“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints; the sinners are much more fun.” — Billy Joel

It’s been announced that the Holy Father, Pope Francis, has said that he will soon create another saint. This will be Mother Theresa, she of the Missions of Charity. Good for Mother; she’s had it rough.

We who were born Catholics really like saints. Saints were fun. They provided saints’ days on which we were given days off from school. We looked forward to them and actually drew red circles around them on the backs of our catechism books.

The best were the saints’ name days, like when all the boys named Christopher got the day off. Then when Christopher was dropped by the church, they had to come in. My name was Jeremiah, and he was not a saint, but an angry prophet, and thus no day off.

Then starting at about age 12, when my inner stand-up comic persona began to flower, I started to think about the saints. What was it like, I thought, for the nominees to be declared a saint?

I mean, how long does a pre-saint get to knock around heaven while waiting for the break? Was there any hint that this would happen? I mean like St. Stephen, who was stoned to death for blasphemy. Stephen was actually Jewish, so he might have known that wasn’t going to work out for him.

And what was it like over on the other side when it was announced? Not all garlands of roses, I would think.

You know there had to be a clutch of mean girls, even in heaven.

“Oh! Look at her, all ‘saintly’ and stuck up,” or “Check out that robe; soooo last year.”

I don’t know what it’s like in heaven, of course, but I’ll bet it’s much as it is here. One may have been good and saintly on Earth, but in heaven, at least until one is canonized, a saint is just one of the crowd.

Heaven, unlike hell, is probably pretty much like summer camp without the sunburn — democratically run, common shower together.

There will be a big cafeteria like in the food court at the mall, except with none of the smaller tables. It would be a really big food court with those long booths where everyone sits so close that they have no privacy of conversation. I would think that the food would be celestially bland; no Amato’s, McDonald’s, Sbarro, or Panda Express fake Chinese.

But the second the word gets out that the canonized have been chosen, you can bet everything changes. First of all, they’ll get the requisite halo that glows in the dark and glitters and revolves when you move. My mother always said saints get wings, but she was confusing them with angels, who pretty much just do white-sheet laundry and have to hang around and play harps in the Saints’ Hall at dinner.

Top saints will surely get a booth in the exclusive All Saints’ Room, where they have nooks with curtains, candlelight and strolling violinists. That’s gotta be so cool. They will get the Saints’ Menu, with full-color pictures. There will be a section of Italian cuisine because of papal influence, and, of course, no Irish food; there is no such thing as Irish cuisine. But maybe an Irish bar run by St. Patrick, a bar where warm Guinness is served.

Once canonized, the chosen will get the exclusive Saints’ Celestial Cinema Tenplex, where the new saint will see all the old movies, probably nothing newer then 1950, such as the “Bells of St Mary’s,” with Bing Crosby as Father O’Malley and Ingrid Bergman as Sister Mary Benedict.

Trust me, that’s the only Ingrid Bergman movie they’re gonna see in heaven.

I know I’m not going to be on the C list when I pass, probably just sharing a table with my old comedian friends at the show business deli, shuffling along the line with my tin plate. But if I’m lucky, and stay with She who will certainly be on the list, who knows? I think I’ll pass on staying the night with her. It’s hard to sleep with that halo glowing all night.

J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer. His book, “Will Write for Food,” is a collection of some of his best Morning Sentinel columns.

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