The Hour Of Judgement

Author's note: I don't really write fiction, but I wrote this short story on a whim a few months ago. It may or may not be somewhat or completely autobiographical. It isn't meant to call into doubt the reality of salvation; I was simply trying to honestly depict a struggle that I feel a lot of kids who grow up in Christian homes go through.

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“Lights out!”

Levi slowly closed Matilda, and tucked it carefully under his pillow. The light switch above his head waited for his next move. It waited. And waited...

“Levi! Mom said light’s out!”

“I know! I could hear her!”

“Then turn the light off.”

“I KNOW! I’m not stupid.”

Levi’s hand slowly reached for the switch, and flipped it.

Across the room, Elijah was still reading his lovingly-worn collection of Calvin and Hobbes comics by the dim glow of his maglight. It was nice to know that someone else was still awake. That he was still safe.

Then, a click. And total darkness.

At Sunday school that morning, Mrs. Carlson had taught everyone how they could make sure they were safe forever. Levi had heard about this so many times that it was hard to care. But when it was dark, things were different. Lying there alone in the dark, without a single distraction, death seemed so close. And that place beyond death...

“Hell is being separated from God. You can never be loved by God again. When you’re in hell, you’re all alone. Forever.”

Death. Hell. Darkness you couldn’t get rid of with the flick of a switch. Levi pressed his face firmly into his pillow. Maybe if he tried hard enough, the thoughts would vanish. All he could feel was a big empty space in his stomach. Or was it his soul?

But -- there was a way out! Levi knew he shouldn’t have to worry about anything. Jesus had saved him. He was... almost... sure of it.

“Jesus makes things right between us and God. All you have to do is invite Jesus into your heart, and you can live with God forever in heaven!”

Did Jesus really live in his heart? He always imagined a tiny room inside of his heart, sparsely furnished, where Jesus would sit on a small red couch reading a book. (Probably the Bible, although Levi felt that Jesus might tire of reading his own book all the time.) But as much as Levi strained, he just couldn’t feel him in there. The little heart-couch was empty.

“Jesus stands at the door of your heart and knocks -- all you have to do is let him in!”

Levi had invited him in so many times. But one more time couldn’t hurt, just to be safe. He took a deep breath, concentrated, and began to pray.

“Lord Jesus Christ” -- using His full name couldn’t hurt -- “I want you to come live in my heart forever, and forgive me of my sins.”

What else?

“Jesus, I want to live with you forever. Please come into my heart.”

Just... one... more... time...

“Jesus Christ, please come into my heart.”

“Please.”

Beads of cold sweat began to collect on Levi’s brow. He couldn’t feel the door of his heart opening. He couldn’t feel anything. The method. It had to be the method! He was only thinking these prayers. What if he spoke them out loud? He’d have to keep it to a whisper...

“Jesus, come into my heart,” Levi whispered.

Again, and again. An incantation.

He had to fall asleep eventually, didn’t he?

And when he did, Levi hoped he would dream of the end times again. Those dreams were always the same. He would see his family, and others -- the Smiths from down the street, Pastor Will, even Mrs. Carlson -- herded like cattle into dark pens. Above them he could make out the decaying roof of a vast warehouse, barely illuminated by the dim electric lights hanging from the ceiling. Not that Levi had much of a chance to study his surroundings.

“Keep moving, CHRISTIAN.”

As they marched to the holding place, everyone was assigned numbers by tall men with dark glasses and gloved hands clutching M-16s. As soon as the rusty gates clanged behind them, Levi’s father would gather the family around him, and everyone would link hands. Then, they sang. But it wasn’t a lament. It was always a hymn of triumph, sung with heads raised toward heaven.

Finally, a distorted voice on the PA system would summon them to their executions, one by one.

It wasn’t a nightmare. Because when Levi’s number was called, and the guards’ clammy leather mitts gripped his wrists, he finally felt at peace. The peace that passes all understanding -- just like they sang about in Sunday school! After all... if he was giving his life for Jesus, Jesus had to be in his heart.

At night, alone, on that bed, you could never tell if you were destined for heaven or hell. But on the Antichrist's killing floor, salvation was an absolute certainty.