Did you see the AT&T commercial with Ben Stiller and Jordan Spieth during the Masters? Stiller portrays the world’s worst golfer, seen on the 1st tee of a nice club, and finishes sixty seconds later looking like John the Baptist, trying to find his ball in a wilderness, with wolves howling. He is lost for sure. He calls Spieth, who answers the call.

“Ben, where are you this time?”, asks Jordan.

“I’m a little off the green,” says Stiller, somewhat delusional about his situation.

“The dunes again?” Stiller looks around to see where he might be. All he could say was, “Somewhere between heaven and hell.” Jordan tries to help with his final words- “Okay, so here’s what you’re gonna do….”

Did AT&T realize how profound this sounded in the ears of a golf evangelist like me?

Aren’t we all living somewhere between heaven and hell? And shouldn’t some of us, like Spieth, be available to take the phone calls when our friends get lost?

On Saturday, April 6, Sue and I lived out a one-day metaphor for this commercial when we travelled to Augusta, Georgia for the final round of the prestigious Augusta National Women’s Amateur, now popularly known as ANWA.

I knew this would be a day to remember. Twenty-one-year-old Laney Frye had made the cut and would walk 18 holes around Augusta National. This would be ‘heaven’, walking with friends (B and Kelly Frye) whose little girl had made it all the way to the heavenly grounds of Augusta National. Laney’s maternal grandpa Danny McQueen had been my golf coach at U.K. in the early 1970’s. I am old enough to remember the day when Laney’s mom was born. Her parents had sacrificed, like all the ‘golf parents’ of the world, to give their little girl this opportunity. Laney has played in three U.S. Amateurs and even a U.S. Open at Pine Needles in 2022, but this was even more special— a day at revered Augusta National.

But our journey to golf heaven went through a sort of hell. The parts of Augusta we saw seemed closer to hell than heaven. Augusta residents- don’t shoot me yet. Let me explain.

We arrived on Friday night at 8pm, presuming we would grab some dinner at a nearby Cracker Barrell or such. But no. Our Hampton Inn was on the wrong side of Augusta. In fact, if there is a good side of town, we never saw it. We drove through Captain D’s for greasy fried fish for the first time in over twenty years, taking it to our hotel room to avoid stepping into the place.

Then Sue woke up early and remembered that she had forgotten her tennis shoes. Panic set in as we realized that walking around Augusta National was not going to work in her sandals. We quickly figured out that Walmart would be open at 6am, so for the first and last time in our lives, we walked into a Walmart at 6:10am. I was not aware that tennis shoes can be purchased for $19.95. I was also not aware that people shopped at 6am at a Walmart just fifteen minutes away from “Heaven on Earth”. The workers and customers at Walmart seemed unaware that at that very hour- the Augusta National workers were mowing the most perfect greens in the world, and ‘patrons’ were making their way from hell to heaven. Is hell an exaggeration? Of course it is. But let me explain.

The actual physical address for Augusta National Golf Club is 2604 Washington Road. That would be the address for Heaven on Earth. Just outside the hedges of heaven is an odd assortment of typical American commercial establishments.

Washington Road is home to Walgreens, a Jiffy Lube, an Arby’s, a Tidal Wave Auto Spa (still a car wash to me), World of Beer, the Golden Hair Salon, a Circle K gas station, a pitiful-looking Baptist Church, and a strip mall that should be an embarrassment to the city councilman who represents the area. There was even a tent with a big sign that said, “Masters Tickets Available’. Isn’t this supposed to be the hardest ticket in sports? And worst of all, a Hooters joint with a neon sign that said, “John Daly All Week”. How is this possible?

Outside the gates of ‘heaven’ is an American version of strip mall ‘hell’.

So now it was time to park and go inside the ‘Gates of Heaven’. And it did not disappoint.

The first sign of heaven was the efficiency of the parking lot and signage. There was no confusion as we parked, and zombie-like followed the crowd, politely walking in an orderly fashion toward the presumed Pearly Gate. A well-dressed black gentleman was walking stride for stride with me. Everybody was in a good mood. We came to the first well-manicured entry point. “Is this the Pearly Gate?”, I asked my fellow traveler with a smile. He chuckled and agreed that it might be. “I don’t see St. Peter but he can’t be far away”. He smiled again.

We had an ‘oops’ moment as we went through the security gates. No cell phones allowed. We were turned away and sent back fifty steps with a smile to a cabin where all the phones were collected. I was not the only transgressor. So, I thought to myself, ‘no cell phones’ in heaven. I like that idea. Off we go. My guess is that some teen-agers will choose hell over heaven if they discover that cell phones are not allowed.

The next sign of heaven was the bathroom stop near the first tee. “Gentlemen on the Left and Ladies on the Right”, declared a man with a name tag and a wonderful smile. As Sue went in, I waited and made polite conversation with the grandfatherly gentleman who obviously had been around Augusta National for a while. I wondered if he might be an angel on bathroom duty for the day. Or maybe even a patriarch of old, like Abraham. Inside the bathroom were more attendants than needed, directing traffic with calm charm, cleaning mirrors and sinks and toilets with a smile, making sure everyone was happy. Maybe they too were angels, I thought to myself. The bathroom was clean enough for lunch. “Thank you for coming,” said a young man. I nodded but wanted to say, “No, thank you for smiling. And thank you for helping make this day happen.”

We then headed toward the first tee and stepped on the green grass. I looked down. My first impression was disappointment because it appeared to be synthetic turf. My meager brain calculated quickly that the entry way to the course is so heavily trafficked that you need the ‘fake’ grass to keep it green. But I wanted to be sure. I knelt over to touch the turf. I pulled up a blade and realized that it was indeed Real Grass. But it was ‘perfect’. How do they do this? That thought remained throughout the day, because no matter how far off the beaten path I trod, the grass was always perfect.

We made our way to the First Tee at 8:15am. Laney’s tee time was 8:20am with Amari Avery, another famous hotshot college golfer. She was nowhere to be seen. We realized that a 30-minute frost delay made our arrival just perfect. Annika Sorenstam with a green jacket was shaking hands with two young ladies arriving for their dream tee time at Augusta National. Did these young girls really understand who she was? Several chairs were set up inside the ropes for members and other distinguished guests. Condaleeza Rice was there, smiling politely.

One of the girls was a 15-year-old phenom named Asterisk Talley. There has to be a story behind that name. “Asterisk” smoked her drive down the middle and off she went with what looked like a proud papa on her bag. I wondered to myself if any of these young girls had any idea that the lady sitting behind them had been Secretary of State and basically ran the world when George W. Bush was napping in the White House. Doubtful, since Asterisk would have been too busy working on her short game to worry about Russia and the Middle East. These girls were all born after 9/11. Time flies I suppose.

We wandered over to the perfect putting green and found Laney with a pink toboggan on this cloudless but cold morning. It was a hand-warmer day. Her dad filled us in on Laney’s hopes and dreams. She hopes to make the Curtis Cup team that plays in England, and the Palmer Cup which goes to Ireland this summer. As she walked toward the opening tee, she hugged her mom, who pointed at us and reminded her to say hello to the two strangers wearing Kentucky blue. Laney politely pretended to remember the elderly couple. “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Philpot. Thank you so much for coming!”, she smiled and marched on to the tee-box before murdering her drive long and down the middle. Laney had long forgotten the last time we played together when she was about 12 years old and already hitting it past me on most holes.

So , finally the eighteen-hole heavenly walk began. It was a blur of perfection. The crowds were small enough to see everything. The contours and slopes of Augusta’s greens were in full bloom. And of course, so were the famous azaleas. Blue skies. Light breezes. The weather warmed to a perfect 62 degrees by the back nine. The walk itself would have been glorious with no golf course and no people. But add the Masters’ glory of history and competition, and you have an almost perfect day.

There were myriads of workers everywhere, reminding me of Scripture passages that mention ‘an innumerable company of angels’ (Hebrews 12:22). There seemed to be four times more staff than necessary, whether in a food court or on the golf course or in a bathroom. At first, you think they have nothing to do, but then you realize, they are all looking for any imperfection to fix. A piece of paper needs to be picked up, but not just ‘trash’. Even an out-of-place leaf needs to be removed. I would not have dared to throw my gum into the rough. And all these angel workers were happy and smiling. They kept thanking us for coming.

Especially noteworthy was the food experience. Organized stations for the famous pimento cheese sandwiches, the pork BBQ sandwiches, the egg salad sandwiches, and the chips and drinks that go with it all. Quick. Zip through the lines so as not to miss much golf. And all for almost nothing. The sandwiches were $1.50. What? Did they miss the memo that says all food prices should be quadrupled at airports and sporting events? Even that put a smile on my face.

Alas, Laney’s golf that day was not her best. It looked to the naked eye like a 68, but her scorecard said 78. It didn’t matter. She smiled all the way around, even through a couple of painful three-putts. Or when she hit a ‘perfect’ six iron on the 16th hole that was caught by a gust of wind and fell a foot short and rolled back into the water. Or when her perfect drive on the 18th hole took one final roll into the huge bunker on the left.

As Laney finished her round with a bogey that did not matter, she walked the same path that all the greats had walked before. It is the Via de la Rosa of golf. The way of suffering. In golf, there is only one winner, so walking off the 18th green means all have failed but one. But truthfully, this walk is not about winning. Every person who competes is a winner by being there. And the only real suffering, if you want to call it that, is that the day has come to an end. The sun will eventually go down on the perfect day. Nothing lasts forever.

The best conversation of the day was somewhere on the front nine when I asked Laney’s dad how she handled pressure. She looked so calm, smoking drives and hitting crisp irons. Was she nervous? “I’m sure she gets nervous. But Laney plays for the glory of God.” I stared back at the proud daddy. He was serious. I had heard she was organizing a Bible study back at UK, but that statement stunned me. “… Laney plays for the glory of God.”

One final note on this idea of living somewhere between heaven and hell. Even inside the hedges, we caught a glimpse of ‘hell’.

Understand this- I am not waiting to ‘go to heaven’. Jesus says the Kingdom of Heaven is now, and I believe Him. But there are many who miss this idea, and sure enough, even inside Augusta National was a small piece of ‘hell’. This earthly heaven has it’s moments of hellish stuff.

The hell I saw at Augusta was the long lines of Patrons waiting to get into the merchandise shop. The line at 7:45am when we arrived was so long that I could not even find the end. So-called patrons (truthfully more aptly named Customers) were lined up waiting to spend money. And as we were leaving the property at 2pm, the line seemed to be a mile long and the estimated wait time was two hours. The leaders in the tournament were on the back nine where the drama was high and the course was glorious, but these people were standing in line.

Can you imagine arriving in ‘heaven’ and immediately jumping into a two-hour waiting line to purchase crap (I use that term purposefully)?? If these purchasers would just leave the line, they could stroll around the most beautiful place on the golf planet, where the grass is perfect, the birds are chirping, the angel workers are smiling, the breeze is blowing just enough, the sun is shining, the sky is bluer than blue, the golf swings of the lovely ladies are on-plane, and the putts are falling. But no… these folks were standing in a line and missing the glory of the day.

These so-called Patrons were trading the Glory of Augusta National for the logos on green and yellow merchandise. I seemed to me a sad picture of some people inside the gates of ‘heaven’ (having said a prayer at some point to express belief in Jesus as Savior) that are missing the Glory of real Life in the Son. Instead of walking with Jesus, they are busy buying His memorabilia.

Oh well, I will not make this too profound. But certainly it is true. This journey on earth will end someday. We now live “somewhere between heaven and hell”. And we get to choose which way to go.

We can walk in the Glory of God, like Laney.

Or we can stay outside near the strip mall on Washington Road. Or perhaps even sadder, arrive inside the Heavenly hedges but stand in a line to accumulate stuff.

We get to choose.