prone to exaggeration, lack of vocabulary, or hastiness in describing our experience. We don’t mean to lie or mislead, but we somehow forget to say the truth in a way others can understand.

For further study, I suggest you obtain the Bible of a really good Christian, the kind that already has the good parts underlined and highlighted. Young people today like to buy used worn out blue jeans. They should also buy used Bibles. Perhaps find a concordance, either Cruden’s or Strong’s. A concordance is a book that has every word in the Bible listed alphabetically, so if you want to look up “Dorcas”, you just thumb to the D’s and there it is. It tells you she lives in Acts 9:32-43.

Even if you don’t find exactly what you are looking for, you will discover reading and studying the Bible won’t hurt you. For example, in looking up Lazarus (lay-Lebanon), I found there was another Lazarus in the New Testament besides the one Jesus brought back from the dead by saying, “Lazarus arise”. Why don’t you read his story? He knew something about death, too. One is in Luke 16 and the other in John 11, the third and fourth books of the New Testament respectively.

I also found there were several pages, hundreds of references maybe thousands, related to the word “law”.

I found this, looking for Lazarus. It goes on and on and on. Very interesting. Because when Jesus took time for me December 3, 2009, “law” was a word I never even thought about. The first word that came to mind was “grace”.

Because of grace, I won't be fearing death. And now, the rest of the story...

O Happy Day

Ok.  I had a massive heart attack. My heart went into ventricular fibrillation. (Think of a fish on the dock twitching and finally still). The medical team was able to get my heart working again. But some critical heart muscle was damaged on the lower front ventricle. Barbara kept a prayer journal, and a personal diary of the first few weeks. It was a wonderful gift to me because I wasn’t aware of who was there, or who was doing what. Once I regained awareness, the journal ended. It describes the many people coming and going, the generous acts of friendship, doctors giving grim reports and trying new things.

During those first two weeks, no one knew if I would live or die. Barbara literally collapsed the day the Doctor announced a heart transplant was the only hope. After Christmas, we would wonder how well I would live. I insisted on coming home for Christmas, so they dismissed me Dec. 23. I couldn't even walk.  I was back the next day.

At home, Gary, Micah, Parker and Tim had to literally carry me to bed. Micah and Gary went out and bought me a bed for downstairs, but I never used it because Christmas Day Tim, Gary and Parker orchestrated a midnight ambulance run back to Piedmont hospital in Tim’s van. I was almost a goner. No oxygen, no blood pressure. So I stayed that night in the ER and a couple more weeks on the third floor
.
I remember the day the doctor told me it would be 2 years before my lungs would heal enough for me to resume normal activities. And my heart ejection fraction was only at 20% on a good day. Today my lungs are perfect. I know my heart is damaged, but with good medicine and common sense, I believe it can fully heal.  I work out over an hour every day. I walk farther now than I ever did before.

Heaven, Part 2 is coming. But stay with me on earth for a while longer. I want to tell you about my family and friends.

Just as miraculous and wondrous to me is the story not of what God did, but what people did. Micah (who would later have quadruple bypass surgery in January 2013), Tim and Sue, Mary and Gary came immediately from Kentucky. They didn’t know if they were coming to a funeral or for a hospital visit. Gary, being a Doctor, was able to ask the right questions and interpret the answers for everyone. Having an M.D. for a son in law is a great thing. I highly recommend it.

Barbara called her sister, Nancy, who was in Washington D.C. with her husband, Terry McGuirk. Terry picked up the ringing phone sometime before dawn and Nancy was on the next plane to Atlanta. Barbara stayed at her home the next two weeks near the hospital and the two were together throughout the whole ordeal.

The cards, letters, notes, etc. literally filled a grocery bag. Our friends from the American Legion, Milton High School, the University of Alabama, Church, work and everywhere else just kept coming. Of course I didn’t know it. But I later read about it.

The attack came December 3, 2009. The pictures of me in the hospital on this blog are from that period Dec. 3- Dec. 14. (Photographer was my brother, Tim) And then something must have happened.

From Barbara’s journal: Tuesday, Dec. 15 “Nancy and I walked in this morning and could not believe our eyes. You had the tube out of your throat and I was so happy to see you. Happiest Day of my life!”

The Heart of the Matter

by Nancy McGuirk

When the phone rang I could hardly make out my sister Barbara’s frantic words. Sobbing uncontrollably, she shouted, “Danny had a heart attack late last night! I’m at the hospital now and they don’t know if he is going to make it!” In total disbelief and trying to process what I just heard, I said, “I am leaving now and will be praying all the way there!” My husband and I were in Washington, D.C., visiting my daughter at the time but I immediately booked a seat on the next plane to Atlanta.

As I drove to the hospital I had so many mixed emotions: disbelief (“This can’t be happening.”), fear (“What would my sister do without him?”), and then, strangely, peace. This was not just my dear brother-in-law—this was my “preacher” brother-in-law. If there was a man who had lived “after God’s own heart” it was Danny. His life was filled with years of helping others grow in their faith and I suddenly knew if it was his time, he was in the best of hands—and the last person I needed to worry about.

But when death is knocking at the door—whether it’s your own door or that of a loved one—life suddenly stops and what matters most rushes to the surface. All I could think of were the apostle Paul’s well-known words, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). If we are living for Christ (as Danny was), life is great. Or if we are dying, and will be with Christ, life is great. With Christ at the center, life is a win-win. And Danny couldn’t lose either way.

As I sat in the waiting room of the hospital I began to reflect on what was going on. The heart is an amazing organ, truly the most important in the human body. It is the organ that keeps life-giving blood flowing through the body. It is the first to function when we begin our existence and the last to cease to operate when death arrives at our door.

But the importance of the physical heart is actually overshadowed by the importance of the spiritual heart—the seat of our affections and the center of our soul. God says that the object of our heart’s affections is the most important thing in life.

I saw my sister’s beautiful heart as she sat by the bedside of her sedated husband and held his hand and talked to him. I saw their son, Parker, display his heart’s affections for a father who seem to hang suspended between life and death. Doctor’s and nurses revealed kind hearts in their care, and friends revealed passionate spiritual hearts as they prayed for their friend’s recovery. All these hearts, revealed in so many ways, reminded me again that loving God and loving others with all our hearts is what really matters.

I will never forget the day Barbara and I walked in the room and Danny was awake. What a miracle! His heart was better and he was getting stronger. But this experience made all of us stronger. We were reminded that, as critical as the physical heart is, it’s the heart that loves that makes life really possible.

Your Prayer(s)

Why doesn’t God heal everyone? Why do some prayers seem to be answered and lives are saved, and other times people die? At least in this case, I think I know.  One of you made the difference.

I attended Asbury Seminary when Dr. Frank Bateman Stanger was President.  I later became his pastor when he retired.  I will never forget writing a doctrinal statement (for Christ Church, Lexington, Ky),  "What we believe", and then nervously calling Dr. Stanger after I wrote and published it asking, "Is this what I believe?"  
He assured me it was.  Healing of the body was part of the statement...a very small part.  But I was heavily influenced by him  in so many ways.  He was the first "main line" United Methodist protestant to teach and  practice divine healing.  (I like to say I was the second.)  At the end of his life, and the end of my pastorate in Kentucky, he asked me to perform (perform is such a wrong word) a service of healing for him.   I followed all the steps he had taught me (they are in his book).  He wanted to keep it private, although he believed healing was a community (church) ministry.  So it was what I would call semi/private.   It was only private in the sense that people with negative attitudes were not invited.  If you were there, you remember.

The Seminary President before him, Dr. J.C. McPheeters was also one of my mentors.   When Dr. McPheeters was 92, I was 29.   We went on a ten day hunting trip to South Dakota together.   Dr. "Mac" had been healed of tuberculosis many years before.  At 92, he could lift more weight than any college kid he challenged.  He could also physically wear out a 29 year old by making him haul his barbells around....but

I will tell you much more about Dr. Stanger and Dr. McPheeters in future chapters.   But let me get back to my story for now...     

I pray in different volumes.  God knows this. He understands. When things are going well, I tend to be more academic and businesslike in my prayer life. But when I fall in a pit, I yell, “God get me out”, and I mean it.

Frankly, I didn’t have time to pray. I was too busy telling the EMT’s my pain level between 1-10 was a 10. I was busy remembering all the stupid things I had done in my life. I was ready to die in the sense of going to heaven. I have had that assurance… through grace… for over 40 years.

But I wondered what unfinished business would come back to haunt me. Were all the bills paid? Will Barbara find the will? Being devoted to my job, I thought, “I can’t die now. I have two organizational meetings and two contracts to sign today”.

Being devoted to my family, I wondered, “When did I last tell Barbara and my kids how much I loved them?” I was too busy thinking to pray.

So instead, you prayed for me.

Barbara kept a wonderful journal starting that night. “To my precious darling, Danny…a journey none of us will ever forget”, it began. “To my loving, precious husband, we are all praying for you and love you with all our heart!”

That journal, and the prayers inside, saved my life. At the time most of it was prayed and written, I was unconscious with a badly damaged heart (possibly awaiting a transplant) , lungs suspected of having pneumonia and not a good outlook at all. Many of you wrote your prayers in the journal. Most are way too private to print here without your permission. Some were serious, some funny.

My high school friend, Ben Ferrell, flew in from Tulsa. “Alright, Danny…you’re gonna have to get up and go.”, he wrote. “Coach Johnson about killed us…we survived that”. Anyone reading this who grew up playing football with us in Kentucky understands. A heart attack is nothing compared to two-a-days under Coach Johnson or Coach Walton. “You are a fighter, you can make it. The Lord of Hosts is with you. In Jesus Name we stand and fight for you and your life.” Believe me, when you have a heart attack, you want Ben Ferrell on your side.

These beautiful, written prayers from family members Tim, Sue, and Nancy,  and friends like Kim, Marty, Tony and Penny andmany  others unsigned, were heard and heralded. Prayer requests went out from Nancy (Barbara’s sister) to the Atlanta Women’s Bible Study, from Warren Lathem to the facebook community, to the Olan Mills family where I had worked…and many more networks too numerous to mention.

My children prayed. My wife prayed.  Those who know me the best prayed with those to whom I was only a name and opportunity to see what God would do.

So I firmly believe my life was spared because to not do so would have irreparably damaged the faith of one of you. I don’t know which one, maybe more than one. But I think I know at least one. In other words…amidst all the hundreds of prayers…one of you made the difference. And it wasn’t because you were a spiritual giant God owed a miracle to. It was because your faith and future lay in the balance.

So now I know. We have all prayed and won. We have all prayed and lost. We have all prayed and wept, "Why God, why?" So now I know.  Sometimes, for some reason, one prayer really matters. If you meditate on this, I think you may understand and know, too.

Through my eyes...

By Gary Wortz, MD / Son in Law

I'll never forget the text message waiting for me on my phone the morning of December 4th. It was a dark cold morning in Kentucky, and I was the first one up. Upon waking, I noticed a text message waiting for me from Tim Philpot, Danny's brother. In all too calm and plain text, it simply said

"Call me when you get up".

 I was not prepared for the message I would get. Tim explained that Danny had a massive heart attack, and was in the ICU. I immediately went back upstairs, told Mary the news, and then in an oddly responsible manner, went to work to take care of my own patients who were scheduled to see me that day. I had a long drive to work, and my mind began racing. Which artery? How long to treatment? Did he take aspirin? Why did this happen? ICU? That can't be good...

Tim told me he was on his way down to Atlanta from Lexington, and he would give me an update as soon as possible.

The rest of that day was a blur. As soon as I got home, we left for Atlanta. I remember getting to the hospital at just before 11pm and rushing into the ICU just before visiting hours were cut off. I knew what he would look like. I was scared that Mary and Micah would be shocked though.

The ICU is a place you don't ever want to be in. There are no good reasons to be there. If the walls could talk, they wouldn't begin to tell the heartaches that have taken place there. It is not a place where Karma is respected. In fact the rule of the hospital is the more tattoos and less teeth you had, the better your chances of survival. However, it was the good who die young, and the upstanding citizens that get the raw deal in here.

The ICU can be a place of detachment between life and living, between people and personhood, between the body and the being. There is no way around it. People become boiled down to a summation of their diagnoses. You might hear

"who's got the LAD infarct in 7"

 (Translation:who is the nurse taking care of the guy who had a massive heart attack in ICU bed 7). The problem was the LAD infarct in 7 actually happened to be my father in law. My job was to let the hospital staff know that Danny Philpot was not just an LAD infarct, and that it really mattered that he got better.

As the only physician in the family, I was the point person to try to put Danny's condition, and prognosis in perspective. This was a job I was somewhat uncomfortable with, but nevertheless, I had to rally to perform. I am an eye surgeon, and as such, specifically migrated away from critical care. I've never been good at giving bad news, and I was struggling to find any good news to tell the family.

So, when we saw Danny, he looked just like I had suspected. Multiple IV lines, many "drips" of medications, an endotracheal tube and a ventilator. Not a pleasant sight. Essentially, he was being kept alive by the machines. To make matters worse, there was a suggestion of pulmonary edema, as well as an aspiration pneumonia. He had a fever, and the more data I gathered, the more bleak the outlook. Here were the facts: LAD infarct after prolonged angina. Cardiac arrest. Ejection fraction of 10%. Pulmonary Edema, Fever, and aspiration pneumonia. If I had to give odds, I would have put the chance of any meaningful quality of life at less that his ejection fraction. The only thing I could come up with to tell everyone was "He is stable, and right now, stable is all we can hope for".

The rest of December was touch and go. We made so many trips to Atlanta that I can't really even remember exactly how many trips we made. We kept hoping we could see Danny when he woke up, but it just never seemed to happen. Finally, the sedation was weaned off and amazingly he came back to life, or at least that's how it seemed. Then, the next thing we knew he was home for Christmas.

The pop drop is a term ER docs use to describe a family that drops off a family member with a chronic debiliating disease in the ER so that they can go off on a vacation over the holidays. In some ways, this was a reverse pop drop. Danny wanted to be home for Christmas, and they were willing to give him that chance. However, when we arrived in Atlanta for Christmas, Danny looked really bad. He could not even transfer from his wheelchair to the recliner. We were glad to see him, but I was very concerned that he still needed to be in the hospital. Throughout the day, we attempted to make the house more accesible for Danny, and Tim and I even went and bought him a roll away bed so he did not have to climb the stairs to sleep. As the day turned to night, it became more evident that the situation was turning more serious. I insisted we go the ER, and Danny agreed. His blood pressure was about 60/30. Clearly he was in serious condition. He was readmitted to the hospital, and eventually made the recovery we have all been amazed to witness.

So, what is the meaning of this story? On the surface, you may be able to dismiss this as a story of a guy with bad cholesterol, bad cardiovascular luck, who ended up receiving great care from a great team of doctors and now is going on with his life. I don't really see it that way. To me this has been a story of faith. My education and training told me to expect the worst, but my faith told me believe in the great physician. This has been a story of family also. I have always loved my father in law and my wife's Atlanta family, but distance has always been a barrier to connecting on a deeper level. Through this experience, I have gained relationships that I always wanted, but never knew how to develop.

This is also a story of second chances and reprioritization, and I mean this for me rather than anyone else. I have learned that every day with my family is precious, and to live every day like it might be my last. Every day someone is dying, having a heart attack, getting cancer, or developing a chronic disease. Don't blame God when your number is called. Just thank him every day it is not.

December 4, 2009

by Tim Philpot (my brother)

December 4, 2010

Danny,
It has been a year since we got the call that you had a massive heart attack and might not make it. You can imagine that such a call in the middle of the night is quite a shock. I knew you looked a lot healthier than you really were so I was not shocked in one sense but I was scared and frantic that it might be over. No more time to fix whatever needed fixing.
Thank the Lord your heart is being fixed. You had great doctors and good friends and family nearby to get you through.
Your blog about a ‘fixed heart’ has been a good thought provoker and I really appreciate it. It seems easy to have all the answers in our 20’s but now, getting close to 60, I’m not sure about a whole lot. Once I get past Jesus Himself, I start getting confused, so I have no problem with any new insights you can give me on life and God and heaven. My mind and heart are more open now than when I was young. I thought I would have more answers at 60 than 20 but not so.
You may recall an old book from 1956 which I just found a couple of weeks ago: “Evangelistic Sermons from Great Evangelists”. This was way before evangelist was a dirty word thanks to TV guys who came after dad. I am sure dad was thrilled to be called one of the ‘great evangelists’ in the book. He had only graduated college in 1950 and had been a Christian less than 9 years, so you can imagine how he felt to be included in the book, among the ‘great evangelists’ like Billy Graham.
Sermon 9 in the book is “A Fixed Heart for a Confused World” by Ford Philpot. I think I remember him preaching this sermon, and I am sure you stole the sermon and made it even better. Dad’s bio in the book ends with “The Rev. Mr. Philpot was married in 1940 to Virginia Robinson. They have two sons, Timothy Neil and Mark Daniel.”
I was 5 and you were 3. This was a time when we were totally secure in the love of God and our parents and probably where we need to return. Secure in the love of God and family.
It is literally taking us an entire lifetime to even begin to understand what it means to have “a fixed heart for a confused world”. It was easier at 5 than 50. Being secure in the love of God has to be where it starts and part of that journey is simply returning to where we were at 5 and 3.
What a great title though for your blog and dad’s sermon. Most versions of Psalm 57 talk about a heart that is “steadfast” or “confident” or “prepared”. Only really the KJV or older versions say a “fixed heart”, but I really like it because of the double meaning. He fixes our heart (Physically and spiritually) but only when we “fix” our broken and sick heart on Him. We need to get ‘fixated’ on Him. Jesus fixed your heart with help of doctors, and you are becoming fixated on Him. I like that.
It is now time for me to tell you a little story. However, frankly, it is too private to put on your blog for the world to see, so I will send you an email later.
In short, thanks to this heart attack and the wake up call that it provided you and all the family, I have graduated to a point that I can say I love you and mean it. I am thankful for your new life and sure the Lord sent you back this way for a purpose that is good.
Have a great 1st anniversary of being ‘saved’ again.
I love you,
Tim

Tim, I love you, too.  You are the best big brother a guy could ever hope for.
Danny

Sue's Prayers

by Susan Philpot (Sister in law)

Dear Danny,

What a blessing to read your emails. The Lord answered prayer and we are most thankful.
I wanted to respond with some of the Scripture and prayers I claimed for you (written in my prayer journal) from the day it happened for about three weeks.
• I Peter 5:10-11 “and the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm, and steadfast. To Him be the power forever and ever. Amen.”
Jesus, you are the God of grace! I pray for Danny as he suffers for a little while to be restored. You will make him strong, firm and steadfast. By your power, You will do it! Thank you Jesus that what you began in Danny will be completed.
• Jeremiah 15:19 “If you repent, I will restore you that you may serve me. If you utter worthy, not worthless words, you will be my spokesmen.”
Thank you Lord. I believe that Danny will be restored to be your spokesman.
• Is. 43:1-3, 18-19 “But now, this is what the LORD says— he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD, your God……Forget the former things…….. do not dwell on the past….See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert
and streams in the wasteland."
Thank you Lord that Danny belongs to you. you are with him as he passes through these waters and fire. You are doing a new thing in Danny.

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December 5 (Saturday). Genesis 28:16 May Danny know that you are in this place. Use this heart attack for your Glory!
December 6 (Sunday). Praise for answering prayers for Danny. May he have more days to serve you and your power and grace in his life-joy and peace.
December 7 (Monday). Thank you for your living presence. Thank you for our provision for Danny’s good care (best doctors and hospital). Thank you for Barbara, Parker, Micah, Mary, Gary, Brady and Peyton, for Terry and Nancy’s hospitality, and for loyal friends.
December 8 (Tuesday). Praise for safe trip home in rain. Danny stable.
December 9 (Wednesday). Praise for report that Danny is improving amazingly! You are able. We rely on you for everything. We are believing for quick healing and provision! Keep our eyes on you. Thank you for your abiding presence, daily strength, and bright hope for tomorrow.
December 13 (Sunday). Jesus, my Prince of Peace. I worship you! Praise for worship today at Andy Stanley’s church. Powerful message on David from the geneology in Matthew 1. God’s faithfulness in keeping His promises of unconditional love. David was punished but Jesus came from the line of David………….Abraham to Isaac to Jacob to Judah to Obed, to Ruth to Jesse to David to Solomon whose mother was Uriah’s wife. Amazing story of God’s grace.
December 15 (Tuesday @ 5am). Danny extubated!! Thank you Jesus for answering prayer. You receive all the glory and honor. You are our healer. We thank you for using our time with family for good. Your purpose in all things! May Danny and Barbara know your love Forever.
December 20 (Sunday). Praise for healing Danny’s heart. May time stolen be redeemed for you. Show him your love and grace and forgiveness. Praise you!
December 21 (Monday). Praise for Micah, Mary, Gary, Peyton, and Brady. Came for dinner and time of prayer. You work in their lives for wisdom and direction.
December 23 (Wednesday). Praise that you go before us as we travel to Atlanta to see Uncle Neil and Danny’s family. Praise that he went home last night December 22nd. May Danny continue to heal!
Now, a year later, we are thankful for the prayers answered and your life changing experience with this great God who loves us all!

Love you, Sue

Thanks For Family

You have just read (or will read, depending which way you are going) Nancy’s account of my ordeal. She is an amazing person. She is the founder and director of the Atlanta Women’s Community Bible Study (which is larger than most churches). She is a former elder at Peachtree Presbyterian Church in Atlanta, a trustee at Presbyterian College and a nationally acclaimed author and speaker.

Her husband, Terrence McGuirk, is the Chairman and CEO of the Atlanta Braves. He somehow finds time to do this besides being an almost scratch golfer and the most devoted father to his four children I have ever known.

He also served on the board of Piedmont Hospital when I was a patient in 2009-2010. When I arrived there, Nancy took the next flight to Atlanta from Washington and Terry called in the “A” team. The medical staff at Piedmont is awesome, but having Mr. McGuirk make a call didn’t hurt. Their home is 5 minutes from Piedmont (Our home in Alpharetta is an hour drive) so Barbara, Parker, Micah and all the Philpots became guests at the McGuirk house for the next month.

Nancy never left Barbara’s side during my illness.   I mean, never, ever.  Sisters became sisters again.

My first waking moment was seeing Barbara and Nancy. Then Micah. The next I remember, was waking to see Terry sitting in my room in a chair looking at me. I said, “Terry, I don’t think I want to go back to work when I get well. There’s so much more to life than work. What do you think?” He thought for a moment and said, “Why don’t we discuss that in six months”. Good advice as usual, Terry.

Meggie, Missy, Mary and Terry Jr. (my nieces and nephews) all came to see me during the holidays as they were able. The morphine made me think I could play golf, so they brought me a new golf bag at Christmas along with other gifts. Their home made cards and room decorations were adorable. Missy and Mary prepared a checklist I could use to indicate my needs because I couldn’t speak for awhile. When I insisted on leaving the hospital for Christmas, I wanted to give all the nurses, doctors and aids a Christmas gift. Of course I wasn’t able, so Nancy came through with several copies of her books and other gifts the staff were thrilled to get.

I am so blessed with my brother Tim and his wonderful wife, Sue, (I will never forget Sue making her home made chicken soup for me in our kitchen the first night I was home) (And Tim, don't get me started.  He is everything a big brother is supposed to be)  Barbara’s sister Nancy and her husband Terry. My great kids, Micah, Mary and Parker and Mary’s husband, Gary. Their cousins, Meggie, Terry, Missy and Mary. And my grand kids, Peyton and Brady.

I somehow want to write an entire book on each of these great people.  They know what they have done, and I so want to tell you.   But they are modest and prefer I don't.  Thank you Tim, thank you, Sue.   Thank you Nancy, thank you, Terry.  Thank you kids and cousins.  Micah, my oldest and soul mate; Mary, my sweet heart;  and Parker, my athlete:  There is nothing like family.

The Fixed Heart

My brother reminded us the title “Fixed Hearts” comes from a sermon my father, Dr. Ford Philpot, published many years ago. His sermon, “A Fixed Heart for a Confused World” was published in a collection of great evangelistic sermons of the 20th century.

As a young preacher, I decided to be original or nothing. I was. So I quickly learned to borrow good sermon outlines and illustrations from other more gifted speakers.
My version of “The Fixed Heart” ended with a story from the life of Dr. Christian Barnard, who performed the world’s first open heart surgery on December 3, 1967. (December 3 was the day of my 2009 heart attack)

So in looking for a title to describe my heart attack and the physical and spiritual experiences related to it, I thought of Fixed Hearts.

In the south, we use the word “fix” for many things. Some people repair a car, we fix it. Some prepare to go the store while we’re just fixin’ to. We also end sentences with prepositions if we want to.

So it is a play on words. December 3, 2009, my heart was repaired (fixed). As a result, my heart (my core beliefs) are confident and “fixed”.

Psalm 57:7 in the KJV “My heart is fixed o God, my heart is fixed. I will sing and give praise” is King David’s heart felt description of his assurance and commitment to God. The more modern translation is “My heart is steadfast” (NASV). Today’s English Version says “I have complete confidence O God; I will sing and praise God”.

The ancient mariners used an instrument known as the sextant for early navigation. With it they could get a “fix” on the stars and thus determine where they were and where they were going. So the sermon became a vehicle to state things I was completely certain of.

1. My Heart is Fixed The Bible is God’s Word.
2. My Heart is Fixed God is my Creator.
3. My Heart is Fixed Satan is my Enemy.
4. My Heart is Fixed Jesus is my Savior.
5. My Heart is Fixed Heaven is my Home.

I’ll come back later and put some meat on those bones for you, but as an outline, it still describes my heart, before and after death.

Golden Living

You haven’t lived until you’ve lived at Golden Living nursing home.  I checked in on my 57th birthday, January 6.  The average age was 83.  Earlier that week I had been turned down by every other in-patient rehab facility because I was either too sick or too well.

Most wanted me to do an hour each day of occupational, physical and speech therapy for a total of 3 hours. I remember how impossible that sounded.  I was capable of sitting up and eating.

But by my birthday, I got myself in shape. Barb bought me a state of the art walker with wheels, a seat, and all the bells and whistles. This with my wheelchair, my portable oxygen tank with wheels, and I was a man on the go.   I was able to baby step in my pajamas to the hall and into a  nearby tv room to have birthday cake with my visitors. (Jerry and Linda, Tommy and Ellen and Barbara) I weighed 153 pounds.

Parker had to get back to the University of Alabama for important business. The next day, Jan. 7, 2010, Alabama would play Texas in the BCS bowl for the national title...and win.  He wasn't on the field that year, but I would recover and be able to watch from the stands just 2 years later as he took the field in New Orleans for the 2011 vs. LSU and Miami for the 2012 vs. Notre Dame championship games.   Alabama would win both.

I was receiving speech therapy because I had forgotten how to chew. Apparently when you don’t use your jaw for talking or chewing the muscles forget what to do. Occupational therapy (OT) showed me how to put on socks, brush my teeth, and other essential grooming feats. Physical therapy was the tough part, but within days I was curling 2 pound weights and standing on my own.

January 11, I came home. My journal boasts: “Able to go up stairs to bedroom”. That was my goal in rehab, to master those l5 steps. It doesn’t sound like much, but it was a real victory.

An assortment of nurses, physical therapists and occupational therapists continued working with me at home. Eventually I was much better and by March 1 was off the oxygen and enrolled in the North Fulton Hospital outpatient cardiac rehab program. By mid June I graduated and proudly wear the T-shirt. I can’t say enough about the staff at NFH.  Deb, Susan, Sarah, Lynn and the others were fantastic.   They were genuinely interested in getting my life back.

My first day, they hooked me up to an EKG, as they did every day, and I walked on a treadmill for about 4 minutes. After 3 months, I was exercising for over an hour with no problems.

My first day home from Golden Living, Haiti was rocked with a devastating earthquake. Watching the television non stop for days helped put my situation in perspective. I truly have nothing to complain about.

We Test The ICD

April 19, 2010, we went back to Piedmont hospital to have an ICD (implantable cardioverter defibrillator) placed in my chest. It’s about the size of a small cell phone just under the skin over my heart. It has a wire, called a “lead” actually inside my heart.

“An implantable cardioverter defibrillator is a lifesaving electronic device that is placed in a pocket created by your doctor beneath the skin on the chest wall.” says the booklet that came with it. “After implanting the defibrillator, your electrophysiologist will test the device. The physician will create a heart rhythm that causes the ICD to deliver a shock to make sure it works properly”. “You will be given extra sedation before this happens, so you should not feel or remember the shock.”  I appreciate that.

If you’ve seen me since, I have probably shown you my scar of which I am quite proud.

So I spent the night at Piedmont hospital and got to order dinner and breakfast from the same hospital dietician guy I had grown to know so well three months before. I still couldn’t get him to pass the salt or give me an extra drink.

July 19,2010, we went back again, this time to “test” the device further. The idea was to stop my heart to see if the device would shock me “back”. This I misunderstood, because I was planning on taking solid notes on this trip to heaven. As it turns out, they put my heart into ventricular fib but stopped short of actually letting me go into coronary arrest. The device apparently worked because I’m writing about it today.

Wearing the hospital gown again, being pushed around on a gurney, bantering with nurses, entering the same heart "cath lab" with an active IV in my arm brought back memories. But they were good memories. I somehow had absolutely no fear. I felt sorry for the other patients I saw and heard who were afraid. In fact, when I woke up from the anesthesia I was quite surprised I didn’t have any new out of body experiences to tell.

Life and Death (A Tribute)

As smart as we are, we can’t seem to figure out when life begins or ends. Yesterday(post dated) was election day in Georgia so I voted. On the ballot was a proposal asking the state legislature to declare that life, at least in Georgia, begins at inception.

We are also not clear when life ends. Generally we believe life has ended when the heart stops beating and the lungs stop breathing (clinical death). We know certain tissues continue to live and grow, eg. hair, even after death and burial. Being “brain dead” (cessation of brain function) is another way to evaluate if one is alive.

We recently went through this with a dear friend.  His funeral was Monday. He was pronounced dead July 15, but his brain stopped functioning June 30 after an accident with his tracheotomy deprived him of oxygen for several minutes. His heart beat and breathing were restored at the hospital, but his brain was pronounced dead. Eventually the body followed.

I sat with him alone in his hospital room, wondering if he would sit up and say hello or if he was already gone. As a layman, it was impossible to tell. His dear wife and friends just didn’t know. I was praying for his healing but wondering if he was already walking with Christ.

In Seminary, I did my CPE (clinical pastoral education) at the regional hospital in Athens, Ga. as a Chaplain.  For some reason, at that particular hospital, the Chaplains were in charge of death certificates, telling the family when someone has died, and so forth. I noticed the Doctors always tried to get agreement that someone should be pronounced dead: 

“I’m going to call it. Everyone agree? I’m calling it. That’s it. I’m calling it”.

It must be an awesome thing to pronounce someone dead.  (I'm sure it would be a lot of paper work if someone sat up after being pronounced dead by the attending physician.)  Unless they already knew the family, the doctors usually let the Chaplains "handle" the family.   There were small rooms, usually attached to the ICU,  where we held a "conference".  Almost always, someone in the room offered it was "God's will" and someone else left cursing God.

I’ve watched people take their last breath. The lungs totally exhale. The awaited inhale doesn’t come. We are struck with the truth this person’s body is no longer alive as we are. Something has changed.

There is not a shortage of words in the English language.  But there is a shortage of words we know and understand. Death and life are two.

Arise!

The Bible fascinates us with stories of the dead rising.  Naturally, they are few in number and in each case, there seems to be no particular reason for the miracle except the Lord or His apostle was moved to do so.  Very odd.  But actually not so rare, given modern day miracles.

There are many great men and women who die who are not raised. Stephen, the first martyr comes to mind. Of course, if he was raised he would not have been a martyr. He was stoned to death (Acts 7). The Apostle Paul participated and witnessed the stoning and most believe it had an influence on his eventual conversion.  In fact, in my opinion, the death of Stephen is more significant than the return to life of other Bible persons.   Even those raised from the dead eventually died again.  But the legacy of Stephen remains.

Most everyone in the Bible eventually dies. Jesus died and was resurrected (not to be confused with merely rising from the dead). There are Old Testament cases where folk just wandered off to heaven without dying. Enoch walked with God. “By faith, Enoch was translated”. (Hebrews11:5)

All four Gospel writers, including Luke who also wrote the Book of Acts, include at least one story of raising the dead.

Matthew, Mark and Luke all record the story of the synagogue official named, Jairus, coming to Jesus to report his 12 year old daughter is ill and at the point of death. Jesus heads her way, but stops to heal others who are sick. Neighbors come to Jairus to tell him not to bother the Master because his daughter has just died. But Jesus is moved with compassion for the man and enters the house with Peter, James and John. He says “the child is not dead, but is asleep”.

The Bible records the laughter of the crowd, unaware of who they are dealing with. “Talitha kum” is Aramaic for “Little girl, I say to you, arise!” And she did. They were completely astounded.

The most famous and most preached on miracle is the raising of Lazarus in John 11. He had been dead for some time.  Mary and Martha were his sisters.   The Bible says Jesus "loved" Lazareth.  I have been to Bethany several times.   I have walked down into Lazarus' tomb.  It goes deep into solid stone.  Jesus said, "Lazarus, come forth", and he did.   Amazing. 

The widow of Nain had just one son. When he died he was placed in a coffin and a funeral procession began. Jesus was there and touched his coffin, saying “arise”. (Luke 7). In all these cases, it seems Jesus was moved to do something special on the spur of the moment. They were not planned and perhaps later He would wonder if He did the right thing. But He did it.

Peter learned from Christ

In Acts 9, the story is recorded of a woman named Dorcas, also known as Tabitha, who died suddenly.   (Dorcas is the Greek version) She was well thought of in the community of Joppa and a person the new Christian community needed. Peter was nearby in Lydda. The disciples encouraged him to come and do something. He did. “Tabitha, arise” was all it took. The Bible says “she opened her eyes, and when she saw Peter, she sat up”.  We don't know much about why or how, but we know it happened.   I wish we knew more about Tabitha's later life...or the widow's son...or Lazarus.    But suffice it to say, they eventually died in peace.  

Certainly other cultures and religions have their similar stories. Many have tried to explain these mysteries. Without the benefit of modern medicine, who can say if they were really dead. Maybe Jesus and Peter had some kind of built in electric shock at their fingertips. Maybe the cold tomb in which Lazarus lay kept his body cool enough to be revived.

In most cases, the Lord told the people not to tell anyone what happened. Interestingly, none of them did. Otherwise you would be reading best sellers from Dorcas, Jairus and Lazarus. Amazingly, they seem to just go on with their lives. Changed for sure. And certainly with a new love for Jesus.

Utopia

“Utopia: A condition or place of perfection or complete harmony and peace.” (Webster’s dictionary)

So is it a condition or place? It can be either. Heaven is not utopia, but may be described as a utopia. Writers of sacred scripture and religious novels have reported on or invented a number of such places. I wasn’t in heaven. I was at what seemed to be the front yard of heaven. And I wasn’t there long enough to note if all the attributes of utopia were present. I was quite certain it was a place. I perceived it as a place.

 Eden, certainly, was a utopia. Adam and Eve would have said so. But we all know what happened there.

You have heard of Shangri-la, El-Dorado, Valhalla, Nirvana, Avalon, even Fiddler’s Green. These are utopias related to works of fiction or old religions. The idea of building or discovering a perfect world here on earth…a utopia…is quite exciting.

 The New Jerusalem is another concept. John’s Revelation, the last book of the Bible, is a description of the

"holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven”. John saw a “new heaven and a new earth”.

Revelation is a wonderful book, but not easy to understand. Many great minds have differed on certain interpretations. I’ve always said if someone told me they fully understood Revelation I would run away as fast as I could.

 The actual title of the book is The Revelation To John (The Apocalypse). I actually got out my Greek New Testament to make sure. "Apocalypse" is the Greek word for revelation and so we struggle because we bring with us whatever we think revelation means in our vernacular. The opening sentence is “The Revelation (Apocalypse) of Jesus Christ”.

Since the original manuscript probably didn’t have a title, the title became the first words. We somehow decided to call it “The Revelation to John”.

Anyway, it describes the New Jerusalem, which comes down from heaven, so apparently, it is not heaven. It is something else. It also describes God’s final triumph over Satan, the 1000 years (millennium), the final judgement and a place called hades. Those things may come in the future, or may exist now, or may have already come. That’s how divided scholars and neo-scholars are on the subject.

 My dad was a great preacher. He narrowed Revelation down to it’s core and left the arguing for others. His sermon was simple, yet powerful:

1. Jesus is coming back
2. Nobody knows when
3. You better be ready

To me, that makes a lot of sense. I saw a door to heaven, and it was open.  Is the door to heaven I saw open to everyone? Yes.

Does our life on earth have anything to do with our reception in heaven?

My advisor and mentor at Columbia, Ben Johnson, had a good answer. Sometimes people of faith would become concerned we might lean too far toward universalism (the concept that ultimately God will save everyone anyway because He is a loving God) When asked if God would save everyone, he would answer as follows.

 “First, I don’t know, because I am not God."    " Second, I hope so, I sincerely do."  "Third, I’m afraid not”.

Short of stumbling into some utopia here on the "old" earth, my best bet is either in the new heaven or new earth.   Think of heaven as God's dwelling place.  That's where you want to be.  The Bible often refers to the "heavens", meaning the sky or something out there.   That's okay.  God's heaven is surely bigger and more grand than we can even imagine. 

‘

Dystopia

I haven’t found a good definition of dystopia, but it is the opposite of utopia. Ancient and modern writers have tried to describe a world that encompasses all our fears. Most modern dystopias have to do with the computers taking over the world, or political leaders that are puppets of technology.

We won’t spend much time here, but understanding dystopias will help us later understand our concept of hades or hell. Just as utopia is an earthly version of heaven, dystopia is an earthly version of hell.

Fiction and ancient religions are replete with these references. Have you heard of Styx? Not the American rock band, but the river in Greek mythology that separates the living from the dead. You may remember Mordor…from Tokiens’s writings, now made into films.

Amenti is the Egyptian version of hell. Nastrond, the Norse version. Students of the religions of Jainism, Hinduism and Buddhism may have learned about Naraka…the Sanskrit word for hell.

If you have ever used the word pandemonium, you have named the capital city of hell in Dante’s Inferno. Think of Pandemonium as a place. Would you want to live there?

And it goes on. Terminus is the latin word for “end of the road”, and also for ancient Roman thought regarding death.

Dystopias are easily created in the writer’s mind, but also not too hard to create in real life. Many working people describe their working culture as a dystopia. Well, this is just a warm up for our discussion of heaven and hell. Hell is the ultimate dystopia and perhaps heaven is the ultimate utopia. As Christians, we need to be aware other cultures and thinkers have considered these things.

Soon to follow, some thoughts on heaven, hell and purgatory. Yes, purgatory. Did you know John Wesley was a believer in purgatory?