This novel by Bob Moore,

is about 60% finished. It’s

about ones experience of the
end of time, ostensibly from an evangelical
Christian perspective, but accounted
for from an apostates’ perspective.
PURE HELL

Copyright 2007

IN MY DREAM I hear a spine-tingling shout—not unlike a prolonged, “Yee—haw!”

It wakes me up. Maybe it wasn’t my dream. The digital clock is dark; the first glimmers

of morning are outside my window. It’s “The Lord’s Day”, as I sometimes used to denote

Sundays when I wanted to evince ancient authorities.

The power’s off—not unusual out here on our Missouri Rural Electric Coop, but not

normal for a perfectly clear day. My wife, Carolyn, is gone to Baylingham, Washington

for her son’s graduation—I’ve got too much painting work to go with her. Maybe I won’t

be able to work after all if the power’s off where I’ve been working. I use my airless

sprayer to do the walls and ceilings in a new house, and then use sheetrock taper’s stilts

to cut-in the tops of the walls with the wall colors. It’s really fast. If I don’t have the

house ready for the trim work to go in on Wednesday, maybe it can be blamed on a power

failure.

I walk out to the garden to look around at how things are coming along. Maybe I’ll

discover some connection with the apparent shout-noise and the power outage. The

cherry tomato plants really look good. Just nine days ago, for the earliest time ever, we
harvested our first ripe tomato—June first, my birthday! We posted photos on the blog

site of us holding the prize with boastful smiles. The kids and my brothers and sister

have already posted return comments.

What a pristine sky! I jerk insanely when I hear from behind me, a sound sort of like a

bottle rocket. It really shakes me. I think I’m seeing stars. First there is a burning fuse

sound, then a swoosh, then a scream—more of a “yee-haw” but a little different than the

one that woke me. I turn in time to see another something, fizzling in the dirt.

Something like tree roots just under the ground, sizzling; a little smoke puffing up here

and there through the dirt, then a coalescing of a light or of a fiery spark which leaps

skyward; glowing and expanding into further indistinguishable details; changing like a

transformer toy as it converges—almost as fast as lightening—on a brilliant, glistening

meteor of some sort. It’s traveling quickly from South to North, pretty high up, and I see

other streaks, faintly visible and also converging with it.

I’m cowering on the ground between raised garden beds. I find that I’ve banged the back

of my head on one of the tomato steaks, but it doesn’t seem too bad. “No one’s going to

believe this!” My first reasonable rationale is to suspect some ground-to-comet

lightening-like charge is being connected due to static charge buildups between the

meteor or comet and the ground. I’ve never seen anything like it, but I have seen strong

electrical charges build up on antennas during dust storms. I wonder if this has anything

to do with the power outage?

Fumbling with the car radio, I find my station, and most others are off the air. One

station apparently has power, but—I guess—it maybe has automatic backup power and is

pumping out early Sunday morning programmed stuff. Starting to sweat, I find my cell

phone connection is down. Unreasonable thoughts crowd in as I pick up the regular

phone line and find a dial tone. Who do I call? The power coop line is busy as is the

state troopers’. This might be bigger than I think. It would be interesting to know who

else may have observed what I’d seen. How will the experts explain things?

My interest is sharply focused by a second attempt on the car radio, which reveals a

station, which has switched to the emergency broadcast system. I’ve never seen this

used, except on rare occasions for tornado warnings. Just as I thought: NOAA

spokesmen are speculating that a meteor—in fact, radar has shown it is probably a large,

unforeseen meteor shower—entering the earth’s atmosphere, unusually from the direction

of the earth’s axis. It has somehow interfered with the operation of power plants and

electrical systems in the Eastern half of the country and seems to be spreading westward.

The program breaks to another expert who—a little excitedly—theorizes that we may

actually be dealing with extra terrestrials. I don ’t believe it, but it’s unnerving. He goes

on to say that evidence suggests that the ET’s may be tapping into resources and energy

from our planet. The station quickly breaks back to the first spokesman. My heart feels

skittish as I ponder the earth/sky energy-connection that I had just witnessed.

“He’s right!” But, my next thought is, “the rapture!” No! Can the rapture really be an

actuality? I don ’t think so. A few years ago I had totally ruled out the rapture as a

possibility—beyond a doubt. But, if somehow I’m overlooking something… No.

I think about the times back when I was a kid, when I had thought for an instant that the

rapture had taken place and maybe I’d been “left behind”. Once on a trip, when I was

about thirteen, our car was hit in the back, just as Mom was slowing down in front of

Faith Bible College to show us kids where she had attended college in Springdale,

Missouri. For a couple of seconds, I figured the power that I felt, from the collision, was

the energy of the rapture, which was just then taking place. It didn’t take long to learn

otherwise.

I remember the time we tricked my teen-aged nephew and his friend. At a family holiday

get-together here recently, everybody in the crowded house agreed to hide in a small

room when we saw Daniel and his buddy returning to the house. We left the TV on, the

water running in the sink and the gas stovetop on. The teen-agers’ nervous comments on

a possible rapture scenario really cracked us up.

Just the other day, I laughed with a fellow blogger, Duane, my son-in-law’s friend,

revealing how as a kid, his primary concern was not about missing the rapture, but worry

over the fact that when he was taken up—from his old body—to meet the Lord in the air

—changed into his new body—he might be naked.

Of course, Duane, Alvin, and I no longer hold such beliefs. But who knows, maybe I

haven’t considered everything regarding the validity of Christianity. I’m sure I have, but

what’s it going to hurt to give Mom a call in Springdale? She’s a sure bet on being a

rapture candidate and I can just be checking on her electrical power condition and seeing

how things are going.

“Mom, you’re home?!”

“Hi Benito, my son. Of course I’m home—church doesn’t start for another four or five

hours.” Mom’s always up early, but I guess 5:30 is probably about an hour too early.

“Well…,” I hesitate, her voice sure sounds good. I laugh a little. She’s always got a

touch of humor in her conversations.

“Well… what are you doing up so early—I’m not even out of bed yet.”

“Well, have you got power?”

“I don’t know… no we don’t.”

“Well, we don’t either. Seems to be a large-scale problem…just wanted to check on

things with you and to let you know that I can pick you up and you can stay with us in

Roselle if conditions persist.”

“Thank you, Son… I’m sure I’ll be fine until they get it going again. Your sister, Di’s got

friends here that can help us like they did with the ice storm this winter—if it comes to

that—but thanks for calling. Are you doing OK?”

Mom’s 81, a mix of gray and black hair, looks good, is sharp, and still drives to work at

Glad Tidings University in Springdale, where she has the position of cataloging librarian.

She even has her own private parking spot. Her’s is a less demanding position than that

of college librarian, which she held at Wesleyan College in New York before she got to

be normal retirement age. She’s been concerned about my faith since the lack of it has

become more apparent after my first wife’s death, two and a half years ago.

“Yeah, Mom, we’re doing pretty good here. I’ll be coming down soon, so be sure you

have a to-do list ready for me.

I don’t talk about the concerns that the media was able to get out to those with back-up or

battery power. She’ll find out soon enough, and she’s not one to worry much anyway.

I’m not either, but my heartbeat’s still a little fast from witnessing the ground-sparks. It’s

going to be an interesting day. I’ll get the generator going and see if the TV stations or

my satellite internet service are doing anything.

MILITARY JETS fly over, rather low. I think they must be spooked. They’re making

turns as though searching for something. It’s now six a.m., and, only four a.m. on the

West coast where Carolyn is. I hope she’ll think of calling my home phone when she

wakes up. She’ll find her calls to me are not going through on the cell phone. If the

power-outs spread to Washington State, she may be prevented from returning back here

until things get restored. That really worries me. It becomes more unnerving when I

remember that I have my home phone set up so that calls made to it get automatically

forwarded to my cell phone number (that’s how I run my painting business—Ben Roberts

Painting—from a Yellow Pages listing). I immediately change my home phone settings

so it won’t forward incoming calls. If what is happening here affects the whole country,

she’ll consider this as planned by the Illuminati to gain more control over the nations of

the world. She tries not to worry about such things, saying that we are bound to pass

through such, before things are turned for the better. But, she’s convinced: “I know it to

be true,” she corrects me, when I say things like, “So you think the terrorist attacks on our

country were planned by the Illuminati who are exercising power over us and are

working within our government?” She thinks I’m a little naïve. I think it’s a little naïve

to believe the so-called Illuminati could be in agreement about anything, enough to have

a worldwide coordinated conspiracy. “You’re just like the rest of the country,” she says,

“they just don ’t see that our freedoms are being taken away by this elite group. They’re

rich, they have a lust for control, and some of them—maybe all of them—worship the

Devil. Of course you know I don’t believe in the Devil, but most of them do, you know.”
It was only two months after my wife, Suzanne, died of colon cancer, that I began

looking at the Green Singles Internet site, which helps environmentally-minded singles—

usually vegetarians—to look for compatible mates. A little too soon, maybe, but not

uncommon for men in their late 50’s. Anyway, it was there I met and began emailing

with “kindness-loving” Carolyn from the state of Washington. Four months later we

were married.

I get the generator out of my shop and notice my next-door neighbor outside her house

sweeping her porch a little earlier than usual.

“Good morning, Ben,” she shouts her best, “Your power’s out too?” Louise and her

husband, Len Langston, are not only my neighbors, but are the parents of my diseased

wife. It was an uncomfortable fit having Carolyn move in here, but they have made the

best of it considering. It’s been harder for my Carolina—as I sometimes call her. She

says, “Moving into ‘Langston-land’ here with your wife’s parents, her cousin, and her

sister and their families, just yards away in this compound-like place is more than any

other woman could take.”

“Yeah, Hi Mom,” Out of respect, I still call my former mother-in-law Mom. “Do you

need water?” I’m able to use the generator to power the well pump for my water and for

theirs.
“Maybe after while. We’re doing alright for now. I drew a little water when I got up and

the tank still had pressure.”

“OK.” I call out, with a self-depreciating chuckle, noting there are a few more Christians

still hanging around on earth.

I plug the TV into the generator’s extension cord. I’m on an antenna out here and only

get a few channels, mostly from Springdale, which is about 100 miles from here in

Roselle. Channel 3 has a notice scrolling across the bottom of the screen: “Our satellite

feeds are down. Please refer to the Voice of America Radio at 5890 kHz (short wave

radio) for news regarding the status of the power interruption.” The local announcer is

out on the streets interviewing residents about their situations and their perceptions of

these circumstances. A man with obvious agitation says, “I don’t believe in aliens. I

think this is some kind of satellite warfare or experiments that are getting out of hand. I

am keeping my guns loaded and ready.” Another person in the same stylish

neighborhood, nervously remarks that he thinks today’s world is too closely linked

together technologically, and that power grids, computer networks, satellites,

communications and such, have had the possibility of a domino-like effect, and that it

may be a long time before they get this straightened out.

The station switches to another reporter doing gas station and grocery store runs, I turn

off the TV and try my internet service but without any luck. I dig out my little

emergency radio with the broken charger crank and find some batteries for it. Finding a
short wave station seems impossible. Some Morris Code here and there. I come across

an individual talking to some other person whose responses I am not picking up. It’s a

one-sided conversation:

“You say it started somewhere over here between Hawaii and New Zealand? Over.”

Then follows the other person’s part of the conversation.

….

“So if it’s orbiting the earth, going over both poles, then—in the same orbital period—it

also began going over Europe.”

….

“Roger. And with each pass it progresses Westward at the same speed the earth rotates.”

….

“That’s because I first noticed it here in Sydney just before 5 p.m. Everybody on the

South to North swing on the other side of the earth would first notice it at 5 a.m., right?”

Obviously these are a couple of ham operator geeks, one of whom lives in Australia. The

phenomenon that I observed must be worldwide. I take it they have more information
than I’ve been able to get. Probably because things really got started about six hours ago,

just east of Sydney, and our side of the earth, in Europe. In 12 hours time the invaders—

I’m beginning to think, “space invaders”—will be able to scan and access every square

mile of our globe

“Roger. It’ll be 5 a.m. here in another five hours. I’ll try that place you suggest and get

back here in one hour. …Out.”

The geeks move on to another place, but I leave the radio set right where it is so I can

perhaps hear them again in an hour. I feel very uneasy. We’ve apparently got no control

over what’s happening. What if they’re not friendly? What will happen when the orbital

scan finishes. It should—if I’m calculating right—end at around 5 p.m., my time, if

they’re orbiting started at 5 a.m., our time, and a complete over-pass of the whole earth

takes only 12 hours. Maybe they will have re-energized their space craft and then just

take off and leave us alone to recover our situation. Surely there can’t really be aliens

from space causing all this. If there were aliens out there, we would have noticed—in all

our SETI searching—some sort of intelligent information coming in from out there. I

think it’s probably the case—like the guy on TV said—that there has been some sort of

domino effect failure for much of the world’s power and communications networks.

Maybe the orbiting meteor, or whatever it is, has some sort of disrupting magnetic field.

CHAPTER TWO
“I’M SORRY, ALL CIRCUTS are busy,” I hear, trying again to call my daughter Cindy,

in California. Another call to Carolyn’s cell phone does the same. It’s 3:00 p.m. and I

find that only local telephone calls are working. My poor little muffin-head, Carolina! It

greatly worries me to know how anxious she’s bound to be. I hope there is a break in

things soon. Channel 3, the only station still on, warned a little while ago, that it will

soon be operating their transmitter at reduced power to conserve their backup fuel.

People outside of a 25mile radius will have to seek other sources of coverage.

I think about going into town to get extra gas for the generator, but I realize that gas

pumps won’t be working, so I spend the afternoon doing a BBQ from the thawing salmon

and steaming some vegetables and rice (which I had from last night). Before passing

away, Suzanne had steered us toward a mostly vegetarian diet, and now, Carolina is

continuing for me, the vegetarianism, which she’s been doing since the early 70’s. I’m

now very acclimated to a mostly vegetarian diet and my digestion and health have been

superb. I notice, in fact, that I feel unusually healthy today—new strength, new alertness

—something in the air, it seems. That’s curiously strange, with all the stressful thinking

that I’ve also had today. For a third time—on the hour, I am unsuccessful as try to see if

the ham operators are talking. I left the tuning right where it had been.

SPEEDING PAST my house is Roy Chef, Lona’s husband. Lona is my first wife’s sister.

She and Roy live just past Len and Louise’s place. Roy has been in town—probably to
their church service. I presume they were probably unable to get word out that it would

be canceled. Roy, a tough-love type of personality, is associate pastor at Roselle’s Faith

Assembly of God Church, and a chaplain for the Roselle Rural Fire Department. I step

out to see if he has any information to share. He’s over at Len and Louise’s when I

encounter him.

Being genuinely interested, I ask, “So, did you have anyone show up for services today?”

“There’s quite a crowd there now. You’re welcome to bring some food and join us.” Roy

keeps working, bringing stuff out of the Langston house as he talks.

“What do you mean? Are people seeing today’s circumstances as some kind of sign of

the end times?

“Think what you want. I just came back out to pick up my in-laws.”

Roy is often quick and to the point. It doesn’t matter whether he’s responding to a radio-

dispatch fire call or just coming home from work at the church, we’re convinced that he

ignores the sign we put up in front of our house: “Please Go Slow”. We put the sign up

because the dirt driveway passes so close to our house that we get a lot of dust from those

driving by.

“Well, what are people saying? Are we talking rapture?”

Roy pauses for the first time, “The Lord said no one knows the day or the hour for that,

but we have some folks living close to the cemetery who saw and heard a lot of activity

there this morning.”

Now what am I supposed to say to this? I could ask, “But, if this is the rapture, how

come you’re still here?” Everyone now knows I’m a skeptic regarding Christianity. Both

he and Lola have their preconceptions about one like me. Their basic representation to

me is, “Ben, we just can’t deny what the Lord has done for us in our lives. We know he

is real. Just too many miraculous things have taken place in our lives for us to see things

any differently.” I’ve thought about lecturing them on how the uncanny persuasive

power of coincidence has evolved in humans for survival purposes, and how that we

forget the overwhelming number of times prayers are not answered and we soon forget

these because we assume God has some good reason for not answering them. But, I

know Roy and I don’t operate on the same set of assumptions and I know our reasonings

would only alienate our friendship.

“So, what do you take it to mean…that activity?”

“Well, you know Ben, the apostle, Paul, tells us that the dead in Christ would rise first.”

Roy spends considerable time ministering in nursing homes and is fluent with texts that

bring comfort to those nearing the end of their lives. “The Bible says, ‘we who are alive

and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep.
But, the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the

archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we

who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the

Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another

with these words.’”

When I thought again about what I had witnessed this morning, I wasn’t at all comforted

by those words. “Then why, I ask—if it’s possible the dead have already been raised—

why haven’t we too been caught up together with them now?” I use inclusive language

so as not to alienate myself from conditions we obviously have in common as humans.

Len and Louise come out of their house to get a ride to church with Roy. They actually

are looking pretty good, considering they’re usually somewhat feeble with the advanced

conditions of their diabetes.

“I don’t know why living Christians are still here, Ben, but everyone’s getting together at

church to pray about it.” Roy looks at the wound behind my left ear, “Did you hurt

yourself?”

“No, it’s just superficial, I jerked my head around this morning and hit one of my tomato

steaks in the garden.” I help Roy put some of the Langston’s canned food in his pickup

to take to church and think, for a second, about joining them. It strikes me, though, that if

I considered praying important, I could do that sort of thing right here without being
surrounded by fearful believers. The Langstons exchange greetings with me and we help

them into the truck.

“Are you planning on staying overnight?”

“We don’t know for sure. If the Lord tarries, I think we may dismiss the gathering. But,

of course, if things go on like they did with the ice storm this winter, we will operate to

relieve the needs of people who are without water and such.”

Thinking of the corny expression for an unimaginable length of time—“Till Jesus

comes”—I ask, “Would you like me to bring in some of my water? I’ve got the generator

going?”

Starting up the truck and apparently anxious to get back to the church, Roy smiles; “The

city water seems to be working for now, but thank you anyway.”

NEXT DOOR, on the other side of our house, is where Earnest and Lavida Langston live.

Ernie is my first wife’s cousin. They, too, have apparently gone to a meeting at their First

Christian Church. Ernie and Lavida have been the most gracious of neighbors to us, and

—to Carolyn’s delight—exceptionally sweet towards her, in spite of the differences

between their and our world-views. I now feel strangely cut off from society. There are

no vapor trails in the blue sky—with faint jet-noises, no air-conditioner laboring away, no

grass cutting, no radio or TV, no people. I turn on the little emergency radio again, but
hear nothing. Exasperated, I move the tuning dial slightly and find the same ham

operator from Sydney, talking. The exact tuning must have drifted off their frequency.

“No, ‘Newstalk ZB, FM radio’ is still on from Auckland.”

….

“Well, about an hour ago they were claiming the same phenomenon that you just heard

about in South Korea.” It feels so good to hear humans out there. I’m guessing they are

talking about the phenomenon that I experienced this morning. As I think about it,

though, I realize that if what I observed at 5 a.m. was related to something in a polar

orbit, then people over there should have observed the same thing about eight hours ago,

not just now.

….

“I don’t think it’s that. The E.T.s are probably using information they have about our

Christian mythologies to throw us off. If not all Christians are disappearing, it probably

shows that their database on us is incomplete.”

Are they talking about real living people being “taken up”? No way! I just saw Roy a

few minutes ago. I suddenly feel like I’m watching a gripping horror movie with the
corresponding sense that there’s an actual occasion of the movie’s subject, right around

here somewhere. The hair stands up on my skin.

….

“So you’re saying that when only part of the Seoul congregation went up, that those who

didn’t go were not true believers?” …. “Roger.”

I HURRIEDLY get out my globe of the world and hold it in a position where I can

visualize Roselle’s position in relation to Sydney, Australia. The light coming in from my

window illuminates one side of the globe, so, with some shaking, I place Missouri in a

position where it is about three hours away from passing into the dark. I know it doesn’t

account for summer differences in sunset times, but it’s got to be close. I see that Sydney

would, just about now, be coming into the early morning light and that in New Zealand it

would probably be around 9 a.m. Surely it can’t be the—for real—rapture! I can’t have

been misled concerning my position on disbelieving such things. But… If some rapture-

like effects started occurring in Sydney around 5 a.m.—their time—it would also begin

occurring here around 5 p.m. That’s if my reasoning is correct regarding the westward

progression of the UFO’s polar orbit. I go through the reasoning process once again to

check it out.

I debate with myself whether or not I should go in to Roy’s church before 5 p.m. I don’t

know which scenario I discredit the most: The rapture, or the possibility of extra
terrestrial aliens doing some kind of extraction of Earthlings. I’m absorbed in trying to

get a coherent view of things. It’s like a dream in which you try to solve some previous

day’s problem by approaching it in endless ways. People can’t be raised from their

graves if they have no graves. What if they died in a fire and nothing was left of them?

What if there were Christians who died in Japan’s atomic bomb blast. Their atoms would

be utterly vaporized and land all over the earth. Some of those atoms might be part of me

now. I could actually have particles, of what used to be the Apostle Paul’s brain, as part

of my chin (dust turns into other life-forms, you know). The early Christians didn’t think

through these things. And say you could somehow bring together enough information to

reformulate a body with the original DNA and everything you need; how could you

proceed to implant the condition of the mind, back to the time when the person died?

Their mental history; their whatever? You would have to have some kind of record of it,

and the record of it, which was in their brains, has been completely destroyed. Unless…

I here play the Devil’s Advocate—unless it’s in the brain of God somehow. I laugh at the

irony when I think that I’m, instead, playing “the good angel’s advocate”. I sober up a

little as I remember that the mind of God is also posited in some versions of Process

Theology, which I’ve recently been exploring.

But, I conclude, Process Theology is so removed from orthodox Christianity, that it

couldn’t possibly contemplate the so-called rapture. I’m pretty sure. So, I settle on the

idea that the short wave stir, concerning the rapture of living people, is just the workings

of urban mythology over this unstructured event. The rumor mills are busy fabricating

things that people have a proclivity to expect might be happening. Surely when the
power companies begin getting the electricity working again, this will all resolve itself as

humankind’s overcoming of a natural phenomenon.

CHAPTER THREE

THE LIGHTS COME back on for half a minute and then go off again. That’s got to be a

good sign of progress on the problem. Maybe the electricity is back on in Roselle. I

think I’ll drive in and take a look. Roselle’s population is about 17,000, not including the

university’s population, which is mostly gone for the summer. The drive through town is

met with traffic lights being off and police cars at crucial points. With stores and services

closed, the typical Sunday afternoon traffic has been reduced, but people are outside. The

parks are full with everyone apparently enjoying themselves.

Realizing that my Jetta’s clock reads 5:20 p.m., I head over to the Faith Assembly of God

Church. I bought this diesel powered VW back in 1999 because, I thought the impending

Y2K year might bring fuel shortages, and I liked the 50 mpg the Jetta offered. I reflect

that I have become even better trained by the Y2K experience. It was not even a bump in

the road. Apocalyptic claims never did ring true to me and that experience has made me

even more realistic.

The church parking lot is about half full. I faintly hear someone sobbing and crying

inside, and stop to listen awhile. It must be an emotional prayer meeting for at least one
of them. I peek in at the main doors of the church and guess that the congregation is

down stairs in the fellowship area for dinner, while one lone person is left upstairs and is

maybe coming to grips with guilt issues or something. I’ve seen this kind of thing before

—years ago.

Suddenly the person gets up from kneeling and heads for the door, and, consequently

towards me. I see the grief-wracked face of a friend, Don Woodburn. I met Don a couple

of years ago at Roselle’s Recreational Centre. We both do weights and early morning

swimming there. He’s an artist; normally very buoyant and eager to be a patron of the

arts in town. We had sort of a loose bond in that his wife died—this was before I knew

him—and he remarried a woman who had recently become interested in the church.

Though Don did not often go with Janet, they both liked to visit the congregation on

occasion, just to hear the vibrancy of its music.

“Don, is that you?” I wonder if maybe he’s had some kind of conversion experience, and

I anticipate expounding on reasons for being careful about apocalyptic fervor.

“Ben, you’re here too?” He reaches for my shoulders and begins deep lamenting sobs,

spacing out short explanations between convulsions. I’m surprised, of course, that no one

else remained upstairs to work through this with him, but I hear him say that they’re all

gone. I smell food cooking downstairs and piece together more of what he’s saying.
“They went up like windows, on my computer, being minimized. Up in a second. First

two or three, then everyone but me; I guess they went right through the ceiling.” A

burned food smell grows stronger. Don is very graphic in his description of things.

Maybe he’s talking about his prayers rising? He grabs me more tightly, “Oh, Ben, we’re

left behind! It’s just like the books were saying. I didn’t believe it at all.” It hits me like

the doctor’s words about Suzanne’s cancer being terminal. Don’s talking about the

rapture. I’m stunned silent. There must be a way to avoid this conclusion.

“Have you checked downstairs?” I look around fruitlessly for people’s clothing having

been left behind, thinking for a second of Duane’s boyhood worry of nakedness.

“No, Janet did not go down there. She was right. The Left Behind books were right.”

Don seems confused. I take off downstairs with him following. We find the gas stove on

and some food burning, but no one else. I think of our prank involving my nephew, and

hesitate dismissing the same kind of trick being done by the church people. I know they

have done some graphic, fear-inducing drama before, about the gates of Hell. Surely they

wouldn’t be playing some kind of teaching game. I check some closets and other rooms.

Don is still red-eyed and nearly bawling, “You’re a theology student, aren’t you Ben?

What are we going to do? Janet used to talk about a period of three and a half years

taking place, then, if you were willing to die for the faith, you would also be able to join

those in heaven. Is that right? I think it is, I’m quite sure.”

“You actually saw the people go up?”

“They sort of disappeared upward.”

“Really?” I’m contemplating aliens and what their modus operandi might be. Would

they have files on whoever might be claiming to be Christian believers? That’s got to be

too subjective. How would they discriminate between Don and his wife, if she were—

just tonight—a brand new convert?

“Did Janet claim to be a true believer like those here?”

“Not exactly, but earlier today, she did go down to the alter with many others to pray.”

Don’s hopes seem to revive a little, “I have been trying now to pray also. Would you

know what to say? I’ve been telling God—the best that I know how—that I believe and

I’ve confessed that in the past I did not believe. What do you suggest?”

CHAPTER FOUR

DON IS STILL NERVOUSLY pointing out passages from his wife’s Left Behind series of

books, here at his house. We are trying to make sense of things.

“Even if this is the Rapture, Don, these books have a position that has been discredited by

many biblical scholars. The tribulation, the seven year and the three-and-a-half year

periods are best explained as having already occurred around the time of the 70 AD

destruction of the Jewish temple.” Like our house, Don’s house is a Bohemian

conglomeration of things. The only difference is that ours is more colorful and his has

many of his own, high-class paintings.

“I remember this one thing Pastor Roy said today,” Don appears ready to sum up an

argument, “He said that if you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in

your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” Don polishes his

glasses with his shirt tail, and with a new conviction announce, “Ben, I do believe it and

I am declaring it to you now. So, even if the three-and-a-half years was about 70AD, I’m

holding on to the belief that I’m going to be saved too.”

New hypothetical questions are cropping up for me. Assuming this is the so called,

Rapture, then, according to those who hold the 70 AD tribulation theory, the coming back

of Jesus in our day, should include the judgment of unbelievers at the same time. But,

since Don and I are not now being judged before God’s throne, that fact could

conceivably lend some credence to the premillennial, pre-tribulational claims that Janet’s

books are making. Those authors think that first there’s a rapture, where believers are

taken away with Christ. Then Jesus doesn’t really touch down on earth with his believers

until seven years later. At that time, which is after a horrendous worldwide holocaust

showdown, Christ inaugurates 1000 years of total, peaceful Christian rule. After that, I
think there’s another final battle with the Devil. It’s all very complicated and relies on

the pasting together of bible texts from all over the place.

“Look, Don. Why don’t we go to my place?” I’m thinking that Carolyn might be able to

try our house phone, and I would like to be there to pick it up if she did. Today I had

replaced my power-using phone for a non-powered non-message-taking one. She’s

constantly on my mind and I know she won’t be on the scheduled flight home tomorrow

since there’s apparently no power at the airports. There have been no planes in the air all

day.

“I have a generator and it’s getting dark here,” I tell Don. “We could check out the news

with my short-wave radio if the TV’s still off.” Don is more than willing and grabs some

food to take with us. I also want to review my Reformed Christian Reconstruction books

that cover what they expected concerning the post-millennial return of Christ. Something

is really starting to bug me: If Don and I are not now facing judgment, then it seems to

me—if this is really the Rapture—that we’ve entered the dispensationalists’ scenario

depicted in the Left Behind books. An actual biblical rapture is too much for me to

believe, let alone the agenda of the dispensationalists. To top it off, Don seems to have

joyfully settled on the conviction of his own salvation, even if it’s through martyrdom.

Extra terrestrial interference with our Earth is starting to sound more plausible, especially

since I can’t see agreement between what is happening to us now, and the different

apocalyptic views that are out there.

I’M GETTING SLEEPY. After all this unholy mess, it doesn’t seem possible, but I know

that even in the worst of circumstances, the body must surrender to eventual insensibility.

Don reached that stage before me. He’s stretched out on the couch and is going to have

to stay here tonight. Coming through town on our way back here, we encountered

portable traffic-alert signs at the main intersections. They indicated an enforced curfew

between 9:00 pm and 4:30 am tonight. I’ve never seen anything like it in our small town.

I can only imagine what it must be like in the bigger cities. We’re both glad to have

company. Tomorrow we agree to think about survivalist plans. Whether we are going to

endure until society recovers from an extra terrestrial onslaught or whether we are fated

to endure 3 ½ to 7 years of biblical horrors, we decide to strategize on our plans together

in the morning.

AS WE FINISH OUR OATMEAL we slowly make a list of things we will have to do if

the electricity does not come back on. The third thing down is to check out the nearest

neighbors. We have seven households, within a half-mile of us, who are professing

Christians. Five of these are related to my diseased wife. We have not seen any activity

from any of the houses that are within our view. Don’s convinced that they all have been

taken up to be with Christ. We decide that if this is what really happened, it won’t be

long before government authorities will be confiscating their goods and properties.
“Or looters will,” adds Don. “We should confiscate their useful things for ourselves,

first. What do you think?” He’s obviously convinced that the rightfulness of his

suggestion is a given. “Anyway, most of them are your relatives.”

“Yeah, but what if they’re still around somewhere?”

“Come on… do you really think that?” I realize that if we were mistaken about the

reasons for their disappearance, we could probably convince our returning friends of our

good intentions, so I agree to look into the venture.

FOOD, GUNS, AMUNITION, gas, and money: this and intentions of returning for more,

fill our morning’s appropriations work. With several bags of partially thawed food now

at my house, we become keen towards using it immediately. Don begins preparing some

pork chops with the speed of a palette knife painter, while I get some frozen vegetables

going. As we sit down to eat, Don suggests we pause to give thanks. In my mind I

acknowledge my dependence on what I call nature’s interconnectedness and self-

organization, but I have been looking at that whole network as a pantheistic god of sorts.

I know Don envisions the transcendent Christian God and I answer him, “Please do, and

speak for us both, if you will.”

“Dear Lord,” he begins, folding his hands, closing his eyes, and—like a novice—

searching for the words to say, “…we acknowledge our dependence upon you…” I’m
astonished that he would chose words that I have just processed through my brain. I,

too, close my eyes and wait for the rest of the prayer.

“We thank you for this food and for your salvation… Guide us in the way that we should

go… We believe in you… dear God… In Jesus name we pray. Amen.”

I follow with my own vocalization of, “Amen,” but I’m startled to hear my mom’s voice

echo, “Amen” at the same time with mine.

“MOM!?” I shout out, jumping up from the table where she is seated with us. “How in

the world did you get here? I didn’t hear you drive up or come in.” She’s not a practical

joker like my dad was. She’s radiantly smiling as though in possession of a great secret.

I marvel at how well she looks. I also feel a great relief as I immediately consider her

presence as overruling the possibility of the second coming as explaining recent things.

As we hug ever so dearly, Mom begins telling me, “I was worried, my son, that you may

not have reconciled your trust in our Lord. But, praise God, here you are!” I’m puzzled

and speechless but she continues, her eyes as merry as any Irish lassie, “Isn’t it wonderful

—have you tried it yet—where you can join with others…you know, “where two or three

are gathered in Jesus’ name?…”

“Mom,” I interrupt, “didn’t you get here by car?”

“No, of course not.”

Is Dee with you?”

“No, Benito, but it’s likely she will join with you sometime soon. You should try it

yourself. There’s so much to give praise for! Who’s your friend?”

Ignoring the question for a moment, I ask, “Seriously, Mom. How did you get here?

And, yes, this is my friend, Don Woodburn, and I think he might be wondering too.”

Don takes the social initiative, “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Roberts. I take it you’re

saying your travel here was enabled by what resurrected beings can do? I learned just

yesterday that when believers see Jesus, they would be like him.”

I realize Don is not talking about a hypothetical situation of an unexplained arrival, but of

the actual occurrence of post resurrection possibilities. I’m flustered. Unless Mom’s trip

here can be readily explained otherwise, we’re talking about an actual rapture or alien

impersonation horseplay. I’m convinced it’s not the latter and, I have strong doubts about

the former. In order to play along and to try to insert a little humor into the situation, I

ask, “Did we learn how to do this teleporting while we were still in the air with Jesus or

after we touched down to earth with him?” She was, after all, wearing her ordinary

clothes.
“Well, Son, the word about how to make use of the gift was spreading around in the part

of the new city where I was.” I’m trying to build a mental structure for what she is

saying, and don’t answer. Mom continues, “It looks like you took off by conventional

means, I guess you wanted to find out about Carolyn. I see… apparently the Lord has

already wiped the tears from your eyes concerning her? I’m so sorry, Benito.” Mom

pauses for me to answer, but I can’t say a thing. The enormity of the actuality of it all

crowds into my mind like a huge bully. Like a humongous ugly toad, growing and filling

up the whole room of what is me. I can’t help it, but tears come into my eyes.

Don intervenes, “Mrs. Roberts, we didn’t make the rapture, but we do believe in Jesus

and are ready to die for him when it comes to that time.”

Mom says, “You mean neither of you went up to meet the Lord?” She starts to cry and

turns from us. I put my arm over her shoulder as she begins to sob. I know Don had

spoken for himself and was presuming what he thought would be the best position for

me. I now consider that it may actually be the best possible course of action left. That is,

to become believing martyrs, if that will assure our eternal salvation.

“Mom?” I search for words. “Mom, do you think, like Don says, that we have a chance

through martyrdom?” I don’t want to suffer forever, but I feel some kind of betrayal. I’m

trying to sort out whether it’s my mind or God that is the betrayer. It’s as if a magician,

whom every mature person expects to see avoid a real calamity, is found to have actually

run the sword through the box and through the person inside the box. What I mean is,
discerning minds could see that biblical claims were inconsistent. I used to note that even

collections of biblical texts, that supposedly constituted the inerrant word of God, were

widely varied. But, now, it’s obvious that at least some biblical claims are consistent.

How could this all be actually happening?

Her crying softens and very weakly she says, “O, Son, I’m not sure you can count on that

hope for salvation. People are saying different things. From the way I understand it…”

She weeps some more, then continues, “If I understand things correctly, the judgment of

unbelievers has already begun. It’s the first step in the renewal of the earth. It’s already

started. The Lord, himself, is gathering groups together for his judgment on them, and

it’s only a matter of time before you will be summoned to one of these groups. And Don

too.” Looking away, she starts a barely audible cry again and adds, “I don’t think there

will be seven years before the final judgment. You know I did not quite go along with

Dad’s dispensationalism, and I think my amillennial view of the end times, is how things

are turning out to be.”

“Are you sure of that?” Don is agitated and obviously not sure of all the technical

terminology, “Pastor, Roy, told us just yesterday that if I would confess with my mouth,

the Lord Jesus Christ, and believe in my heart that God raised him from the dead, I would

be saved.” Don, of course, is not familiar with the finer points of apocalyptic theology

and I’m searching in my mind for some scriptural declaration of a cut-off point regarding

the effectiveness of salvation promises. I always figured, growing up in the church, that
such promises became null and void after one died, but what about our situation now?

We’re not dead, Don and me. Is it too late?

Mom says, “ Don ’t you know the Lord has arranged to make ‘ones faith’ the requirement

for his or her salvation?”

Don says, “I’m counting on it—on God’s promise to me for salvation—isn’t that faith

enough?” Mom hesitates and I just remember a so-called cut-off-time text that I had

reappraised at some point. It was from Saint Paul and went something like, “Look, I tell

you that now is the acceptable time of salvation.” I remember some evangelists would

use the text to emphasize that there would be no second chance after death. But, taking it

in context, I viewed Paul as saying that his mission was to herald an era of salvation

possibilities opening up for the acceptance of gentiles too. Paul had been teaching that

God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself.

Mom gets a far-away look, “Well, I am only sure of one thing. Whatever the Lord does,

it will be to his glory, and his people will heartily applaud whatever it is he does. He is a

holy and just God and will do exactly what is right. I can’t sit here and give you hope for

something that may not be true, and I feel, even now, a consolation in my heart. My Lord

is wiping any tears from my eyes. May his name be praised forever.”
For the first time in my life, I could feel my mother’s love, which I could always count

on, receding into horrible coolness. Is this the meaning to apply to the bible promise

concerning tears?

“Mom. Have you seen Dad?”

“Yes, as you must know by now. The dead in Christ were raised by the time you made

that phone call to me yesterday. But you probably won’t be seeing him. He doesn’t

dwell on you because, as I’m told, Alzheimer victims’ memories of people from the past,

are being restored as they meet them.”

“You mean they are not resurrected in a perfect state?”

“Son, the first shall be last and the last shall be first. Think on that and you will

understand God’s ways.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I’VE GOT A SICK feeling and Don’s looking to me for how to proceed. Unbelievable, I

think; Mom must have disappeared when neither of us was looking. Don was turned to

get some food for her and I was rubbing some tears away with a paper towel; my head

down. When either of us looked back for her, she was just gone. Just like in the movies.
If she was invisibly present, she was heedless of our calling to her. I had been too afraid

to try to hold her, even though that’s what I wanted to do. Don and I just sit looking at

each other with wide fearful eyes.

“What are we going to do,” he says from time to time. “What are we going to do?”

“I don ’t know, Don,” I finally say. “I think it might be best to do some Bible reading and

look through the commentaries on end-time things.” I go to my bookcase and pull down

some Bibles and some theological works that touched on these things. I hand Don a

“New American Standard” version of the Bible and open it up for him to the last part of

the Gospel of Matthew. Don begins to eat and read at the same time. My stomach is still

too much tied up in knots for me to eat. I’m thinking that if there’s no blessed hope for

me, then there’s none for Carolyn either. I entertain the possibility of getting back with

her if I can figure out how. We could do the survivalist stuff together; the things we

imagined we might have to do sometime, just because of the way the world was

developing politically.

Eventually, I open “He Shall Have Dominion”, a postmillennial book on end-time

scenarios, and begin reading Chapter 13 on the Consummation. I generalize that if Mom

were correct about the amillennial view, as being an actuality, then even a postmillennial

view on final things would be about the same as that of an amillennial view. Things are

awfully quiet around the place. No appliances laboring away, no small electrical noises.

It’s really quite peaceful with just the birds and insects running their appliances.
“This is right on,” Don comments out loud, “It says, ‘When the Son of Man comes, two

persons will be doing a thing and one will be taken and another one left.’”

“Yeah…” I say, thinking what to say next. “That’s definitely what happened with you

and Janet.” I’m trying to piece together how I used to think of this verse. “Oh, yeah. I

used to think that much of that chapter was about the troubles that Jesus’ contemporary

generation would experience in the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD.” I’m silent while thinking

somemore.

“Well, it describes what happened yesterday, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does, but I had discounted it. You see, Jesus had supposedly explained that all

these things would take place before that generation of his hearers had passed away.

Since I know that all that generation had died off without the expected rapture taking

place, I felt you couldn’t count on Jesus’ other predictions.”

“Really!”

“Well, that was one reason I quit believing.” I pause; wondering if I’d ever told Don that

I was an apostate. I continue, “Look, I know that some interpreters point out that Jesus

was talking about another, different time period when he said, ‘But of THAT day and
hour, no one knows; only the Father.’ But, you see, I didn’t believe that was what the

writer meant.”

“Well, there you have it,” Don says, “You didn’t believe it.” I feel a little blush. He’s

getting good at the scriptural interpretation game pretty quickly.

“Well, I didn’t think Jesus was making such subtle distinctions in his discourse, between

the time for his destruction of the Jewish temple and the time of his return for final

things. I just figured that the Gospel writers anticipated the return of Christ for his

people, to follow on the heals of the 70 AD wars that they were witnessing when they

wrote the gospels.”

“I guess you figured wrong, Ben.”

I am stunned. “I guess I was wrong,” I murmur, thinking that maybe I’d been tricked by

God. Or was it really my own willfulness and sinful rebelliousness, as the theological

pundits had warned. I’m pretty sure I hadn’t been insolent or unteachable about such

matters. I’m feeling terribly uneasy.

After a few minutes of silence, Don asks, “Where does it talk about the second chances

for those that are left behind?”

“Well, like Mom says, I’m not sure it does. I know some people consider that there is

reference to such in the ‘Book of the Revelation.’” I grab my own copy of the Bible and

start thumbing through the last book of the Bible. I find myself anxious to learn just

where that was. I tell Don, after considerable searching, “I can’t find it, Don. We should

have picked up your “Left Behind” series of books. As I understand it, that series

chronicles the lives of a class of people like us, who have been left behind, after the

rapture. They avoid getting the mark of the beast and subsist with the help of an

undetectable food coop they form. The only thing I can find right now is this verse in

Chapter 14. It says—and this is after the ‘mark of the beast’ is mandated—‘Blessed are

the dead who die in the Lord from now on.’”

“So, there’s your martyrdom requirement for salvation”, Don insists.

“Well, maybe you’re right.” Of course I’m wanting it to be right, but with subtleties like

the use of the words, “but of that day” in “Matthew”, I’m not too sure we can count on

martyrdom as being our ticket for salvation. If we are faced with the choice, of

remaining alive or facing death for not denying Christ, then, of course I’m sure that

martyrdom is worth the gamble. What good is the alternative? After all, who would have

thought the rapture would turn out to be this reality we are now witnessing?”

“How soon can we get martyred?” Don asks.

“I don’t think we should look at things that way. Who knows, maybe we will die in some

accidental or natural way, before having to turn down an offer to deny the Lord?” Each

of us, it appears, is anxious to be with his spouse.

Don answers, “Do you think if we said Grace again for our meal, that your mom would

return?” I think about it for a few minutes. I remember that Jesus supposedly ‘opened

the eyes’ for the two on the road to Emmaus when they broke bread and gave thanks

together. And then he appeared again to the whole group of believers, later, when they

were gathered together because of their common interest in what may have happened to

the body of Jesus. I reason, if Jesus could do this after his resurrection, maybe others,

like my mom, could do it too.

With a growing awareness of an appetite, I suggest, “Let’s try it. I am a little hungry.

Would you mind praying for us both again?” Don gives thanks for the food, but nothing

happens.

“Don’t be discouraged, Don. I don’t think that prayers are like magical incantations. It

may be that there is no one out there who wants to join with us at this time.”

“Well, maybe you’re right. We’ll try later,” he says, seeming most reasonable to me.
“Ben, I didn’t expect to see you.” The direction of the happy announcement leads to the

living room whence my brother, Tom is approaching us. I feel an urge to kneel down

before him, but don’t.

“Thuh-Tom, Tom,” I stutter, “You were right. I thought you were naïve about the

Christian religion, but, I guess you weren’t.” I get up to receive Tom’s—always-heartfelt

—embrace. Of we four brothers, Tom is the third, with me being the first. I always

attributed his cheerful, positive humor to the third sibling’s low power strategy to make

the first one laugh instead of beating him up. Of course, now all my brothers are bigger

than me and have been believers all their lives. I think maybe there’s a sign there.

“I know, dear Brother, I know”, he says. “God forgive you. I’m just glad to see you now

calling on the Lord,” he speaks with the old characteristic twinkle in his eye. He nods to

Don and settles down in a chair at the table with us, eager to announce something, “I

don’t know for sure yet, but from what I have gathered,” deliberately making his point

with beaming eyes, “grace will continue to be offered to all who will not deny the Lord in

the upcoming days.”

Don grabs, hugs me and tries to jump up and down as I attempt explaining to Tom who

he is. “But, Tom,” I say, “what do you mean, you don’t know for sure. Haven’t you been

caught up to meet the Lord?

“Yes, yes, all saints, dead and living, were caught up in the resurrection, but there are

millions of us and, it appears that the actual interaction with Jesus, face to face, will take

time. We don’t have an immediate implanted understanding of everything, as one of my

friends tells me. But, I know, for myself, that my learning and understanding is

accelerating greatly.” He then brings his index finger swooping down to his palm, to

emphasize a remarkable point, “Just for example, every Spanish phrase that I’ve heard

the meaning of, I have remembered.” He pauses to let it soak in, and then adds, “And, I

can speak it to you. There are millions of Latinos here, you know.”

“Here?” I say.

“Well, ‘there’, to you.”

I ask, “Where is it the Christians are actually gathered to? I mean, you’re here now and

Mom was just here a few hours ago.”

“Well”, He appears to take great pleasure in what he’s about to reveal, “After millions of

us were swarmed together in the skies,” he gestures animatedly, “and as each of us saw

the Lord—up pretty close for a few seconds—we accompanied him back to the special

place that he brought here to earth for us. From what we can tell—just discussing it

briefly with others, it may be located about 2000 miles west of Peru.

Don can’t help but ask, “You mean you don’t actually go to heaven?”
“Well, it’s more like the rule of heaven gets established on the earth.”

Thinking I’ve found some contradiction between biblical predictions and the actual

outcome of things, I ask, “What about the new heaven and earth, the Bible talks about?”

Rubbing his hands together before getting to his answer, Tom says,

“The old is passing away and is being replaced by the renewed heavens and earth. Where

we are staying is like a new island of some sort; the New Jerusalem come down from

heaven, I guess. The city proper is only part of the island, but get this: Beyond the island

there’s an invisible boundary to keep out unacceptable people or things. It’s high enough

to knock down most satellites that would pass over it. We judge the boundary to be in the

shape of the 1500-mile cube spoken of in Revelation. They’re saying this boundary will

eventually expand outward to cover the whole earth as various outside areas are brought

under the Lord’s dominion.

But, hey, what do these things matter? It is glorious and there’s no end to the newness we

are experiencing and the liberties we are enjoying.” Tom’s eyes are aglow as he tries to

explain things, using his hands, as he is wont to do from his experience of working with

the deaf. Don and I continue to listen to his loquaciousness, even as he begins to eat

some Fritos we offer him. All sorts of questions begin to emerge for me.
“I remember you used to talk about your views on the fate of those who would miss the

rapture. Do you now think your beliefs on post-resurrection salvations were right?”

“I haven’t gotten any bad feelings about thinking that way, and those I have talked to are

finding that we can rely on the Spirit to instruct us in these matters because certain

insights of our spirits are proving to come to pass.”

“That’s good,” Don says. I’m still trying to figure out what Tom just said.

“But, Tom,” I appeal for clarity, “Mom was just here briefly and she says that she thinks

the judgment of unbelievers has already begun.”

“Dear Mom; yes, we have rejoiced together. You know, I’ve heard that too. And, I don’t

yet know how to judge such matters, but I’m confidant that these things will be revealed

to us in time, but for your sake, I hope that the judgment will be after your chance to have

faith for your salvation.”

It seems like a dream, but I respond, “Me too, but have you not now been shown to be

wrong about some of your views on the book of Revelation?”

“What do you mean?” He answers, not defensively, but with a tilt of his head, as if to say,

“Where on earth did you get that idea?”

”Well, like your view that a third of humankind would be killed in gigantic Islamic wars

before Christ returned, and the mark of the beast and other things.”

Getting a little more serious he says, “You know, Ben, these things are still to come. I

may have been slightly off here and there, but, as far as I know, there’s the-coming-to-

judge-the-wicked, that has yet to transpire, and yet awaiting you are the mark of the beast

and devastating wars.”

“But you said that the one third of mankind being killed, would be before the rapture.”

“Well, if I said it would be before the rapture, I was wrong there. I don’t mind saying

that. But, I think I might have meant that it would occur before a nonspecific return of

Christ. Like maybe the coming to judge everyone. I don’t know all the little details.” He

pauses and Don and I are in our own thoughts. He continues, “Yes, maybe there is

proving to be more figurative things in the book of The Revelation and less literal things

than I once thought. I know, I know, but what matters now to me is that it is all real.” He

places the edge of his hand on the table between us, looking me squarely in the eye,

“Everything that I believed and trusted for, Don, is real! Don’t get hung up on

unimportant details and you’ll see that everything’s working out as God planned. I think

we’ll understand later, how all the little details have fit in.”

I think for a minute about how, a few years ago, I had come to the conclusion that all the

little details from the accounts of Jesus’ incarnational, first coming were filled in by
Gospel writers much, much later. If Tom’s right, then, apparently I’ve been wrong. The

unbelieving Jews of Jesus’ time just couldn’t see the plainly prophesied details being

fulfilled before their eyes in the life and death of Jesus.

Don is taking it all in, “What do you suggest we do now, Tom?”

“Remain steadfast in your confession of faith. That’s all I can tell you. It will be your

salvation.”

“That’s all?”

“Well, yes, that’s it, but you must know that your refusal to take the mark of the beast will

eventually lead to your death if you keep your confession of faith.”

“So,” I continue, “do you think the governing powers will get the electricity back on and

things back in their control?”

“You mean,” says Tom, “you don’t have electricity?” He’s apparently unaware of the

fact. “I don’t know. How long’s it been off?” He says, “ I haven’t thought about that. It

would be just like the world rulers to relegate the electrical power to the governing bodies

first, if they get it back up.”

Don gets up and begins to pace, “Ben and I have been planning some survivalist things in

case we face something like that.” With modest pleasure and probably looking for Tom’s

approval, he begins to relate some of the things we have done together.

IT’S LATE AFTERNOON when I notice a strange pickup pulling into the drive of one of

my neighbors across the valley. It’s less than a quarter of a mile away. Someone gets out

of the passenger side and walks toward the front door, looking around as he does so.

“Don.” I almost shout, “We’d better let those people know that we see them.”

“What’s up?” Tom asks, “Do you know those people?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not sure. We’d better walk out and see if they can hear us.”

Don grabs a rifle that we had acquisitioned this morning from that very house, and

follows me out front where I am yelling down to the man. The stranger—I’m pretty sure

about it now—casually waves back as if to say, “Just checking,” turns back to the truck

and they head farther down the road and away from us. I’m convinced they had been

looking for opportunities for pilfering. Don and I discuss this as we return to the dining

room, only to find that Tom is neither there nor anywhere in the house. We present

various theories about why he had disappeared, but come to no firm conclusions.
As if to say that Tom, at least, left us with an agenda, Don offers several reasons for us to

continue our work of gathering what we can from our absent neighbors. I eventually

satisfy him that I too agree, and that we should wait and start this in the morning. I’m

more at thought with speculations on how it would have been when Jesus left the various

groups of disciples he had appeared to after his resurrection.

Did he just click out or fade away? Was it like characters in films that feature

supernatural happenings? Did he take leave of his visibility as the movies sometimes

have it, when those present have their attention averted for a second, only to find their

subject instantly gone when they turn their gaze back. That’s actually how it was with

Mom.

Would Jesus have said something like, “Keep the faith. I’ll be present with you in the

spirit,” or something along those lines; then, Poof? The Gospel writers didn’t say. I

always thought that something so marked would have been recorded, like it was for the

ascension. Even a blink-out like Mom’s departure would surely have been noted and

passed along in the oral tradition.

I talk to Don about what I’m thinking and we reason that Jesus probably left such scenes

unwitnessed, even as both Mom and Tom had done. We decide that if we get another

chance to see them, we won’t take our eyes off them. We break a long hiatus of

seriousness by sharing a good laugh when Don suggests we might need to take shifts

watching.
Attempting the continuation of our levity, I add, “You know the disappearance scenes in

film are often done in a way that enables their authors to suggest ambiguity over whether

what was witnessed was real or imagined?”

“I know what ‘Imagined’ is,” Don gets serious again, “and ‘Imagined’ this is not!”

“Yea, I know, I’m just saying it.”

CHAPTER SIX

WE SAY GRACE, twice. Once before, and then, midway through breakfast. Nothing

happens by way of a visitation.

“Maybe there’s nothing else they can do for us,” I tell Don, “I mean, what more can they

say?” We rehearse the visits of Mom and Tom over and over. I flirt with images of

Suzanne appearing to us and wonder what I would say to her. She departed this life with

us both convinced that my doubts were honest and that God could tolerate honest doubts.

What would she make of me marrying an unbeliever, and doing it so soon?

Don tries to change the subject and presses for getting back to gathering things we’re sure

to need from our neighbors’ properties. I agree and we head out first to Pete and Debra’s
place with my painter’s van completely unloaded. Pete and Debra are an aunt and uncle

of my late wife. Theirs is the house that was approached by the men in the pickup

yesterday.

Pete’s a retired electrician and a hobby farmer with diesel fuel on hand for his tractor and

bulldozer. As I think about it, I begin to realize that it’s possible for me to put enough

cans of diesel in my Jetta trunk, to make a very long trip. My VW Jetta is a diesel and

gets 50 miles per gallon. I’m longing to be with Carolyn. She doesn’t have the believing

background that my apostate daughter in California has. Misty and Alvin’s accurate

knowledge of Christianity will be enough for them to re-establish their beliefs. But, I

reason, Carolyn doesn’t have that ability. If I could get to her, I could explain things so

that she could believe, and maybe we could both get back here where we might have the

supplies to hunker down and survive. The only reservation is the possibility that martial

law measures might be put into place that would stop me. Maybe I could map out a

back-roads way of getting to Baylingham and back here.

Since Pete’s freezer still has frozen foods in it, we decide we should fire up his generator

and run the freezer awhile to keep things frozen. While Don is out to the shed, I

rummage through Pete and Deb’s dresser drawers for money, or whatever of value I can

find. Coming out of the bedroom, I’m stabbed with the realization that there is a sheriff

deputy’s car parked out front, just behind my van and Pete’s car. I panic inside,

wondering if the sheriff’s department has the computer and communications capacity to
trace my license plates. I try to plan what I might say as the deputy gets out and

approaches the house with a tablet in one hand and the other resting on his gun.

I go out to the porch and the deputy asks me, “Are you Pete Langston?”

I resolve to be as honest as I can. “No, officer. This is Pete’s house, all right, but I’m

Ben Roberts from just up there on the hill. I’m helping my friend get his generator

working to keep the freezer going. He’s at the barn getting it.” I was being careful about

how I used my pronouns.

“Yes, I saw someone back there.” The deputy continued, “I noticed that your address is

just a few houses difference than Pete’s. I take it you and Pete’s family have water and

essentials?” Apparently the deputy was able to trace both Pete and me from information

linked to our plates.

“For now we do.”

The officer notes something on his tablet and pulls out a flier from its case to give me.

“Here’s a list of the emergency relief centers in the county, should you need water or

essentials.”

“When are they expecting the power to be restored?” I ask.

“Some pockets of power generation are back online now, but they are in areas that have

been isolated from the interstate grid. So, to answer your question, we don’t yet know

definitely, but rumor has it that it will be soon.”

I hear Don rolling the generator up the gravel drive toward the house and decide I should

go to meet him. “We appreciate your stopping by. We’ll be good for quite awhile out

here,” I say as I turn to meet Don. Don sees the deputy for the first time and is manifestly

surprised. “Pete, the deputy here brought us information about how we can get

emergency help if we need it.” I break my resolve to be totally honest.

Quick to play along, Don responds with, “Thank you sir. We’re doing fine for now.”

DON AND I ARE EXHAUSTED from an afternoon of transporting a freezer and the

food from it, along with cans of gasoline, a generator, and other stuff we thought might

become useful. Pete’s tractor and wagon sit outside the house and the freezer sits on my

carport with the generator droning away behind the house. We are hopeful that the

deputy is right about the power being restored soon, but we’re not putting a lot of trust in

his opinions.

Bats and fireflies begin their dance in the mid June sunset. Don makes a frozen fruit

smoothie for us, tapping off the power to the freezer and using our Vita Mix blender. I

turn off the generator, light the oil lamp, and we enjoy the incredible descent into a
Missouri night of perfect darkness. The cicadas’ code-like mantra matches in speed, the

coolness of the evening. Frogs around the pond chortle to one another, as do the tree

toads at a higher pitch.

“This must be a little like Adam and Eve had it,

I tell Don as we relax in the deck chairs.

“You mean no security lights popping on at dusk?”

“Well, yes, that too, but Genesis says that in the gentle cool evening breeze, Adam and

Eve could sense a more tangible presence of God.” I notice Don thinking about it and

starting to grin.

“I feel it to,” he says, with his knowing smile. Don always enjoys sharing what he’s

discovered in the making of his art works or even in things related to the geology that he

studied before turning full-time to his art. He’s a true naturalist and enjoys sharing his

joys. I think about the ancients and their universal equation of breath and wind with the

spirit of God. I’m reminded of the words Jesus supposedly spoke regarding the wind… I

guess I can now say that, in fact, he did speak them, but it used to seem to me to be

mythic, theological story making. Anyway, he said, “Do not marvel that I said to you,

‘You must be born again from above.’ The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the

sound of it, but do not know where it comes from or where it is going; so is everyone

born of the Spirit.”

What, I wonder, was the author of those words… that is, what was it Jesus was trying to

say? Was it that those people who are born again do not know where their religious

experience comes from or where it’s taking them? Or is it that Jesus is telling Nicodemus

that he can’t know about spiritual rebirth without it first happening to him, like some

realization in Eastern guru spirituality?

Don and I both spring to our feet as we experience a man in a white outfit, plopping

down into another deck chair—almost like he lightly fell there from the sky. Instantly I

recognize Justin Sharet and feel a little ashamed. About fifteen years ago Justin sold me

his part in an old mansion house that together our families had bought, restored and lived

in as a duplex in Pokipskill, New York.

During the eight or so years we lived together there, I had seen us diverge from our initial

joint position as charismatic evangelicals to Justin’s later position as a conservative

reformed Calvinist, versus my position as a special-case Arminian with lots of questions

about the faith, just under the surface. Justin at least knew from our very sporadic

contacts that I was close to abandoning the traditional faith.

“Justin!” I fairly shout.

“Grace and peace to you Ben, and to your friend.”

“Yes, Justin, this is Don. We were just discussing the presence of God.”

“Yes, I know.” By now Don and I were getting accustomed to this sort of thing. I catch

Don looking toward me with his finger covertly pointing to his eye. “Yeah,” I motion,

knowing our resolve to keep eyes on Justin.

“The fact that the holy terror of the Lord was on your minds, alerted me to discern what

your destiny might have become.” Justin continues to use his characteristically vivid

language. “That’s why I have been able to join you here. I had hoped I would have

found you a repentant child of God, but I’m afraid I have discerned otherwise.”

“We are, yes, we are children of God.” Don blinks, smiling and reaching for Justin’s un-

offered hand.

“It’s true,” I add, “we missed the rapture because of our unbelief, but we definitely now

trust the Lord for our salvation.” Justin is cool, non-reacting. Thinking of Don’s words

to me about his new faith, I try them out on Justin.

“We’re counting on it. That’s faith. Counting on something is faith, isn’t it?”

“Were you eagerly awaiting the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ?” Justin proceeds

like a lawyer. In the last few years he had quit his engineering job with IBM to become a

full-time minister in the Presbyterian Church of America. “How, tell me, can our Lord
confirm you to the end, blameless, if you had no faith in the end? Are you not to blame

for your lack of faith?”

“Yeah,” I say with a defensive downtone, “The Calvinist makes me look responsible for

not doing something which, he also says, is impossible for me to do otherwise. Because

of God’s own decree!”

“But!” Don interjects, considerably panicked, “’Confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus

Christ’—I heard it Sunday—‘and believe in your heart that God raised him from the

dead, and you’ll be saved.’”

“And did you?”

“Well, yes; later on.

“Too late then, right?”

“No, it’s not. I confess and I believe now.”

“You do well in your belief now. The demons also believe and shudder.” I recognize

Justin’s allusion to the Epistle of James regarding faith. I feel the hope rapidly draining

out of Don and me.

“But, Justin,” I lamely attempt, “Christianity was not believable; it was…”

“What do you mean, ‘unbelievable’? I believed the unadulterated word of God.” How

can one stand up to Justin’s incisive logic?

“Well, that’s what I mean. The words of the Bible grew in disparate and various writings

and were adulterated here and there, and added onto, and changed and existed in differing

accounts, and so on.”

“You know the arguments for the faith as well as I do.” Justin is being reluctantly patient

and methodic with me. “Ben, we both know that the reasons for believing are circular,

but we both know that all arguments, in the final analysis, have to be that way. They’re

circular. But it’s necessary to believe what the Bible says about itself being the word of

God because to do otherwise would force us to believe impossible things about our world

views.” I did know Justin’s arguments. They didn’t convince me that traditional

Christianity was unavoidable. I had found, in fact, that Process Theologians could use

the same arguments as Justin’s. I search for a different tact. Don is at a loss concerning

what’s being discussed. How, I ponder, can I justify my past unbelief? Things were so

plainly unbelievable.

“Justin, I was obviously wrong for not believing, but it was not obvious to me then why I

should have believed. I didn’t see that a-non Christian world view would necessarily be

inconsistent, as you say it must.”

“Well,” Justin summarizes, “in the final analysis, non Christian world views are self-

contradictory.” For over ten years now, Justin had settled things in his mind regarding

how he would defend the faith. Not through hearsay evidence, but through a

philosophical reasoning that—in his view—made the Christian faith necessary. The

alternatives to the faith, he reasoned, were logically impossible to hold to. I, on the other

hand, had countered that non-Christian beliefs could hold because of their pragmatic

values. They worked! The world works. Well, at least it works to the extent that its

societies continue to go on.

“Justin, let me ask you this:” I attempt a different approach, knowing I will get nowhere

with him on his presuppositional apologetics, even if I could show him how Process

Theologians could use the same defense to prove a non-Trinitarian belief. “Now that you

have been changed to your eternal state, do you still cling to your support of Calvinism?

I mean, for one thing, here now we see that the Lord just returned. You used to say that

he wouldn’t come back before he had accomplished a figurative thousand-years-of-peace

on the earth. If you now have to alter that view, then…”

Justin interrupts, “I don’t have to alter that view. Things haven’t taken place exactly like

I had imagined they would, but, in a sense, all rule and authority has been brought to the

place where the world must confess that it doesn’t have the answers for peace. The

figuratively long time of Christianity’s good influence in the world, has already taken

place in many respects. For one thing….”

Justin stops short of giving examples, momentarily looks away and appears to be hearing

something. “I need to get going now. Whatever I say will not change the situation of

your destiny. I’m sorry for you as a human, but I’m comforted in knowing that what

happens to you will accrue to the glory of God.”

“What on earth do you mean?” I ask.

“Are you saying that God would be happy sending us to Hell?” Don reaches one hand to

hold Justin’s forearm. Justin shrugs it off and continues. “Look, I’m leaving now.

Nothing’s going to change the outcome of your judgment. I really have others that I long

to fellowship with.” Don catches again with both hands on Justin’s arm.

I race through some thoughts of times when Justin and I would rehearse the arguments

that supported actions that at first seemed incompatible with a loving God. One of those

actions was the reference in Revelation, as to how the Christians would be delighted at

the everlasting punishment of unbelievers. I think it read something like, “The saints

rejoice as the smoke of the burning ascends. The smoke of their torment rises forever and

ever. There is no rest day or night.”

“Justin. Is it not true that God, himself, does not rejoice in the death of the wicked, but in

the holiness, righteousness, and justice that he reveals in their everlasting punishment?”

Justin again shrugs off Don’s grip.

“That’s exactly right. You remember well.”

“Then… ,” I’m trying to be quick but find I’m still searching out how to say it. I point at

Justin: “Then… the more you can glorify God by revealing the reasons for his

judgments, the greater will be your mutual rejoicing. God and you.”

“Possibly. What are you getting at?”

“Well,” I cast about again for words. “The more you take time to show me and Don,

here, the reasons for our deserving Hell, the more you laud the justice of God to us. And,

the more He is glorified in your witness of these things.”

“And the worse we feel!” Don punctuates with a sharp look and pursed lips at me.

“You’re right,” Justin settles back in his chair again. “I should attend to your almost

certain disposition as if it were the sole case of non redemption in history.”

“What?” Don is really confused and I’m not far behind.

“The saints,” Justin methodically continues, “The saints have a godly joy in

contemplating hell, not because of the misery of the damned, but because of the justice of

God in the inflicting of that misery.” Justin’s eyes are fired as he enters his preaching
mode of making things “definitively clear”, as he would say. “God, who could destroy

both body and soul in hell, is pleased to cast the unrepentant into the place where the

worm dies not, and the fire is not quenched. The Lord lets us know in no uncertain

terms, that the wicked will remain alive forever, in sensible punishment of some

description, so that neither they nor it will ever pass away. It is indeed as you say, Ben,

‘God, himself, does not rejoice in the death of the wicked.’ The rightness of his actions is

displayed and that is what is important. The scales of the offence against him are

balanced.”

“Balanced by eternal Hell?” Don sets his jaw agape, “And, me and Ben, here;

‘wicked?’”

“Yes. Everlasting torment. And, do you explode with indignation over God’s term for

unbelievers? If so, this only shows that you count as trivial, the sin of unbelief.”

“No, no,” Don responds, “you’re right about sin, but what about this ‘everlasting

torment?’ There’s no need for it to be everlasting.” Don takes the role of the defense

attorney. I know he doesn’t stand a chance. “Why? Can’t God just reveal his justice by

torturing us soundly and then letting us in? Or then, at least, just annihilating us?” He

casually paces away from Justin with his arms folded. Don seems a little more relaxed

now that Justin is engaged and not threatening to leave.

Another methodic answer from Justin: “It is not possible for a finite being to receive the

infinite wrath he deserves from disbelieving and offending an infinite God. That is why

the punishment must last forever.”

“But…,” Don tries, but Justin continues.

“Heaven will forever see that Hell is where God punishes those who deserve to be

punished in exactly the degree they deserve. Eternally.”

“Yes, but… ,” Don turns to me with his palms up looking really pained, “Why don’t you

say something? Isn’t God bigger than what humans can do to hurt him? I would have

believed God sooner if the case for him had been… a little more convincing. I didn’t

want to offend God, it’s just that... well, it’s just that… ,” Don tosses his hands upward

and gives me a hopeless look.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“DON, I KNOW EXACTLY where you’re coming from.” The words issue from my

brother Tom who makes a return appearance by plopping into the final deck chair in our

circle of four now. This time he, too, is wearing a white outfit, something like that worn

by traditional Asian Indians. His face is more sleek, his body and hair more radiant and

toned. We aren’t even much startled by such appearances, by now. Introductions are
made. Tom and Justin partially and very briefly embrace. They had met long ago during

a visit Tom and Sarah made to our shared duplex mansion. Tom addresses us all as

though he had already become aware of our conversation. Smilingly and dramatically, he

launches into a story about how his belief in the Lord was clinched by various

remarkable, I would say, “powerful” coincidences that had taken place in his life. As we

indulge the continuing of his tale, we find that these serendipitous coincidents had

occurred during times he held to seeming divine direction under discouraging odds.

Odds that normally would indicate that his ministry efforts would not succeed.

Tom’s story is compelling, but I can’t help but let my old rationale come to mind. That in

the evolution of our species, the survival value of relating cause to effect, had made us

humans give great weight to coincidences that proved beneficial. The things that happen

at the same time, that are of no particular benefit, are quickly forgotten. Even cases

wherein we reap bad results; there is a tendency to forget or disregard them to a degree.

But let something good happen, coincident to some other action, and the effect is most

powerful.

“Truly remarkable!” Don responds, “But I haven’t had anything quite like those

experiences.” Tom gently puts his hand on Don’s knee and in a lowered and gentle voice

says,

“You didn’t taste to see that the Lord is good. You heard the word, but you held back

from putting your whole weight on it. That’s an offence to the One offering his
deliverance. But… to disagree a little with my brother Justin here, “ Tom gives Justin a

benevolent, but not patronizing pat on the knee, “it’s an offense that can be forgiven if

one will only turn back and trust.”

“Faith,” Justin calmly laid back, explains, “the scriptures plainly tell us: ‘Faith is the

assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen.’ They can’t gain

God’s approval now, after our hoped-for salvation is now realized, and the previously

unseen end is now plainly evident.”

“But brother,” Tom, a twinkle in his eye, and gently putting his large hand down on

Justin’s, “these men haven’t seen what we have. They could even hold that our

appearance to them now is merely the result of cosmic aliens impersonating us. You

know that’s what’s going on now amongst the unbelievers.” Tom looks around at

imaginary unbelievers.

Don is plainly excited. I’m hopeful too. It’s hard to imagine that an extraterrestrial

being, even one that was a million years in advance of our own race, could fake being

Tom.

“Not to dispute with my brother in the faith here, but we do need to be careful about

God’s word.” Justin tries putting a check on the direction Tom is taking. “Faith and

repentance go together. Without true faith one cannot have true repentance.”
“Well, I know one thing,” Don quickly adds, “I repent from the unbelief I use to have.”

“That’s what I’m getting at. Both you and Ben are sorry about your fate, but I’ll venture

you’re not sorry about your sin apart from its consequences. Your old impenitent heart—

the Lord not having given you a new one—still loves its sin. It just doesn’t love the

results. It’ll do anything to avoid Hell. Hate and turn from sin? Not that. Anything but

that! Even Hell’s fires can’t burn that love of sin out of you. You will not repent of it

ever.”

Don is bristling. We both are stunned speechless. Tom’s shifting about, pondering what

to say.

I finally decide to ask the hackneyed, “Aren’t you judging us?” Before anyone can

answer, I add—what I’m hoping is—some self-justification. “I didn’t love sin. I loved

what I thought was rational thinking and I hadn’t thought the Bible made a rational case

for the truth. Was that a sin? That doesn’t mean I now want to cling to a sin of unbelief.

I want to acknowledge the truth as I see it now.”

“If God has now given you a penitent heart,” Justin continues unabated, “then you would

hate your sin and repent. You would no longer hate the consequences of sin because you

would now know they are what sin deserves. You would know a Holy God must visit

you with eternal consequences.”

Tom finally rejoins the debate with, “And here is where the Good News comes in. What

does our Father require us to do to avoid Hell, which we all admit, as sinners, we all

deserve? He commands us to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and be saved. And, that’s

what these two have now done.” Tom sits back, smiling at having accomplished a

sensible attenuation of the heat. I can’t help but think that I don’t deserve Hell on

account of NOT having believed something that seamed patently unbelievable. And then,

right away, I recognize that that is evidence of unrepentance. I give a big sigh. I feel

trapped.

Justin tones down his voice a little, “All I’m trying to say is that if one does things to

avoid punishment or gain praise, they are not doing these things because they are right,

but because of their consequences. They’re not doing it for virtue’s sake, but for virtue’s

rewards. Not for God, but for what God gives you.”

I ask, “If God gives us nothing, should we love him?” I recognize my theological faux

paw and know Justin will answer that there are untold things that God has given us, but

before he can respond, Tom gets in again,

“Justin makes a good point. I believe mankind’s time on earth was ordained by God for it

to be revealed, who among them would turn to God to love and trust him. True believers

love God, not for what they will get, but because they recognize in him, the truth. I think

that I agree with Justin here. People are predisposed to respond to God’s revelation either

positively or negatively.”
Something wells up in me. “I disagree with that, Tom. I know you used to tell me that

you suspected my unbelief was in me from the beginning, even though, for a long while,

as you say, I professed a faith in the Lord. I affirm, by the way, that I truly did have faith.

But I think it’s an acquired stance; this thing about our belief or unbelief I mean.”

“What do you think brings it about then?”

“Things that happen in your life.”

“Like what?” Tom was being reasonable and I was forced to think back a bit.

“Well, things that influence ones degree of skepticism or gullibility. For instance, I

remember as a ten or eleven year old, back in the late 50’s, I ordered something off the

back of a cereal box. The box showed a picture of a boy, way down on the ground, and in

the foreground, it showed what I perceived to be a huge glider that the boy below had

launched into the sky with his rubber-band-powered launcher. With robust faith I sent my

50 cents and waited forever, it seemed, for the big package to show up at our rural

mailbox. Finally one day I get off the school bus and discover a tiny package for me

inside the mailbox. It turned out to be a six-inch wingspan glider, rubber band, and

launch stick; all rolled up into a package the size of half an envelope. I was deeply

disappointed, but the experience probably had some good influence on me towards being

skeptical of exalted claims.”

“If it’s too good to be true,” Don echoes the philosophy, “then it probably isn’t.”

“But, as you can now see, it was good and it was true!” Justin is no dummy. He’s cool

and terse as well as being analytical. “Even a slim probability of its being true should

have been weighed against the extreme consequences of believing one way or another.”

“Well,” I say, “If that’s how you would have handled it, then you’re actions are based not

on your love of God, but on the rewards or punishments that might follow.”

“True enough, but that is the way God worked. If a sinner was sincerely trying to believe

—and initially that was out of fear of punishment, then, while that sinner was trying to

believe, they might have been given by God, a truly believing heart and then they would

be saved. But, they’re not going to be given that heart without them first being motivated

to seek belief.”

“Are you saying that because I initially sought to believe the Bible, but eventually

became an unbeliever, that it’s because God decided not to give me a believing heart?” I

can’t help but continue, “And, are you actually saying that the faith I have is not really

dependent on me?”

Justin’s calm, “That’s right,” is covered by Tom’s interruption,

“I think the point that needs to be made here is that these two are now believing God’s

word, and they would believe it even if there were no Hell to face otherwise. Am I not

right?” Tom, in suspended animation at this point, looks directly at Don and me,

awaiting our reply. Don answers with an immediate, “Yes,” while I nod ambiguously, as

I continue to ponder the implications.

Addressing Justin I say, “So you would say that I should have taken Pascal’s Wager even

though it is done as an expectation of reward and a fear of punishment rather than as a

true and valid belief in God’s revelation?”

“You certainly should have. It puts you on the road to what is valid.” I start to explain

that I had been on that road a long time, but Don interrupts,

“What do you mean by Pascal’s Wager?”

Justin patiently explains how Pascal, a 15th century theologian and mathematician,

proposed that it is better to take the chance of trying to believe in a god that might not

exist rather than to risk losing infinite happiness by disbelieving in a god that does.

“No one ever explained it to me like that,” Don says, getting up from his deck chair to

stretch. “Can I get drinks for anyone?”

Tom’s, “What do you have?” is followed by Don’s, “Coffee, tea, water, or wine.”
“You won’t believe this,” Tom says, “but I’ve learned that Adam and Eve’s forbidden

fruit was the grape tree!” He stands up in his shimmering white robe, looking a little

mischievous as he rubs his hands together, “I guess I’ll have a little wine, thank you.”

Tom had come from our total-abstinence tradition of the church and it looked like he was

now anticipating some new freedoms.

I can’t help but take the bait, “What do you mean, ‘tree’?”

“Well…,” he rubs his big expressive hands some more, “the vine used to be a tree before

the fall of Adam and Eve into sin, but, after the fall, it became a vine. God had intended

to eventually remove the forbidden status, but Adam and Eve jumped the gun. Of course

the fruit of the vine now has the preeminent status of ‘Necessary’, if we’re to enjoy

eternal life. And I’m not talking merely resveratrol and such benefits, if you know what I

mean.” It’s an occasion for us all to laugh and for Don to take orders and head for the

kitchen. I’m still smoldering a little regarding Pascal’s Wager. The Islamics had similar

wagers, for instance, but one could hardly be blamed for not placing their bets there.

Pascal’s point was that once you staked your position on believing, that you would come

to have a quieting and dulling of your proudly critical intellect and would come to truly

believe.

CHAPTER EIGHT
I HAD TRIED THAT. I tell myself, I had tried Pascal’s Wager. I had bet everything on

the Bible being totally believable and I trusted it totally. It wasn’t long after my wife,

Suzanne, died, however, that I realized I had no foundation for continuing to trust the

position I had staked. I had dared to not contemplate the Lord of the Bible not keeping

his words to us. But, I found out that I could not count on those words, as one would

ordinarily take them to mean. Promises were there that were not honored. Covenants

were entered into but breached by the initiating party. Affirmations were made but were

not made good. I figured that if one could not be trusted in the small things like temporal

promises, then they couldn’t be trusted concerning eternal things. That’s what Jesus’

stewardship parables were all about. That’s why I can hardly believe the reality of these

things I am witnessing this week. I have not seen Jesus, but I’ve seen people that

apparently have seen him. I’ve seen these people come and go like magic and I know I

am not dreaming.

Why does God now apparently make his word good, concerning the return of Christ and

the end of life, as we know it? Why didn’t he honor the other promises? Jesus told us to

have faith in God and that if we should say to a mountain, “Be taken up and cast into the

sea,” and if we did not doubt it in our hearts, but believed that what we said was going to

happen, it would be granted to us. The apostles told us that whatever we asked for, we

would receive from God, as long as it was not to fulfill our own lusts.
Sure, I had puzzling things that I wrestled with and doubts that I had expressed and put

on the back burner, so to speak, but when Suzanne and I were faced with the death

sentence of cancer, we took it as a chance to throw these doubts aside and trust wholly

and unreservedly on the assertions passed down to us in the Bible. Alas, the end we came

to, also came with much explaining-away by my friends. In my view, these explanations

were not legitimate. Will I be shown in the judgment that I mistook things? I decide not

to bring up these concerns with Tom and Justin. Perhaps I am being given another

chance to put unbelief behind me. After all, I now have the plain evidence of the second

coming of Jesus. The only problem is Justin’s austere conviction that Don and I don’t

have a second chance. Could he be wrong about what he holds to?

I decide on coffee to keep my mind acute. Don and Tom have wine and Justin decides to

try some of my Tecate Mexican beer. He’s always favored beer. We’re all rather

mellowed out now, listening to the night sounds with an oil lamp giving billowy relief to

Tom and Justin’s clothing.

“So, Justin,” I begin, “when you imply that the hope for my salvation is slim, is it

possible that you may have misjudged the application of some of your Bible references to

our particular circumstances?”

“What do you mean?” I get the response I was hoping for.

“Well, if you think about it, you used to predict that the return of our Lord might not

occur for thousands of years. You used to point out that the New Testament’s frequent

use of Psalm 110 showed that Christ would not return until the world situation had been

completely subjugated to his authority.”

“I know. It read, ‘The Lord said to my Lord, “sit at my right hand, until I put your

enemies beneath your feet.”’ This doesn’t make me wrong about the sooner than

expected return of the Lord. I’ve always said that it could be at any time. In fact, Paul

told the Corinthians that those who are Christ’s would be resurrected at his coming.

THEN, when he had abolished all rule and all authority and power, it would be the end,

where he hands everything over to his father. Then Paul emphasizes that Christ must

reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. You see, that’s what is in the process

of happening right now and our Lord is still figuratively seated at his Father’s right hand.

God the Father has not become the ‘all in all’ at this time.”

Justin’s pretty smart and it doesn’t take much for him to frustrate me. “But,” I continue,

“You also used to say that you expected a long period of time to occur before the return

so that the kingdom of God could take hold and become dominant in the earth. You said

that this would usher in the peaceable kingdom wherein millions if not billions of people

would be converted to Christianity, and that would come about to glorify the Lord. It was

as if you were saying that maybe a history of 2% of the world being Christian would be

less glorious than, say, 99%, which would be possible with a long delayed return.”
“I don’t think I put it that way. From the human point of view, higher percentages have

the appearance of more success, but from God’s point of view, he ordains from all

eternity past, what he shall have as his own, and I don’t think percentages are important

to him.”

“Then you did misjudge, somewhat, the time it would be before the return?”

“Ben, if what you’re getting at is that I might be wrong about your hope for salvation,

because my time predictions were off, then you’re barking up the wrong tree. Those

were merely predictions and guesses. What I tell you about the requirements for

salvation are solid facts and not my predictions.”

This deflates my intentions enormously, but Tom, with a characteristic brightness, rejoins

us with,

“I’ve thought all along that the Lord’s coming was right at the door. But I’m also

guessing that maybe the Lord has intentions of reaching, even at this late hour, billions of

people on earth who may have never heard the Gospel nor have been able to respond to it

until now. I didn’t think that way previously, but since talking with you and Don here,

I’ve gotten the idea that maybe others of us Christians are out and about doing some sort

of evangelizing, even now. I know, you don’t see that clearly in the Scriptures, but, not

everything is explicitly spelled out in the Scriptures, right?” Tom turns to Justin with his

eyebrows raised.
Justin doesn’t respond and Tom continues, “You know, I’m thinking that maybe… Not

that this has any bearing on God’s timing, but just before I returned here, I overheard

some doctors discussing amongst themselves, how the stage of medical breakthroughs

had been fast approaching the release of mankind’s subjection to aging. Now I’m pretty

sure this was just their opinion, but they were saying that the decay that nature is locked

into, was about to be overturned and that if the Lord hadn’t returned at this present time,

scientists would have stolen some of the glory that was planned for the revelation of our

redeemed bodies.”

I’m truly astonished. “Were they talking about gene therapy and stem cell technology?”

“I can pretty much remember what they said verbatim—not that I understand it yet—but

yes, that and much else. It’s amazing how quickly these liberated bodies and minds

improve their abilities to learn things!” Tom is all sparkly-eyed. “They talked about

seven deadly pathogenic mechanisms that scientists were on their way to mitigating and

they discussed why there were only seven, but I didn’t hang around to hear it all. I’m

sure I could recall some of the seven things if it were important to you.”

“I had no idea we were close to eliminating aging.”

“Not close really, as I recall, but if you’re talking about a delay of say, mere decades, then

that puts men close to interfering with God’s plans, in my opinion.”

TOM’S DRIFTING and making wider gestures. It’s probably a growing lack of acuity

due to his not being accustomed to wine. We are all, nevertheless, actively engaged as

though this were some late night college dorm rap session, as we used to call it forty

years ago. Justin’s dutiful stance makes me think of the doctors’ polite prognosis on

Suzanne’s terminal cancer. Tom is ever ebullient, but Don and I are trying to stay on the

high ground as it disappears into the slough of despair.

Don addresses the white robed ones: “You two have both been caught up to be with

Jesus, yet you can’t tell us a unified thing about our second chances.” He shows his

irritation, but I’m surprised how quickly he’s adapted the politically correct wording on

“the rapture”.

Tom clears his throat and sticking an index finger in his upturned palm, begins his answer

anew. “The Book of Revelation plainly tells us that the Tribulation Saints are those who

will be in their blood-of-the-Lamb washed robes. They are said to have come out of the

Great Tribulation. That is, they turned to the Lord during the Tribulation.” Tom attempts

to proceed with his case, but Justin interrupts, addressing Don:

“I know it’s frustrating for you, but the unity you look for—in what we say—is a matter

of our eventually coming together on these things, given some time. The Holy Spirit is
everywhere and in each of us Christians, but our full understanding of some things

apparently still awaits us.”

“Yes, Jesus will tell us these things,” Tom interjects.

“Yes he’ll tell us, but he can only be physically in one place at a time. He’s not making

use of some huge video display when we’re gathered into one humongous assembly. In

fact, when we were gathered, you could barely see him and even when you could hear

him, I couldn’t understand the language he was using. And, it appears, he uses certain

ones to spread the things he says. For now, as I understand it, he is beginning the

judgment of the unrighteous. So, you see, a uniformly consistent rendition of what

scripture has said, still awaits us.” Tom expresses his agreement and Justin continues:

“In my opinion, the tribulation Tom speaks of, actually occurred in the wars of the Jews

which proceeded the destruction of their temple in AD 70. The people who held their

Christian belief or, in fact, became Christians during that tribulation, were guaranteed

recompense for what they were enduring for their faith. That’s what the Book of

Revelation is mainly about.”

“I don’t think that’s the case. Maybe it could be if you believe that those scriptures have

a double fulfillment. What I’m saying is, if this prophecy were to be fulfilled twice, it

would mean that it not only pointed to the coming tribulation awaiting these two,” Tom

motions toward Don and me, “but it also refers to a supposedly ‘worst-ever’ tribulation
that occurred around AD 70. And, how can that be? John was revealing things that were

shown to him, and Jesus told him those were things that had to take place, in

chronological order, after the period of 70 AD.”

“Tom, I think you’re mixed up about the time of the writings and about the tribulation

being in our future. If people could be redeemed as new Christians coming out of a

supposed future tribulation, then it would negate other scriptures that plainly tell us there

is no second chance.”

“Like what scriptures?”

“Well, I’m sure you know that those who fall away from the faith are forewarned by our

Lord, that they will never be forgiven. ‘Speaking against the Holy Spirit’, you remember,

‘shall not be forgiven either in this age or the age to come.’” Tom purses his lips but

remains in thought. Don is slowly awakened,

“What about me? I was never ‘in the faith’, as you might put it, so I never fell away from

the faith, right?” I wonder if this means Don has a second chance and I don’t. Will he be

snatched inside the closing door while I’m left outside in utter darkness? Can’t I change

my mind?

Everyone seems to be speaking at once now. Justin says, “It’s appointed for humans to

die once and after that they face the judgment.” He says there’s no mention of avoiding
the judgment for how we’ve lived. Don says, “I’m not dead yet.” Tom says, “Neither of

you are dead, and Ben hasn’t blasphemed the Holy Spirit if he retains some remorse for

the direction he’s been taking and decides to repent.”

“I’m not sure he can repent; repentance must be granted.” says Justin, bringing the focus

back to one speaker and then to me, as if to say, “Well, Ben. Do you repent?”

I’m worried that I may not have a godly sorrow, as Justin would put it. Maybe I have

what they call, “a fire escape sorrow”? I’m not so much conscious-stricken and penitent

as I am mournful and bothered that these things couldn’t have been more apparent to me

before.

“I’m truly sorry,” I say. I say it, but I’m also truly mystified by the disconsonant nature

of revelation. I know they say that revelation is progressive. That is, as time goes on in

the Biblical era, more and more is revealed to us about God and reality. But as I look

back at such a development, I saw contradictions rather than a wider, more explanatory

view of things. I remember the sins of fathers being punished on their offspring, and then

it being revealed to Jeremiah, that such a practice should no longer continue. Even the

possible judgment I am facing is one that began as a judgment of works and ended up as

a judgment regarding what one believed. I decide to ask Tom and Justin about this:
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe the word of God as you two did, but don’t things like the early

church controversy between faith-justification and works-justification highlight the

difficulties one might have in believing the stated words of God?”

Justin and Tom both jump in to deflate my charges citing all sorts of texts. I point out

how Jesus was reported to have said, “An hour is coming in which all who are in the

tombs shall hear my voice and shall come forth; those who did the good, to a resurrection

of life, those who committed the evil to a resurrection of judgment.” I stress how that I

had given to the underdogs of society; the poor, imprisoned, hungry, sick, etc., and that

even though I was skeptical about the Bible being the inerrant word of God, I met the test

for meriting eternal life, as the Gospel of Matthew would have it.

Justin responds, “Such works are a sign of the underlying faith in Christ.”

“Are you saying such works cannot be done by those not believing in a future with

Jesus?”

“Right!”

“But I, myself have engaged in such altruistic behavior, even after I gave up on my

former beliefs.” I acknowledge to myself that I’m being too defensive.

“You did it for your own glory, then, not for Jesus.”
“Are you saying I did it so I would feel good about myself being instrumental in relieving

human suffering? Come on admit it; didn’t you do such things primarily so that Jesus

would feel good about you? And then you would feel good about…”

Justin cuts me short with, “Precisely!” and then he goes on, “Jesus put it this way: ‘How

can you believe, when you receive honor from one another, and you do not seek the

honor that is from the one and only God?’ To the extent that I did these things

righteously, I did them out of love for my master and giving attention to the things that

were important to him.”

I add, “Then not out of compassion for humanity?”

“That kind of thing was present for both you and me, but the deed that is counted

righteous was done, as well, for the love of our savior.”

“It looks like the savior and I, both care about the same things.”

“No, the Lord cared preeminently for those that would believe in him. That’s why he

also said, ‘The one who hears my word and believes Him who sent me has eternal life.’

That’s why condemnation can be averted for both doing good works and for having faith.

There is a godly bond between them.”

I look over at Tom. He nods his head slightly. We sit in silence for a while.

CHAPTER NINE

I remember wondering—half dreaming—why Luther and the Catholics couldn’t have

come to a nice conclusion like that about faith and works. I’m just waking. The last

words of Justin and Tom are still on my mind. Justin had said he was sorry but that he

had to go. Right after his quick action of rising to his feet and vanishing, Tom followed

with his departing words: “Keep the faith. It’s the only thing that can be your salvation!”

I resolve that this is what I intend to do. I can’t help but wonder, though, whether I will

end up with just a sentence of guilt, without a chance to make a defense. The picturesque

“sheep and goats” judgment in the Gospels would have it be a mechanical routing of

individuals toward their respective livestock corals of destiny. Then the goats are

dismissed for not assisting Jesus’ most insignificant spiritual brothers and sisters. I guess

the judgment will be made on the basis of whose side I’ve been on. I’m worried that I

probably won’t be able to equate being nice to humanity with being on Jesus’ side.

There’s apparently no “least ones” left around here towards whom we can now act in

good will. If I haven’t done it in the past, I’ve missed my chance.

…….From here to the end of the novel, Ben will experience judgment, Hell, and more.
There is a surprise ending planned…….