There was a comic book series called, of all things, “Johnny The Homicidal Maniac.” One story featured him going to heaven, for some reason, where an angel showed him around. Turned out heaven, according to that comic’s plot, was row after row after row of wooden chairs. And a person sitting in each. Johnny found this baffling. THIS was eternity? Moreover, this was HEAVEN?? That was when the angel explained. No, the people in those chairs weren’t bored. There was no boredom in heaven. Their backsides didn’t hurt from the wooden chairs; there was no pain in heaven either. They didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. They were perfectly content, and at peace. It was heaven, after all. And that makes a disturbing amount of sense.
There was a comic book series called, of all things, “Johnny The Homicidal Maniac.” One story featured him going to heaven, for some reason, where an angel showed him around. Turned out heaven, according to that comic’s plot, was row after row after row of wooden chairs. And a person sitting in each. Johnny found this baffling. THIS was eternity? Moreover, this was HEAVEN?? That was when the angel explained. No, the people in those chairs weren’t bored. There was no boredom in heaven. Their backsides didn’t hurt from the wooden chairs; there was no pain in heaven either. They didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. They were perfectly content, and at peace. It was heaven, after all. And that makes a disturbing amount of sense.