A SAINT IN SIN CITY

MASON MAXWELL

CHAPTER 11

THE HOUR IS COMING IN WHICH ALL WHO ARE IN THE GRAVES WILL HEAR HIS VOICE (John 5:29)

“Mace, check your nose, you got one hanging,” Saul had said into my ear, just moments before I did a worldwide press conference about the perfect game I had just pitched in game six of the World Series.

My point here is that a real friend tells you the truth. I know what caused the booger. Everyone had been slapping hands, and hugging me in the clubhouse. Someone’s strong cologne had caused me to sneeze. Then I had received congratulations from eight or ten more teammates. I had noticed a strange look on a couple faces. I also thought it was odd that Saul offered a hand not even two minutes after he already had hugged me.

But it wasn’t more felicitations he offered when he pulled me toward himself and put his mouth to my ear. No, my good buddy wanted to save me embarrassment before I went on national TV to talk about the twenty seven batters I caused to return to the dugout.

Why were the others silent? Too awkward? Too embarrassing? Did they think it would be funny?

I was grateful that Saul told me the truth about my obstructed nasal passage. I was also grateful that he told me the truth about the state of the dead. Just not in the moment. No, at the time I was angry. I had taken comfort when I thought my deceased wife had come to me. But I was also troubled by a couple of things.

First of all, it was more like a dream than a visit with a real human being. It left me longing for something more substantial. It made me miss her even more than I already did if that’s possible. This longing was one of the ingredients that lead me into the adulterous arms of her sister, a woman who was so similar to my Beth.

This incident led to the thing that bothered me the most. After Becky and I gave into temptation, the thought that Beth had somehow, some way, witnessed our indiscretion sickened me. It also angered me when I begged her to come to me, to forgive me, and she seemingly stayed away.

It may sound strange, but the intellectual realization that Beth was in a forever sleep, awaiting the resurrection, reminded me of when I knew the truth about Santa Claus. You see, as a little kid, I was sad and angry then also. I wanted to still believe that the jolly, white bearded man was somehow miraculously visiting every child’s home with a sack full of gifts. His reindeer clattered on the roof, yet not waking anyone.

My older sister had told me the truth about Saint Nick back then. But whereas Saul had done it regretfully, my pesky sister had done it maliciously. After shopping with our mother, she had pointed out the two different Santas we had seen. One was skinnier than the other. He also had a grey beard as opposed to the heftier Santa’s white beard.

But I needed further proof. I had waited up until I heard a noise in the living room. Upon investigation, I discovered my mother filling our Christmas stockings. I couldn’t remain silent. “Mom, what are you doing?”

Mother looked startled as she turned her gaze on me. Then a sad sympathy came over her countenance. “Oh Mason, you didn’t really believe in Santa, did you?”

I recall a strange mixture of thoughts and emotions. I was angry, I was sad, I was confused, I was ashamed at being duped, and I felt betrayed. I also believe that Santa Claus was instrumental in my struggles with faith. My mother led me to believe that Santa was real, knowing one day that I would find out that he wasn’t. At the same time, she taught me that God was real, paradoxically hoping I would believe this my whole life.

There were two things Saul had said to convince me about what the Bible teaches on death. One was the Lazarus situation when Jesus raised him from the dead. Our Savior referred to Lazarus’s state as a sleep. Also, after Lazarus was brought back to life, why wasn’t he filled with stories of heaven and an afterlife? Second was what is the point of a resurrection if we are whisked off to heaven the moment we die?

After my volatile conversation with Saul, I went on a three day getaway to Florida. Just to be clear, I was volatile, while Saul was, as usual, calm and composed. It seemed every waking hour just north of Miami, I was either studying my Bible and concordance by the ocean, or playing golf. I became mostly convinced that Saul was right, yet I had some reservations.

My biggest reservation was a sunburn. Let me explain. I was born and raised in Minnesota. It just doesn’t seem like you should get sunburned in the winter. I know, I know, but I never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed. So I wasn’t very diligent with sunscreen, and came away with the worst sunburn of my life.

The pain of this burn brought up something before my mind that had always troubled me. Hell. How could a God of infinite love confine even the most wicked people to a place of eternal torment? I also was regretful for my behavior with my good friend. So I figured that I better call Saul.

Not surprisingly, he instantly forgave me, assuring me it was no big deal, and he understood. I told him what I had been up to, studying and golfing. I told him about foolishly not wearing sunscreen in the south Florida sun. Then I hit him up with the new subject on my mind, being reminded of it every time I moved.

“Tell me something, Saul,” I began. “I don’t mean to sound irreverent, but how can a loving God cast people who don’t worship him into an eternally burning place of torment? Isn’t that the ultimate irony?”

“No, because it’s not true,” Saul said with an unexpected edge to his voice.

“Do I detect a little defensiveness?” I asked with a tone of voice that suggested a lighthearted jab.

“You bet you are,” he almost barked, taking me by surprise. “The concept of hell as a place is the most diabolical of false doctrines. Yet it seems like most of Christendom byes into this teaching that makes our loving God into a cruel monster.”

My toes curled, but I had to oppose him. “Look, Saul, I’ve been doing some extensive studying, and I’m afraid I have to beg to differ. As much as I hate to admit it, the Bible does indicate people go to hell.”

“Does it?” Saul asked with, I don’t know, an eerily calm voice. “Would you mind showing me?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Do you want to get together?”

“I’d be glad to.”

“I promise I won’t get mad this time,” I told him.

How he replied surprised me enough to pull my phone from my ear and look at it, albeit with an intrigued grin.

“I’m more concerned about me getting mad,” he had replied.