You don't know where to sit. On the long seat that lay on the both sides of the room, all kinds of people are displayed like series of statues.
Offended atheists, arguing that God can't exist; Catholics and Protestant standing up against each other, declaring that either one of them will tumble down to hell; politicians, with their clear, confident voice, persuading his 'ladies and gentlemen' that he can provide an effective law system for this new community; fat millionaires with greasy face inquiring 'how much is the entrance ticket.'
You pass by them, you pass by the strict Jews and valient Muslims and kind Buddhists. You find a seat beside one of the men. His shoulders are two big heaps of mountains. His pleasant round face is shining with confidence and his hands are folded graciously. As you seat down, he shoots a kind, manly smile at you. You feel very pathetic and insignificant before him.
"Hi, Sir," you mutter. Your voice spueezes out of your lung in the weakest, most pathetic manner of all.
"Welcome, brother," his deep, dignified voice produces a bright halo around him. (At least in your eyes.)
"How I longed this day for years and years. Who were you when you were down there? "
"Just a humble man, Sir, as you can see. "
He laughs gently. His grace and manners are soaked deep into him, even into his laughs.
"But we all are. Can I tell you my story?"
His parents were respectable doctors. They were Christians. So were his grandparents and cousins and relatives. They were all very proud of their hand-me-down faiths. His intelligent patents taught him that maintaining dignity and manners are the best way to set examples to other Christians. According to them, all Christians had to be agreeable gentlemen and faithful citizens.
He was Sunday School role student. He could memorize the whole Sermon on the Mount and Ten Commandments. He knew the order of the Creation by heart. The Lord's Prayer and the Apostles' Creed was totally out of question.
After he had grown up, he had become a lawyer and always tried to maintain his honesty. He gave the most tithe to the church. He never gave a glance at erotic movies or a sip of alcohol. He donated for missionaries and the needies.He believed that if he could be the moral, agreeable man, one day Jesus will welcome him with his arms open and He will call him a proud son.
You felt small before, but now you feel like a balloon released in the air, flying and bumbling around feebly, shrinking down every moment. You are striken by the big wall between him and you. What would you possibly be in front of him?
"Tell me some more about you," he says, with a pleasant smile. You feel the sweat running down your neck. Your wheels stop turning. What would you say about yourself to him? What are you to tell your story to him?
You try to walk through the flowing stream of time and remember who you were. You were born in a poor family. Poverty and misery was the monster you couldn't get rid of. The monster stuffed your whole family into his mouth and crunched and clenched it with his ruthless teeth, until nothing was left but ashes.
Your dad was an alcoholic. At night in your bed you could hear your mom screaming and your father cursing, spitting on her. Your life was the whole chaos of hell. Once you were eighteen, you ran out of the house like a scared fugitive. You decided that you'll never be like your father. Never.
You met a girl. She had kind, deep hazle eyes and black curly hair. Her delicate lips and sweet smiles haunted your head all the time. A year later, you married her. That marriage seemed like a first step of your new life.
But you eventually followed the foodsteps of your father. Life was cruel to the poor and the weak. You couldn't find a job. You became an alcoholic like your father. A hungry beast began to grow inside you and tore your heart up and finally began to beat your wife and your own children. You were easily irratated and upsetted.
You were lingering down the street, grumbling that the life was only an imprintment of hell. When you were passing the church, you heard children singing. It sounded like a choir inviting him to heaven. You stepped into the church. You stepped into that immense light.
A new step to the new life lay before him as it did when you met your wife. Only this time your vow was firmer and your way was brighter.
You fought to get a job. You fixed your temper. You embraced your wife and kissed your children. You sent out tracts. Though you were still the same ill-tempered, ungracious,pathetic man, you built small foundations of Heaven in your life.
You bow your head, and you discover that your knees are trembling. The man's calm eyes are widened with shock. But he soon pulls himself together and says :
"My, what you have been through! But it is all done now. Relax now, friend, and I genuinely hope we'll meet in Heaven. "
You are silent. Can you ever go to heaven? You were an alcoholic. You couldn't offer many tithe and you were not respectful. You have often imagined kissing Jesus' feet and being comforted under His hands. But will He ever find him worthy enough to Redeem? Would not He cast a disappointed look on His failed Ctration?
"Certainly... I... I would be hon...honored to meet you in Heaven.... Sire." You stammer cautiously. You stomach jolt unpleasantly as you gulp.
Suddenly, the whole room are hushed up. They all stopped talking: Atheists, Catholics, Protestants, Muslims, politicans and some puzzled old men who were keep asking what on earth Heaven was. They all fall silent.
An angle rolls the stone door open. He is like a bolt of lightning. His light and energy bounces off from him and hits the wall. Cold wind blows as his wings clap gently. He has a shining sword on his right hand. Its blade glints in the darkness. He has thick Book of Life in his left hand.
Though know one ever told you, you all know: It is the judgement time.
He takes a parchment out of his pocket. It is dyed deep in blood. He tales the seal off and it rolls out like a carpet between the two seats.
Some are taken, and some are not.