There Must Be Scones in Heaven

Ever have one of those days?

Sunday night Tony and I had an argument, which continued to be an argument on Monday morning (we never do that!). My 8:30 class was American Religious History. Usually a light lecture, this one was largely focused on the civil rights movement and unexpectedly punctuated by stomach-turning images of black lynchings chillingly arranged over Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit.” I thought I was going to lose my granola. Before I could finish grieving those scenes, my Old Testament Interpretation lecture began. We could have studied Psalms or Proverbs (heck, Song of Songs!), but no, this class was on the biblical beginnings of anti-Semitism (and the Holocaust) in the book of Esther. Finally, my day of classes culminated in a theology class on eschatology—that’s divinity school-speak for “The END of the WORLD.”

Seriously, folks. It’s a Monday, have a little mercy.

Going to divinity school has its perks. Among other things, it’s generally acknowledged as the easiest way to get into Yale, and it’s not only acceptable but encouraged to take your classes pass/fail, so you can focus more on the content work of your work rather than the grade. Some of the downsides include lots and lots and lots and lots of reading on topics that usually get you angry, offended, emotional, terrified, nervous, elated, or all of the above. I regularly cry over my homework (and sometimes at school).

In a nutshell: Every single day we talk about the subjects people try to avoid in polite society: religion, politics, gender, sex, violence, race, oppression, poverty, the environment, God, and on and on.

So, after my absolutely crap day, what did I do? What every self-help and diet book in the world would tell you not to…blew off my homework, had a couple glasses of red wine, and planned an extravagant breakfast for the next morning. Yup, homemade scones. On a Tuesday.

Among other things, I’ve had this canister of oats staring at me for about six months (purchased back when I optimistically thought that, despite my 8:30 classes, I would still manage to make slow-cooking oatmeal in the morning…hilarious, I know). And as much as the radio is telling me I need to get laser hair removal, cosmetic surgery, and the newest diet book to get my “bikini body” ready for summer, I have been nursing a hardcore hankering for cinnamon raisin something. So, I got up early and instead of making oatmeal, I made oatmeal scones.

This morning turned out far differently than yesterday. Instead of an argument, I got light, sweet, fluffy, warm, fresh-out-of-the-oven perfection, coupled with a strong cup of coffee and a sunny spot in my apartment. Hallelujah!

No matter what comes my way today, I’ve got a flaky, tender scone in my belly. And if my theology professor asks me what the end of the world is, or what heaven might be like, I will tell him: if there aren’t scones in heaven, I ain’t goin’.