A Pagan died and, much to her surprise, found herself at the Pearly Gates facing St. Peter. He walked up to her and said, “Hello, and welcome.”
She stared at St. Peter in complete confusion. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I was supposed to end up in the Summerlands.”
He smiled. “Ah, you must be one of our Pagan sisters. Follow me, please.”
Peter gestured for her to follow him down a small path which went through the gates and down a bit to the left. They walked for a short while, then he stepped back and gestured her forward. Looking past his hand, she saw the verdant fields and forests of her desired Summerlands. She saw people feasting, dancing, and making merry, exactly as she expected. While shaking her head in wonder, the Pagan happened to glance over to one side and saw a small group of people a short way away from the edge of the Summerlands. The people in the group were watching the revelers, but not joining them. Instead, they were screaming and weeping piteously.
The Pagan looked at St. Peter. “Who are those people?”
St. Peter replied, “Them? They’re fundamentalists. They’re a bit surprised to see you all there, so they stand there and carry on like that all day.”
“Why? Don’t they have better things to do?”
Peter leaned conspiratorially toward her. “They don’t really have a choice. They’re actually in Hell. God doesn’t like being told what He thinks.”