It's more or less a reward that comes in the afterlife for living in accordance to your chosen religious belief system.   

What's the point of all these rhetorical questions? 

Everyone sins.

Sin is what separates us from God.

Christ is the bridge between us and God.  His death offered salvation for all our sins.

Thus by accepting Christ we are accepting his gift of Salvation.

I thought about the question yesterday and didn't write a response. 

Then I looked at it today and realized I hadn't posted a response because I don't think in terms of "salvation" -- being saved.  I cannot even wrap my arms around such a question probably because I am so rooted in the earth, the living world and day-to-day real life on this planet.  I don't worry about such things as "judgment day," nor my eventual demise and how my eternal soul factors in, nor if I make the cut.  Although I was twice "saved" in the church of my childhood, even then I thought it was a frivolous ritual from a human intermediary who had selected me from the Sunday school class. 

This disinterest probably stems from the fact that I trust in ultimate justice and do not feel I'm a party to manipulating any divine decisions.  I concern myself with trying to live as functional, thoughtful and useful a human life as I can among my family, friends and neighbors.  Afterward may the chips fall where they may.  I trust it's all well-designed.

Susan

     
“Half a truth is often a great lie.”

Ben Franklin

~ Amanda

"Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave..."

I gotta give you credit for that one, Chris!  Oops.  I almost typed "Christ."

Susan 

     
“Half a truth is often a great lie.”

Ben Franklin

Beauty is momentary in the mind -
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.
The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
the cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.
Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrement of praise.

('Peter Quince at the Clavier' by Wallace Stevens)