I Don’t Want to Go to Heaven If My Dog’s Not There
He’s just a good boy.
He’s just a good boy.
I experienced death at a young age. When I was ten, my aunt died of cancer. I was 19 when my last grandparent died; for a while before that, my extended family saw each other almost yearly at funerals. In all that (mostly natural, but more than average cancerous) death, my Christian pastor and family would assure us that we would see these loved ones again, in heaven.
Growing up, I believed all of it with no problem. Everyone I knew was a Christian, so it was not hard to believe that we’d all be reunited in the afterlife. It was described as a “big, big house, with lots and lots of rooms” (literally, in this throwback), and it would be awesome.
We didn’t have pets growing up. My mom was raised on a farm, and years of naming animals only to eat or sell them (or watch them die from the cruelty of nature) turned her off. It wasn’t until I was out of high school that my family got a dog, and not until I was almost 27 that I adopted my own sweet pup.
As a kid, I was skeptical when people cried over their dogs dying. I mean, boohoo, right? My grandma died in my house. I have virtually no extended family, thanks to cancer and heart disease. Thankfully, I’ve since learned not to compare grief or trauma (let’s hope we are not judged by the inner judgment of our early teens). And I got a dog, so now I understand. If I think about him dying, I’ll cry. (He’s two.)
When Finn belly-crawled (literally) into my life, I didn’t know how much I would adore this anxious, overly attached, deeply loving little guy. My rescue is what is referred to as a “once-in-a-lifetime” dog or a “Velcro” dog — Finn loves me with everything in him. He has helped me through panic attacks, the anxiety of living far from my immediate family, and the stresses of moving, getting married, and finding new jobs. On top of that, he’s a very good boy. I know I will grieve deeply when he dies (which isn’t for a while, but don’t remind me).
Do dogs go to heaven? Can we accept the 1989 movie as theology, or is it just a Don Bluth classic with a catchy, wishful title? Will Finn, my dog, be in heaven when I get there? It depends on who you ask.
Everything we love in this life will be in heaven, right? We’ll see the loved ones we lost, and we’ll be able to do all the things we loved. Like at the end of the Chronicles of Narnia, it will be like a brighter, more beautiful version of Earth. All the riches we didn’t have on earth will be piled up for us next to our mansion. Oh, and Jesus will be there.
Not unlike the Prosperity Gospel and other modern Evangelical beliefs, many Evangelical descriptions of heaven start with God and end with God, but fill the middle with everything awesome on Earth. We’ll earn the best and biggest house, the most “heavenly riches,” and the highest place in heaven if we are good on earth. It’s a reward, just like hell is a punishment.
When my theology moved East, I was taught a different, less materialistic version of Heaven and Hell. Catholicism believes much of the same — Christians who don’t sin get to go to Heaven and be with God, those who reject God go to Hell, and the ones who aren’t quite pure enough take a Purgatory bath until they can achieve Heaven (check out the Catechism for specifics).
Also, animals don’t have immortal souls, so when they die, they’re gone. It’s one of the fundamental differences between us. Our souls go to God and animals’ souls stop existing. If you really dig for it, that is a pretty universal Christian belief, even among the heavenly mansion people.
The reasoning is that Heaven isn’t as much about us as it is about God, especially in Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic understanding. It will still be “a new heaven and a new earth” and we will still be reunited with those we’ve lost, but the most important thing will be that we are in God’s presence, consumed by and consuming his love.
I’ve heard both types of rhetoric — worship-based Heaven and reward-based Heaven — for years now. I’ve heard that everything good will be there, but it won’t matter because we’ll be staring at Jesus’ face. I’ve heard that the presence of God IS heaven, so it won’t matter what else (or who else) is there anyway.
More than any of this, I’ve heard this: you have to be good, or you will be punished. There is no promise of heaven without a threat of hell. There is always the underlying fact: a God who loves everyone will send some people to everlasting torment. We are the winners, and they are the losers.
If you can get past that, you can stay a Christian. If you don’t accept that and say that everyone eventually gets into Heaven, you are labeled a universalist and (usually) a heretic. If you walk away from it entirely, you are definitely labeled a heretic and usually an atheist. You’ll be on the left side of God, with the chaff and the goats, and you will for sure not make it to heaven (sorry).
When my aunt died, everyone told my mom, my cousins, my uncle, and me that she was “in a better place” and that we’d “be reunited in glory.” The same thing happened with my grandparents, one by one, and every funeral I’ve gone to.
When a dog dies, people say something different. He’s crossed the “rainbow bridge” and we’ll never forget him. It’s pretty rare that someone straight up says dead dogs are in heaven, unless they say “doggy heaven” to clarify.
When my dog dies, it won’t be the same as a person dying. I know that. But I will mourn. This little guy is my buddy, my constant companion, and he loves me with everything in his little heart. I don’t want to get to heaven and not have Finn there to greet me, tail wagging and ears pinned back in happiness.
At a funeral, it doesn’t matter if the dead person was good or bad: eulogies always say they’re in heaven. Our loved ones that “are in a better place” might include people that Christianity says shouldn’t go to that better place. Most Christians aren’t even clear as to whether babies (aborted, miscarried, or stillborn) go to heaven. They don’t have time to think about whether dogs get into the good place.
A heaven that doesn’t accept dogs isn’t a heaven I want to be in. It’s a heaven that excludes the best and most loving among us, just because they aren’t human. If there’s a god who created everything and loves all of their creation, surely the dogs get to heaven (and not just “the concept of dogs”).
Of course, my problem with heaven is bigger than this. My problem with heaven also includes the heaven that doesn’t let in my lesbian sister, my Muslim friend, or my agnostic cousin. If a heaven doesn’t let in dogs, the purest and best of the world, how could it let in anyone with sin (and according to the Bible, that is indeed all of us)?
Personally, I would argue that dogs should get to heaven before many Christians, but that’s another topic for another day. I know that my dog is a better person than me, and if it’s goodness that gets you to heaven, he’s miles ahead. I don’t think I’m even in the same waiting line.
And yes, I know the the theology. Some will come after me with “it’s not that God turns people away from Heaven, it’s that people turn away from God.” Punishment forever seems a bit intense for a God who relies on love and blind faith and (apparently) doesn’t accept blind faith in the wrong iteration of himself.
Some will say, “if you start to allow other faiths in, you will reach universalism.” I say, I don’t want a theology that closes others out for doing their best. I want to live a life that welcomes everyone in, and doesn’t make people feel less than me for something they are or they believe in (and yes, Christians, many of you do make others feel less, whether you mean to or not).
Some will say, “sin is sin” and then proceed to list which sins are worst, extolling abusive and corrupt ministers over regular, loving people with the “wrong” set of genitals or the “incorrect” faith. Again, another topic for another day (and dogs don’t do that, so another point for canines).
Some will say, “dogs have souls, but they aren’t immortal souls. They don’t go to heaven because there’s nothing left after they die.” First of all, rude. Second of all, that seems made up and if God can do what they want, they can include our puppies in heaven.
Some will say, “there will be the concept of dogs in heaven, because dogs bring us joy. But because of the whole mortal-soul thing, your dog won’t be there.” I want my dog there, not just a random dog.
Some will say, “you’re missing the point. Heaven isn’t about earthly good — it’s about experiencing the presence of God. We won’t care whether we see loved ones or dogs or anything, because we’ll be in His presence.” This is a more disturbing take to me — are you saying that God has given us loved ones and taken them away from us, just so that we could get to heaven and ignore them? I don’t believe a loving God would do that, just like I believe that we see the love of God in the love of our family and friends (and yes, our pets).
If God is Love, Love is God, then God is everywhere there is love. And there is so much love in dogs. They are examples of how we should love each other (except with better boundaries, probably), and I see God’s love for me in my puppy’s eyes.
It may seem stubborn and petty, and it may actually be stubborn and petty, but I’m not entirely sure I trust a god who doesn’t accept dogs into their home. I do trust a god who will create a new earth, with everything on it, and bring everything (yes, everything) that brings us joy back. That is a god I can choose to believe in. That is a heaven I can strive for.
Personally, I can’t wait to see my loved ones again. I can’t wait to see those that I knew suffering without pain. And I definitely can’t wait to see my dog (I know — he’s not dead yet) in heaven. Because if he’s not there, there’s no way I’m making it.
Thanks for reading. I think and write about religion, words, and chronic illness, as well as whatever happens to pop into my head. Come along if you like, and we’ll explore together!