Ticket To Heaven Quotes

Father sat down on the edge of the narrow bed. "Corrie," he began gently, "when you and I go to Amsterdam-when do I give you your ticket?" I sniffed a few times, considering this. "Why, just before we get on the train." "Exactly. And our wise Father in heaven knows when we're going to need things, too. Don't run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need-just in time.

It is written on the gate of heaven: Nothing in existence is more powerful than destiny. And destiny brought you here, to this page, which is part of your ticket-as all things are-to return to God.

I have problems with a religion which says that faith in itself is enough for a ticket to heaven. In other words, that the ideal is your ability to manipulate your own common sense to accept something your intellect rejects. It's the same model of intellectual submission that dictatorships have used throughout time, the concept of a higher reasoning without any obligation to discharge the burden of proof.

You can avoid Jesus as Savior by keeping all the moral laws. If you do that, then you have “rights.” God owes you answered prayers, and a good life, and a ticket to heaven when you die. You don’t need a Savior who pardons you by free grace, for you are your own Savior.

Jehovah’s Witness? Don’t sweat it. I’m going to hell, already booked my ticket. Bright side? I’m pagan. Your hell is my heaven... if for no other reason than you won’t be there.

At last we heard Father's footsteps winding up the stairs. It was the best moment in every day, when he came up to tuck us in. We never fell asleep until he had arranged the balnkets in his special way and laid his hand for a moment on each head. Then we tried not to move even a toe. But that night as he stepped through the door I burst into tears. "I need you!" I sobbed. "You can't die! You can't!" Father sat down on the edge of the narrow bed. "Corrie," he began gently, "when you and I go to Amsterdam, when do I give you your ticket?" I sniffed a few times, considering this. "Why, just before we get on the train." "Exactly. And our wise Father in Heaven knows when we're going to need things too. Don't run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need--just in time.

Was it cruel if someone asked for it? Begged for it, even? She always begged. Even now, I could hear her whimpering for me. Christ, those noises she made. A one-way ticket to heaven.

Jesus paid it all. I mean all. He not only purchased your forgiveness of sins and your ticket to heaven, He purchased every blessing and every answer to prayer you will ever receive.

Jesus is not a heavenly conductor handing out tickets to heaven. Jesus is the carpenter who repairs, renovates, and restores God’s good world.

Heaven, such as it is, is right here on earth. Behold: my revelation: I stand at the door in the morning, and lo, there is a newspaper, in sight like unto an emerald. And holy, holy, holy is the coffee, which was, and is, and is to come. And hark, I hear the voice of an angel round about the radio saying, "Since my baby left me I found a new place to dwell." And lo, after this I beheld a great multitude, which no man could number, of shoes. And after these things I will hasten unto a taxicab and to a theater, where a ticket will be given unto me, and lo, it will be a matinee, and a film that doeth great wonders. And when it is finished, the heavens will open, and out will cometh a rain fragrant as myrrh, and yea, I have an umbrella.

That night, I continued my on-going chat with God. “Did Pam’s prayer count? I love her. And I understand her wanting a ticket to heaven, but her prayer seemed more like fire insurance against hell than a heartfelt desire to hang out with You.”    “Don’t worry.” God smiled. “No one comes to me with pure motives.”    Wow! I thought for a minute. “You really do love us, don’t You?”    “I do.

If You Knew What if you knew you'd be the last to touch someone? If you were taking tickets, for example, at the theater, tearing them, giving back the ragged stubs, you might take care to touch that palm brush your fingertips along the lifeline's crease. When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase too slowly through the airport, when the car in front of me doesn't signal, when the clerk at the pharmacy won't say thank you, I don't remember they're going to die. A friend told me she'd been with her aunt. They'd just had lunch and the waiter, a young gay man with plum black eyes, joked as he served the coffee, kissed her aunt's powdered cheek when they left. Then they walked half a block and her aunt dropped dead on the sidewalk. How close does the dragon's spume have to come? How wide does the crack in heaven have to split? What would people look like if we could see them as they are, soaked in honey, stung and swollen, reckless, pinned against time?

Those who live by the labor of others are taught by religion to practice charity while on earth, thus offering them a very cheap way of justifying their entire existence as exploiters and selling them at a moderate price tickets to well-being in heaven. Religion is opium for the people. Religion is a sort of spiritual booze, in which the slaves of capital drown their human image, their demand for a life more or less worthy of man.

‎Now I think ultimately our hope is certainly that people can feel and taste the goodness of God and to find the salvation in Jesus's love and sacrifice. Sometimes the biggest barrier to that has been Christians and has been a Church that is numb to the poverty of the world or just sees our Christianity as a ticket into heaven while ignoring the hells of the world around us. And we're not willing to settle for that kind of Christianity. We believe in a kingdom that begins now and that the kingdom of God Jesus preached is not just something we're to go to when we die but that we're to bring down on earth as it is in heaven.

One can even buy a so-called Religion, which is really but common morality sanctified with flowers and music. Rob the Church of her accessories and what remains behind? Yet the trusts thrive marvelously, for the prices are absurdly cheap, --a prayer for a ticket to heaven, a diploma for an honourable citizenship.

Behold the complacent salesman retailing the Good and True. One can even buy a so-called Religion, which is really but common morality sanctified with flowers and music. Rob the Church of her accessories and what remains behind? Yet the trusts thrive marvelously, for the prices are absurdly cheap,--a prayer for a ticket to heaven, a diploma for an honorable citizenship.Hide yourself under a bushel quickly, for if your real usefulness were known to the world you would soon be knocked down to the highest bidder by the public auctioneer.

But I didn't understand the middle-of-a-Tuesday Jesus. I only knew him as a when-I-get-to-heaven Jesus. He was my ticket and not much else.

Salvation is not merely forgiveness with a ticket to heaven, but a life lived interactively in the present kingdom of God.

Salvation is not just about getting a ticket punched for heaven—it’s about knowing the God who created us and living in an intimate relationship with Him while we are here on earth.

If history has shown anything, it is that where there is a God, there is an institution trying to lock up that God in its lifeless structure of orthodoxy, in order to have authority over people and sell tickets to the Kingdom of that God. Thus emerged all the pompous lies about the extraterrestrial Kingdom of God or Heaven.

Education, in order to keep up the mighty delusion, encourages a species of ignorance. People are not taught to be really virtuous, but to behave properly. We are wicked because we are frightfully self-conscious. We nurse a conscience because we are afraid to tell the truth to others; we take refuge in pride because we are afraid to tell the truth to ourselves. How can one be serious with the world when the world itself is so ridiculous! The spirit of barter is everywhere. Honour and Chastity! Behold the complacent salesman retailing the Good and True. One can even buy a so-called Religion, which is really but common morality sanctified with flowers and music. Rob the Church of her accessories and what remains behind? Yet the trusts thrive marvelously, for the prices are absurdly cheap, --a prayer for a ticket to heaven, a diploma for an honourable citizenship. Hide yourself under a bushel quickly, for if your real usefulness were known to the world you would soon be knocked down to the highest bidder by the public auctioneer. Why do men and women like to advertise themselves so much? Is it not but an instinct derived from the days of slavery?

Before every meal, my grandfather would toast, "If I had a ticket to heaven and you didn't have on, too, I'd tear my ticket to pieces and go to hell with you" They were like real live leprechauns. Full of mischief and whimsy, those two. pg. 226

In the homes for the dying, Mother taught the sisters how to secretly baptize those who were dying. Sisters were to ask each person in danger of death if he wanted a “ticket to heaven.” An affirmative reply was to mean consent to baptism. The sister was then to pretend she was just cooling the person’s forehead with a wet cloth, while in fact she was baptizing him, saying quietly the necessary words. Secrecy was important so that it would not come to be known that Mother Teresa’s sisters were baptizing Hindus and Moslems.

I have problems with a religion that says faith in itself is enough for a ticket to heaven. In other words, that the ideal is your ability to manipulate your own common sense to accept something your intellect rejects. It’s the same model of intellectual submission that dictatorships have used throughout time, the concept of a higher reasoning without any obligation to discharge the burden of proof.

He was a dark and stormy knight. A latter-day rake with eyes the color of emeralds worth a queen's ransom. His smile promised voyages to the moon. And heaven alone knew how many females lay littered in his wake. To a rousing burst of Rachmaninoff, he swept into my London flat one January evening and, with the hauteur of his greeting, captured my virgin heart forever and a day. 'Miss Ellie Simons? My car awaits. Shall we splurge on dinner or parking tickets?

One can even buy a so-called Religion, which is really but common morality sanctified with flowers and music. Rob the Church of her accessories and what remains behind? Yet the trusts thrive marvelously, for the prices are absurdly cheap, -- a prayer for a ticket to heaven, a diploma for an honourable citizenship. Hide yourself under a bushel quickly, for if your real usefulness were known to the world you would soon be knocked down to the highest bidder by the public auctioneer.

I don't have to worry about Madame Ouche! she'll still be robbing me blind when she's dead!...having made her last confession and received extreme unction...all the cataclysms will pass over her without harming a single gray hair on her head! it's a paradise here for scum like her, on earth as there is in heaven...they don't really die, the sluts, the hussies, the really awful ones, they just go from one paradise to another, with their money, servants, cars...just buy their cute little ticket and off they go! final absolution and see you later! they shit in your hands!...they're born to slip out of both hells - the one here and the one in the next world...all they do is fuck and whine...loads of cash! never broke!...cheers! here's to you! no regrets! you realize too late...

So many Christians simply have no idea of the staggering immensity of God's love for them and of that love's power to transform them into people of love, as well as bring them great happiness and lasting peace. If they knew, they would undoubtedly do whatever it takes to make time to be with him. Unfortunately, many of us still view following Jesus as a means to an end - a ticket to heaven, to nice feelings, to a successful, upwardly mobile life, and so on. We still don't get it: He's the end. The reward for following Jesus is Jesus.

A hobo walks by in a suit made of today's newspaper. A guy chases him, shouting. "Wait! I haven't read the business section yet!" Oh, the economic news. The most honest, trustworthy, freshest goods you can get—apart from ripe fish. With its gorgeous headlines it shakes out the mirror’s lost reflections: The fountains are lobbying for more water in this pyromaniac city. Buses with electric chairs are running through the streets. Passengers ask for tickets to Heaven, then take their seats. Eyeballs jump out of their smoking skulls. "No littering in the vehicle!" growls the driver, adjusting the hat on his horns.

Of all the conceptions of the divine, of all the language Jesus could put on the lips of the God character in the story he tells, that’s what he has the Father say. “You are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” ... Millions of people in our world were told that God so loved the world, that God sent his son to save the world, and that if they accept and believe in Jesus, then they’ll be able to have a relationship with God... But there’s more. Millions have been taught that if they don’t believe, if they don’t accept in the right way, that is, the way the person telling them the gospel does, and they were hit by a car and died later that same day, God will have no choice but to punish them forever in conscious torment in hell... A loving heavenly father who will go to extraordinary lengths to have a relationship with them would, in the blink of an eye, become a cruel, mean, vicious tormentor who would ensure that they had no escape from an endless future of agony... if your God is loving one second and cruel the next, if your God will punish people for all eternity for sins committed in a few short years, no amount of clever marketing or compelling language or good music or great coffee will be able to disguise that one, true, glaring, untenable, acceptable, awful reality... sometimes the reason people have a problem accepting “the gospel” is that they sense that the God lurking behind Jesus isn’t safe, loving, or good. It doesn’t make sense it can’t be reconciled, and so they say no... God create, because the endless joy and peace and shared life at the heart of this God knows no other way. Jesus invites us into THAT relationship, the one at the center of the universe... so when the gospel is diminished to a question of whether or not a person will “get into heaven,” that reduces the good news to a ticket, a way to get past the bouncer and into the club. The good news is better than that.

For Mother, it was the spiritual well-being of the poor that mattered most. Material aid was a means of reaching their souls, of showing the poor that God loved them. In the homes for the dying, Mother taught the sisters how to secretly baptize those who were dying. Sisters were to ask each person in danger of death if he wanted a “ticket to heaven.” An affirmative reply was to mean consent to baptism. The sister was then to pretend she was just cooling the person’s forehead with a wet cloth, while in fact she was baptizing him, saying quietly the necessary words. Secrecy was important so that it would not come to be known that Mother Teresa’s sisters were baptizing Hindus and Moslems.

It's weird not being in our subculture of two any more. There was Jen's culture, her little habits and ways of doing things; the collection of stuff she'd already learnt she loved before we met me. Chorizo and Jonathan Franken and long walks and the Eagles (her dad). Seeing the Christmas lights. Taylor Swift, frying pans in the dishwasher, the works absolutely, arsewipe, heaven. Tracy Chapman and prawn jalfrezi and Muriel Spark and HP sauce in bacon sandwiches. And then there was my culture. Steve Martin and Aston Villa and New York and E.T. Chicken bhuna, strange-looking cats and always having squash or cans of soft drinks in the house. The Cure. Pink Floyd. Kanye West, friend eggs, ten hours' sleep, ketchup in bacon sandwiches. Never missing dental check-ups. Sister Sledge (my mum). Watching TV even if the weather is nice. Cadbury's Caramel. John and Paul and George and Ringo. And then we met and fell in love and we introduced each other to all of it, like children showing each other their favourite toys. The instinct never goes - look at my fire engine, look at my vinyl collection. Look at all these things I've chosen to represent who I am. It was fun to find out about each other's self-made cultures and make our own hybrid in the years of eating, watching, reading, listening, sleeping and living together. Our culture was tea drink from very large mugs. And looking forward to the Glastonbury ticket day and the new season of Game of Thrones and taking the piss out of ourselves for being just like everyone else. Our culture was over-tipping in restaurants because we both used to work in the service industry, salty popcorn at the cinema and afternoon naps. Side-by-side morning sex. Home-made Manhattans. Barmade Manhattans (much better). Otis Redding's "Cigarettes and Coffee" (our song). Discovering a new song we both loved and listening to it over and over again until we couldn't listen to it any more. Period dramas on a Sunday night. That one perfect vibrator that finished her off in seconds when we were in a rush. Gravy. David Hockney. Truffle crisps. Can you believe it? I still can't believe it. A smell indisputably reminiscent of bums. On a crisp. And yet we couldn't get enough of them together - stuffing them in our gobs, her hand on my chest, me trying not to get crumbs in her hair as we watched Sense and Sensibility (1995). But I'm not a member of that club anymore. No one is. It's been disbanded, dissolved, the domain is no longer valid. So what do I do with all its stuff? Where so I put it all? Where do I take all my new discoveries now I'm no longer a tribe of two? And if I start a new sub-genre of love with someone else, am I allowed to bring in all the things I loved from the last one? Or would that be weird? Why do I find this so hard?

Corrie,” he began gently, “when you and I go to Amsterdam—when do I give you your ticket?” I sniffed a few times, considering this. “Why, just before we get on the train.” “Exactly. And our wise Father in heaven knows when we’re going to need things, too. Don’t run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need—just in time.

They send me leaflets, booklets, tapes. 'Let us help your injured soul by shedding the Light upon your darkest hours' Pompous words! They pretend their message is for all humanity but are ready to burn at the stake anyone who doesn't go along with them. Still, they feel affection for the likes of me. They just can't get enough of us. So strong is their desire to correct sinners and score points in God's eyes. We're their tickets to heaven. We, the scumbags of the earth- the wicked, the fallen.

When a man seats before his eyes the bronze face of his helmet and steps off from the line of departure, he divides himself, as he divides his ‘ticket,’ in two parts. One part he leaves behind. That part which takes delight in his children, which lifts his voice in the chorus, which clasps his wife to him in the sweet darkness of their bed. “That half of him, the best part, a man sets aside and leaves behind. He banishes from his heart all feelings of tenderness and mercy, all compassion and kindness, all thought or concept of the enemy as a man, a human being like himself. He marches into battle bearing only the second portion of himself, the baser measure, that half which knows slaughter and butchery and turns the blind eye to quarter. He could not fight at all if he did not do this.” The men listened, silent and solemn. Leonidas at that time was fifty-five years old. He had fought in more than two score battles, since he was twenty; wounds as ancient as thirty years stood forth, lurid upon his shoulders and calves, on his neck and across his steel-colored beard. “Then this man returns, alive, out of the slaughter. He hears his name called and comes forward to take his ticket. He reclaims that part of himself which he had earlier set aside. “This is a holy moment. A sacramental moment. A moment in which a man feels the gods as close as his own breath. “What unknowable mercy has spared us this day? What clemency of the divine has turned the enemy’s spear one handbreadth from our throat and driven it fatally into the breast of the beloved comrade at our side? Why are we still here above the earth, we who are no better, no braver, who reverenced heaven no more than these our brothers whom the gods have dispatched to hell? “When a man joins the two pieces of his ticket and sees them weld in union together, he feels that part of him, the part that knows love and mercy and compassion, come flooding back over him. This is what unstrings his knees. “What else can a man feel at that moment than the most grave and profound thanksgiving to the gods who, for reasons unknowable, have spared his life this day? Tomorrow their whim may alter. Next week, next year. But this day the sun still shines upon him, he feels its warmth upon his shoulders, he beholds about him the faces of his comrades whom he loves and he rejoices in their deliverance and his own.” Leonidas paused now, in the center of the space left open for him by the troops. “I have ordered pursuit of the foe ceased. I have commanded an end to the slaughter of these whom today we called our enemies. Let them return to their homes. Let them embrace their wives and children. Let them, like us, weep tears of salvation and burn thank-offerings to the gods. “Let no one of us forget or misapprehend the reason we fought other Greeks here today. Not to conquer or enslave them, our brothers, but to make them allies against a greater enemy. By persuasion, we hoped. By coercion, in the event. But no matter, they are our allies now and we will treat them as such from this moment. “The Persian!

My mother is at her vanity when my father enters the bedroom. With two fingers she rubs Noxzema into her face, wiping it off with a tissue. My father had only to say an affectionate word and she would have forgiven him. Not me but somebody like me might have been made that night. An infinite number of possible selves crowded the threshold, me among them but with no guaranteed ticket, the hours moving slowly, the planets in the heavens circling at their usual pace, weather coming into it, too, because my mother was afraid of thunderstorms and would have cuddled against my father had it rained that night.

Of all the conceptions of the divine, of all the language Jesus could put on the lips of the God character in the story he tells, that’s what he has the Father say. “You are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” ... Millions of people in our world were told that God so loved the world, that God sent his son to save the world, and that if they accept and believe in Jesus, then they’ll be able to have a relationship with God... But there’s more. Millions have been taught that if they don’t believe, if they don’t accept in the right way, that is, the way the person telling them "the gospel" does, and they were hit by a car and died later that same day, God will have no choice but to punish them forever in conscious torment in hell... A loving heavenly father who will go to extraordinary lengths to have a relationship with them would, in the blink of an eye, become a cruel, mean, vicious tormentor who would ensure that they had no escape from an endless future of agony... if your God is loving one second and cruel the next, if your God will punish people for all eternity for sins committed in a few short years, no amount of clever marketing or compelling language or good music or great coffee will be able to disguise that one, true, glaring, untenable, acceptable, awful reality... sometimes the reason people have a problem accepting the gospel is that they sense that the God lurking behind Jesus isn’t safe, loving, or good. It doesn’t make sense, it can’t be reconciled, and so they say no... God creates, because the endless joy and peace and shared life at the heart of this God knows no other way. Jesus invites us into THAT relationship, the one at the center of the universe... so when the gospel is diminished to a question of whether or not a person will “get into heaven,” that reduces the good news to a ticket, a way to get past the bouncer and into the club. The good news is better than that. (excerpts all from chapter 7)

Indeed, even suicide doesn’t prove an absolute commitment to a single story. On 13 November 2015, the Islamic State orchestrated several suicide attacks in Paris that killed 130 people. The extremist group explained that it did so in revenge for the bombing of Islamic State activists in Syria and Iraq by the French air force, and in the hope that France would be deterred from carrying out such bombardments in the future.18 In the same breath, the Islamic State also declared that all the Muslims killed by the French air force were martyrs, who now enjoy eternal bliss in heaven. Something here doesn’t make sense. If indeed the martyrs killed by the French air force are now in heaven, why should anyone seek revenge for it? Revenge for what, exactly? For sending people to heaven? If you just heard that your beloved brother won a million dollars in the lottery, would you start blowing up lottery stalls in revenge? So why go rampaging in Paris just because the French air force gave a few of your brothers a one-way ticket to paradise? It would be even worse if you indeed managed to deter the French from carrying out further bombings in Syria. For in that case, fewer Muslims would get to heaven.

Positive thoughts aren’t worth a plug nickel. You can think positive thoughts every minute of every day, and they won’t keep you out of hell. You can do good deeds until you’re so spent that you can’t put one foot in front of the other, and it won’t earn you a ticket to heaven. You can take all your wealth and give it to the poor, and it won’t buy you any credibility with Jesus.’ “‘There’s one God—Jehovah, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. There’s one way—Jesus Christ, His only begotten son, and there’s one comforter, the Holy Spirit that God sent to earth to dwell in us. If you’re counting on anything else to save you, you’re on the wrong path. “‘The problem is that people get to thinking that they’re special. They’re the god of their own universe, and they don’t need anything else. But that’s not true. The only special one that’s ever been born on this earth is Jesus Christ. He gave up everything to humble Himself and live among us—the lowliest of the lowly. He stepped off His throne for a little while so that we could be reconciled to Him, and if you’re counting on anything else saving you, you’re going to be in for a horrible shock when you leave this world and stand before Him.

Once you start your journey of Soul-realization and reach a certain stage, soul-realization will become like a gate pass, a ticket to enter the kingdom of the Lord, the way we take the tickets to enter the cinema or a circus or a zoo.

Meditation value can’t be quoted as a price or a ticket. It’s the real exercise of the Soul.

Living in Wales, an almost island, the seafaring Welsh have had an aptness for travel, yet have been, for the most part, short on resources. This has led to some very imaginative thinking, with otherworldly results, bypassing the expense and hassle of maintaining, say, a populated space station. In the nineteenth century the Welsh colonized the impossible: the barren lands of Patagonia. In the same century things were so bad on the ground that they spent most of the time trying to colonize Heaven, where it was presumed Welsh was the official language. At the same time the heroic Chartist revolutionaries of 1839 imagined a better, fairer society for their children and were given free tickets to Australia.* As a Welsh pop musician I have been given a ticket to a lifestyle once afforded only to soldiers, Miss Universe contestants and long-distance truck drivers.

Do you know what I’m saying?” “Yes, you still care for him.” “What? No. I hate him. Take the ticket. Fuck him entirely up for me.

That one's my ticket to heaven. . . . If I can keep him out of trouble, I might make sainthood.

We should by now be clear about one thing: heterosexuality doesn’t give a person a direct ticket to heaven, a relationship with Jesus Christ does.

Reasons for Joy Happy are the people whose God is the LORD. Psalm 144:15 “How’s life?” someone asks. And we who’ve been resurrected from the dead say, “Well, things could be better.” Or “Couldn’t get a parking place.” Or “My parents won’t let me move to Hawaii.” Or “People won’t leave me alone so I can finish my sermon on selfishness.” … Are you so focused on what you don’t have that you are blind to what you do? You have a ticket to heaven no thief can take, an eternal home no divorce can break. Every sin of your life has been cast to the sea. Every mistake you’ve made is nailed to the tree. You’re blood-bought and heaven-made. A child of God—forever saved. So be grateful, joyful—for isn’t it true? What you don’t have is much less than what you do.

Men are willing to buy their way into Hell and yet are willing to pass on a free ticket to Heaven.

In this negative frame, the quickest ticket to heaven, enlightenment, or salvation is “unworthiness” itself, or at least a willingness to face our own smallness and incapacity.

It never made sense to me: Why did I have to suffer so much? I was by no means a saint, of course, but I think I lived humbly enough to earn myself a ticket to heaven.

Those who are open and alive, guided by the light of humility, will be blessed with the spiritual poverty with which they will inherit the kingdom of heaven; those who are blinded by the darkness of pride will be cursed with the material wealth with which they will purchase their ticket to hell. Such an understanding of reality, common to the elves of Rivendell and the Franciscans of Assisi, animates the whole moral atmosphere and literary dynamic of The Hobbit.

This gospel gives us the gift of eternal life. But the gospel is more than a ticket to heaven. It isn’t just for unbelievers. It’s for every believer every day of life. But many Christians have a “two doors gospel.” We think of the gospel as a door we enter at conversion. We stand outside of God’s family, then someone shares the Good News with us, and the Holy Spirit opens our hearts to understand. We see our need. We trust in Christ. We come through the door into the kingdom of God. We believe, and the penalty of sin—eternal punishment—is taken away. The gospel is more than a ticket to heaven. But then—too often—we treat the gospel like an airplane ticket we save up to use on a distant day in the future. Having entered through one door, we put the gospel in our pocket until we come to another door. We don’t pull out the gospel until we’re in the hospital, facing only a few days to live. Then we peacefully tell our children, “Don’t worry. I know I’m going to heaven because I trusted in Jesus. I believe the gospel and I have hope for eternal life.” Yes, the gospel provides great comfort when we face death. But there’s a whole life we live between the first door and the second door. If we forget the gospel is for now—for sins we struggle with today, for areas where we still want to grow, for relationships that are broken—then we miss the rich treasure that belongs to us in Christ. There’s a treasure stored up in heaven for us, but God doesn’t want it reserved just for eternity. It spills into our daily lives today if we just reach up our hands and receive it.

Being able to articulate the gospel with accuracy is one thing; having its truth captivate your soul is quite another. The gospel is not just supposed to be our ticket into heaven; it is to be an entirely new basis for how we relate to God, ourselves, and others. It is to be the source from which everything else flows.

No matter how rich or poor you are, all life will come to a sudden halt to travel into two types of destinations; Heaven and Hell.

You are a man without a heart, Dr. Leddell. And you, Mary Cooper, are a meddler. A woman can be forgiven for many transgressions but not that. I have been called worse. And by people I hold in more esteem than you. Ha! I pity the poor man unfortunate enough to marry you someday. He writes his own ticket to hell. If he does, then I'll make that hell as pleasant a place for him as I know how. But I won't deceive him and tell him it's heaven, then stoke the fires behind his back and cover it all with the scent of lilacs".

My father was my hero, and his strict observance to Islamic law inspired me. But I was also hungry for God. My motivation was to please Allah so I could get a ticket to heaven. I was aware I was a sinner and was afraid because I knew that, if I died, I would go to hell like every Muslim.

Tip, if I had a ticket to heaven and you didn't have one too, I would give mine away and go to hell with you. Ronald Reagan

One of the best kept secrets among Christians today is this: Jesus paid it all. I mean all. He not only purchased your forgiveness of sins and your ticket to heaven, He purchased every blessing and every answer to prayer you will ever receive. Every one of them - no exceptions.

Hey I want to go to Heaven how can I get there do you know the way The man said on the bus well I don’t know how to get there but I think its this way Driving a long the word I see the trees the cars the ducks in the river the buildings in the town centre I don’t see the sign saying going to heaven Hey can you let me off I don’t see the sign going to heaven I need to get to go to heaven so I can see Jesus in heaven I understand he is up there and I want to see him so I can see what he really looks like I get off the bus and I get a train ….I say to the train driver do you know the way to heaven I need to go to heaven as I need to see what heaven is really like my mum has told me my dad has told me but I believe but I want to see for myself so I know they are not lying to me can you take me there Well the train driver says if you stay on the train that says the holy train this train is definitely going to heaven but there is something you have to do first What do I need to do Mr train driver well you need to say that Jesus is the way to heaven first then you will get a ticket in return that will take you straight up to heaven… Oh ok no problem This train journey is so long I fall asleep wake up and where is heaven I get off the train and I decide to get on a plane well I ask the pilot will you take me to a place call heaven do you know where it is the pilot says hey no problem I can take you to all over heaven I am your pilot Jesus but it not time to go through the gates yet so you have to wait until your name is called but yes I am Jesus I will take you to heaven when I am ready to take you there. Oh ok well shall I get on a boat then and see well you can if you want to but I think you will be better with me I will let you know when the time is right my clock says not now I have work for you to do first Ok then Jesus I will do what you say because I want to see heaven and be with you one day…good night Jesus love you thank you for talking to me today it was good chatting to you on your line prayer bells of heaven. True Inspirations - Happy New year 2015

But this is very important for you to know: When I was down and out, I had to go down to the core of my being and reach out to the man upstairs, to put it colloquially. And I had to ask Him to save me. It didn’t happen like a boom went off or lightning struck or Charlton Heston appeared in my living room with a ticket to heaven. I had to keep asking for it. And it took me twenty years to climb out of that hole. See, God helps those who help themselves. He doesn’t give you anything. By reaching out to God, maybe you can help yourselves.

One important key to understand is that God doesn’t need you to save money on one thing, so you can spend it on something else. There’s enough money for you to buy a business class ticket to fly overseas, stay at a nice hotel, eat good food, feed the poor, and clothe the naked. You don’t have to take money from one thing so you can have it for another thing. God is El Shaddai, the God of more than enough. He has enough for all those things.

We must preach the gospel of the Kingdom of God, purchased, and secured by Christ’s sacrifice on the cross, who was validated by the resurrection (Romans 1:4). And we must preach it so consistently that when we say the word “gospel” no one can misunderstand it to mean saying a magic prayer that purchases a ticket to heaven.

So many Christians simply have no idea of the staggering immensity of God's love for them and of that love's power to transform them into people of love, as well as bring them great happiness and lasting peace. If they knew, they would undoubtedly do whatever it takes to make time to be with him. Unfortunately, many of us still view following Jesus as a means to an end - a ticket to heaven, to nice feelings, to a successful, upwardly mobile life, and so on. We still don't get it: He's the end.

So if that’s it, if that’s the point of it all, if that’s the ticket, the center, the one unavoidable reality, the heart of the Christian faith, why is it that no one used the phrase until the last hundred years or so?

Corrie (as a child) and her father: “When you and I go to Amsterdam — when do I give you your ticket?” “Why, just before we get on the train.” “Exactly, And our wise Father in heaven knows we’re going to need things, too. Don’t run ahead of him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need — just in time.

Unfortunately, many of us still view following Jesus as a means to an end—a ticket to heaven, to nice feelings, to a successful, upwardly mobile life, and so on. We still don’t get it: He’s the end.

Say out loud, “Jesus, I choose You as my Lord and Savior. I believe You died for me and purchased for me a free ticket to heaven. I accept the invitation and thank You for it. I believe You not only died, but rose from the dead to bring me new life

If there is one pleasure on earth which surpasses all others, it is leaving a play before the end. I might perhaps except the joy of taking tickets for a play, dining well, sitting on after dinner, and finally not going at all. That, of course, is very heaven.

Dance even if you are ridiculed by everybody. Sing even when no one wants to listen to you. Love freely and genuinely despite your broken heart. Live in the heaven of your world to which you invite only those who deserve a ticket.

The best miracle is to be sent to paradise without paying a ticket.

But that night as he stepped through the door, I burst into tears. “I need you!” I sobbed. “You can’t die! You can’t!” Beside me on the bed Nollie sat up. “We went to see Mrs. Hoog,” she explained. “Corrie didn’t eat her supper or anything.” Father sat down on the edge of the narrow bed. “Corrie,” he began gently, “when you and I go to Amsterdam—when do I give you your ticket?” I sniffed a few times, considering this. “Why, just before we get on the train.” “Exactly. And our wise Father in heaven knows when we’re going to need things, too. Don’t run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need—just in time.

No matter who your earthly family is or how they failed you, your heavenly Father will never deny you nor forsake you.’ That made me think about why Jesus was born.” “ ‘Because he will save his people from their sins,

The gospel is not just supposed to be our ticket into heaven; it is to be an entirely new basis for how we relate to God, ourselves, and others. It is to be the source from which everything else flows.

You’re lit up like someone bought indulgences for all your sins and gave you your ticket to heaven.

The majority of the foreign workers who lived here were Mohammedans, still deeply traditionalist in their attitude toward the female body, and who tended to regard her revealing outfit as either an impertinence or an invitation. [...] — We're insulting them. We're behaving like racists. Walking around here like a pair of voyeurs, like visitors to a zoo... [...] — I simply don't understand. — Can you see how they are looking at you? — No. Besides, it's you they are looking at, more than me. — That's it exactly. It's their way. — Their way of what? Would you explain to me, for the love of heaven, what's going on here? What's bothering you? I stopped short. — Don't you know what racism is? — But... — Racism is when it doesn't count. When they don't count. When one can do anything with them, it doesn't matter what , because they are not people like us. Do you see? Not our kind. When we can make use of them as we please, without losing face, dignity, honor. Without embarrassment, without making a moral judgement - that's it. When we can make them do no matter what degrading work, service, because their opinion of us doesn't count, because it cannot tarnish us. That's what racism is.

Right now You better split my soul up into two.
 And let Your beautiful light percolate and shine through. Cause in a few more years?
And it might be too late —
I’ll reimburse the ticket that gets me through the Pearly Gates.

Being butt-rich does not make you happy. Being poor is also not a ticket to heaven, but how much money you have really doesn’t have much to do with anything. If you want to be happy, you’re going to be happy. If you’re not happy with what you’ve got, you’ll never be happy with anything you get.

Choosing between following God or not is not a matter of getting a ticket punched to heaven.

This is a profound insight. You can avoid Jesus as Savior by keeping all the moral laws. If you do that, then you have “rights.” God owes you answered prayers, and a good life, and a ticket to heaven when you die. You don’t need a Savior who pardons you by free grace, for you are your own Savior.

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