The Tailor in Heaven

Once upon a time, there lived a nimble little tailor who was both skilled at his craft and quite pleased with himself. Though his fingers were quick and his stitches neat, his tongue was even quicker when it came to boasting of his talents. He was known throughout the village not only for his fine work but also for his prideful nature.

One fine morning as the tailor sat cross-legged on his worktable, happily stitching a gentleman’s waistcoat, he heard a commotion outside. Peering through his window, he saw a poor woman selling wild strawberries from a basket.

“Fresh strawberries! Sweet as honey!” she called. “Just picked this morning!”

The tailor, feeling a sudden hunger, called out, “Up here, good woman! I’ll buy your juiciest berries!”

The woman climbed the narrow stairs to his workshop. The tailor selected the ripest berries, but as he weighed them, he couldn’t resist cheating just a little, giving the woman fewer coins than the berries were worth.

“A clever bargain,” he thought to himself as the woman departed. “A few extra berries for me, and she’ll never know the difference.”

He popped a plump strawberry into his mouth, savoring its sweetness. But as he reached for another, he was startled by a loud knock at his door. Opening it, he found no one there. Puzzled, he returned to his strawberries. Again came a knock, and again he found no visitor.

The third time the knock sounded, the tailor felt a strange tightness in his chest. He clutched at his heart, dropping his bowl of strawberries across the newly finished waistcoat. As the red juice stained the fine fabric, the little tailor collapsed onto his worktable, his life’s thread suddenly cut short.

When the tailor next opened his eyes, he found himself on an unfamiliar road paved with golden light. The path led upward through misty clouds to a magnificent gate that shimmered like pearl.

“This must be the road to heaven,” the tailor said to himself, straightening his coat and smoothing his hair. “I always knew my talents would be recognized.”

At the gate stood Saint Peter, with a large book in his hands. The tailor approached confidently.

“Good day to you,” he said with a slight bow. “I am the master tailor from the village below. I’ve come to claim my place in heaven.”

Saint Peter looked down at his book, flipping through several pages with a frown. “Tailor, yes… I see your name here. But there are some concerning notes about your character.”

The tailor waved his hand dismissively. “Mere trifles, I assure you. My stitches were always straight, my seams always strong. Surely that counts for something?”

Saint Peter sighed. “Very well. You may enter, but remember: in heaven, humility is valued above all craftsmanship.” With that, he opened the gate just wide enough for the tailor to slip through.

Inside heaven, the tailor was dazzled by the splendor around him. Streets of gold, trees with crystal fruits, and everywhere, souls draped in garments of light. Saint Peter led him to a small wooden stool.

“This will be your place,” Saint Peter said. “Sit here quietly and contemplate the virtues you lacked in life.”

The tailor looked at the humble stool with disappointment. “This? But surely a master craftsman such as myself deserves better accommodations!”

“Humility, tailor,” Saint Peter reminded him. “That is your first lesson here.” With that, Saint Peter left to attend to other newly arrived souls.

The tailor sat on his stool, his legs dangling above the clouds, and watched as others arrived. Some were given seats of silver, others of gold, depending on their lives’ virtues. He noticed with particular envy a magnificent golden chair, encrusted with precious gems, standing empty near the throne of God.

“For whom is that splendid chair reserved?” the tailor asked a nearby angel.

“That is for the most virtuous of all souls,” the angel replied. “One who lived a life of perfect charity and humility.”

This answer did not satisfy the tailor, who began to covet the golden chair. Days passed—though time in heaven moves differently than on Earth—and the tailor grew increasingly restless on his wooden stool.

One day, he noticed that both God and Saint Peter had left heaven temporarily to attend to some divine business. Most of the angels and saints were gathered for a celestial choir practice, leaving the main hall of heaven nearly empty.

“Now’s my chance,” thought the tailor. Quietly, he crept to the golden chair and, after a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, sat himself upon it.

“Ah! This is more befitting a master tailor,” he said, stretching his legs and running his fingers along the armrests adorned with precious stones.

From this elevated position, he could see down through a thin place in the clouds to the Earth below. His curiosity piqued, he leaned forward to get a better view. He saw people going about their daily business: farmers in the fields, merchants in the marketplace, and, to his delight, he spotted his old tailor shop.

A new tailor had already taken his place. The man was measuring fabric all wrong and cutting patterns in a way that made the former tailor’s professional pride bristle with indignation.

“Look at that fool!” he exclaimed. “He’s ruining perfectly good cloth! If I were still there…”

In his agitation, the tailor began rocking the golden chair back and forth, leaning ever closer to the gap in the clouds. Suddenly, the chair tipped forward, and the tailor, with a cry of surprise, tumbled through the opening.

Down, down he fell, through the clouds and the sky, until he landed with a crash right back in his old workshop. The new tailor jumped in fright at the sudden appearance.

“Who are you?” demanded the new tailor, wielding his scissors defensively.

“I am the rightful owner of this shop!” declared the fallen tailor, drawing himself up with dignity despite his disheveled appearance. “I have just come from heaven itself to correct your terrible craftsmanship!”

The new tailor, seeing the wild look in the man’s eyes and his strange, glowing garments (for he still wore the light of heaven), backed away slowly.

“Heaven, you say? And what was it like, this heaven?” he asked, hoping to distract the intruder while he inched toward the door.

“It was magnificent,” the tailor replied, his eyes gleaming with the memory. “Streets of gold, angels singing, and a golden chair fit for a king—which I rightfully claimed, being the master craftsman that I am.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal Saint Peter himself, though only the fallen tailor could see him. The new tailor saw only a strange light and felt a cool breeze.

“So this is where you’ve gotten to,” Saint Peter said sternly. “Sneaking into the golden chair and then falling back to Earth because you couldn’t mind your own business.”

The tailor hung his head, for the first time feeling truly ashamed. “I’m sorry, Saint Peter. My pride got the better of me… again.”

Saint Peter’s expression softened. “Well, it seems you have a lesson still to learn about humility. Since you’re so concerned with earthly tailoring, perhaps you should remain here a while longer.”

And so, the tailor found himself once again alive and in his old shop. The new tailor, thoroughly spooked, had fled, leaving the business vacant. The tailor took up his needle and thread once more, but this time with a different spirit.

He charged fair prices, gave generously to the poor, and never again boasted of his skills, though they remained as fine as ever. And when customers asked about the strange glow that sometimes surrounded him as he worked, he would simply smile and say, “It’s just a reminder of a promise I made to an old friend—that someday, I’ll be worthy of a better seat.”

Many years later, when the tailor died for the second time, Saint Peter met him at the gates with a smile. “You’ve learned your lesson well,” he said, opening the gate wide. “Come in—and yes, there is a new seat waiting for you.”

The tailor entered heaven humbly, head bowed. To his surprise, he was led not to the wooden stool, nor to the coveted golden chair, but to a simple chair of silver.

“It’s more than I deserve,” the tailor said sincerely.

Saint Peter smiled. “And that, my friend, is precisely why you deserve it.”