L.B.: Full House

Left Behind, pp. 219-221

OK, so, Rayford Steele is in church.

Right at 10 o'clock, Bruce began, but he asked Loretta to stand by the door and make sure any latecomers were welcomed.

We met Loretta about 20 pages ago, shuffling about the church office "sunken-eyed and disheveled, as if she'd come through a war." She was in no condition to be greeting latecomers. Then again, maybe she was. Childless Loretta is still the only person we've met in the childless post-Rapture world who acts like an actual grieving parent.

The Rev. Bruce Barnes has put on his Sunday-best hairshirt and begins the service:

Despite the crowd, he did not use the platform spotlights, nor did he stand in the pulpit. He had placed a single microphone stand in front of the first pew, and he simply talked to the people.

Bruce introduced himself and said, "I'm not in the pulpit because that is a place for people who are trained and called to it. I am in a place of leadership and teaching today by default ..."

Bruce continues in this vein for, oh, the rest of the book. He is extravagantly, luxuriously, insufferably humble. Every time we see him he's flinching and cringing like a dog that was beaten by its previous owner and is now scared to be touched.

I get that Bruce is, like all the others present, a new believer. But even though he may have missed "the most important point," as he puts it later, he has been "trained and called." He has been to seminary and has spent years listen to Rev. Billings and learning all this stuff. And now he's got a job to do and he really needs to stop pretending that he's starting from scratch.

Bruce is like someone who just watched The Sixth Sense or The Usual Suspects for the first time. He should be like Chazz Palminteri at the end of the latter story, when he has that Kobayashi-coffee-cup shattering epiphany. In the context of Left Behind, Bruce has had just such an epiphany -- the sudden realization not that he knows nothing, but rather that everything he knows means something other than what he thought it did.

He shouldn't be standing up there reeling in the faux humility of his prior ignorance. He should, instead, be empowered by his newfound revelation. He's known the story all along, but he's only just now realized what it means. He should be preaching like St. Stephen before his execution, or like St. Paul after his blinding, transforming epiphany on the Road to Damascus..

Instead, Bruce spends much of the book stumbling around Straight Street, caressing the scales on his eyes and wallowing in remorse. After a few pages of this exorbitant, indulgent self pity, I just want to dope-slap him and remind him that he's got a church full of people and a job to do.

Note that this reaction is a kind of accomplishment for LaHaye and Jenkins. They have created, in Bruce, a character human-seeming enough to register as annoying. Progress, of a sort.

Bruce continues:

"I know you're here seeking to know what happened to your children and loved ones, and I believe I have the answer. Obviously, I didn't have it before, or I too would be gone. ... We will not be singing or making any announcements, except to tell you we have a Bible study scheduled for Wednesday night at seven. We will not be taking any offering, though we will have to start doing that next week to meet our expenses. The church has some money in the bank, but we do have a mortgage and I have living expenses."

Bruce considers himself unworthy to stand in the pulpit, yet worthy enough to take up a collection for his living expenses. The fact that the church's mortgage and other financial obligations persist during the apocalypse raises some interesting questions about how the mortgage companies, utilities, credit card banks, credit scoring agencies and various other debt collectors would be functioning. Just because a third of the world's population has vanished without a trace doesn't mean these folks will hesitate in trying to collect. I imagine the credit-card lobbyists have already arrived in congressional offices with briefcases full of money to quickly amend the bankruptcy bill to clarify that the outstanding debt of the disappeared must be repaid by their closest unraptured relative.

And for someone who knows what's coming in the Tribulation to follow, Bruce is oddly confident about the value of the church's bank account. It's not too soon for him to be withdrawing that money and stockpiling canned goods.

The decision to forgo the church's usual announcements was wise. It would have been painfully awkward for poor Bruce to stand up there for 20 minutes saying things like: "The church nursery is closed today since all of your children have been ripped from their homes. Children's Sunday school classes will be canceled, indefinitely. Vacation Bible School: canceled. Pioneer Girls: canceled. Boys' Brigade: canceled. Children's choir: canceled ..."

But the key to this whole gathering is the first sentence of that paragraph above: "You're here seeking to know what happened to your children and loved ones, and I believe I have the answer." This isn't really a Sunday morning worship service -- it's a mass funeral. As such, it's remarkable how little Bruce says of the consolation of heaven. Remarkable, but not surprising. For most Christians, the promise of heaven is the source of eschatological hope that life makes more sense that it appears to in the finite context of this life. But in the world of Left Behind, eschatological hope has more to do with the schadenfreude of seeing evildoers punished -- of seeing others proven wrong and the authors proven right.

Bruce again tells the story of his wife and children's disappearance, then: "He showed the videotape, and more than a hundred people prayed along with the pastor at the end." L&J then set up a scene that I'm eager to read:

[Bruce] added, "I know many of you may still be skeptical. You may believe what happened was of God, but you still don't like it and you resent him for it. If you would like to come back and vent and ask questions this evening, I will be here. ... Rest assured we will be open to any honest question."

Kudos to Bruce for recognizing that this is an important function of the church: to be there for people who want to come and vent or ask questions (and to discern which is which and respond appropriately). I am, as I said, very much looking forward to this scene in the book. It will provide our didactic authors a perfect platform to address the many questions and objections readers may have, particularly to respond to Chloe's still-unanswered question about how the events of the book can be reconciled with the idea of a loving God. I can't wait to get to this part.

Following the massively successful altar call at the end of the video, Bruce next invites the newly converted to make a public confession. "Feel free to come to the microphone," he says.

Rayford was the first to move, but as he came down the aisle he sensed many falling in behind him. Dozens waited to tell their stories, to say where they'd been on their spiritual journey. Most were just like he was, having been on the edges of the truth through a loved one or friend, but never fully accepting the truth about Christ.

L&J, as usual, never provide any specific examples. We never hear or see any particular person step up to the microphone and tell her particular story. But apart from the usual appalling writing, what's deeply weird about this whole scene is that L&J describe the wrong event. They offer a dull, but passable description of a successful revival meeting, and it sounds very much like actual revival meetings I have actually witnessed. And therein lies the problem: This gathering should be nothing like the actual revival meetings I have actually witnessed.

I have never been to a revival meeting where everyone in attendance had just lost their children -- lost every child they knew. For this traumatized group of people to respond exactly like a group that had not been through such trauma is just bizarrely inhuman. What on earth is going on? Why are these narcissists coming forward to talk about "where they'd been on their spiritual journey"? Spiritual journey? Your daughter is gone.

Then again, L&J later write:

Their stories were moving and hardly anyone left, even when the clock swept past noon and forty or fifty more still stood in line. All seemed to need to tell of the ones who had left them.

So maybe this is just Bad Writing.

At two o'clock, when everyone was hungry and tired, Bruce said, "I'm going to have bring this to a close. One thing I wasn't going to do today was anything traditionally churchy, including singing. But I feel we need to praise the Lord for what has happened here today. Let me teach you a simple chorus of adoration."

Bruce teaches them a praise chorus and:

When the people joined in, quietly and reverently and heartfelt, Rayford was too choked up to sing. One by one people stopped singing and mouthed the words or hummed, they were so overcome. Rayford believed it was the most moving moment of his life.

That's not how this is done.

As Bruce steps forward to say, "I'm going to have to bring this to a close," the organist should have already started to play "It Is Well With My Soul." Then Bruce should say something like, "So I'm going to ask Sister Loretta to come offer us a benediction" and Loretta should tap into all that loss she and everyone around her has just suffered and sing it in such a way that Horatio Spafford and Mahalia Jackson will turn to one another in heaven and say, "Yes, now she understands."

* * * * *

(NOTE: This post was supposed to end with the phrase "That's how this is done" as a link to an .mp3 of Mahalia singing "It Is Well With My Soul," but alas, Typepad is not cooperating. Will try to fix this later.)

UPDATE: Fixed. "It Is Well With My Soul."

Comments

[Andrew Cory]

What a way to end a Sunday. Thank you sir...

[Erick Oppeen]

One question that occurs to me is "How does this bunch of (apparent) non-believers KNOW FOR SURE that it was Ghawd who took all the children?"

I'd think that the sheer anguish of the bereaved parents would prompt a famous question: "Could it be---SAA-TAN?"

After all, what could be more appropriate for the Lord of Darkness to do than something like this?

(Why, yes, I have been watching old _Saturday Night Live_ episodes. How'd you guess? :} )

I'd love to have seen the "Church Lady" dealing with the fact that she _had not_ been Raptured.

[Pho]

The fact that the church's mortgage and other financial obligations persist during the apocalypse raises some interesting questions about how the mortgage companies, utilities, credit card banks, credit scoring agencies and various other debt collectors would be functioning.

Yes, questions whose answers no doubt have something to do with The Jews.

[aunursa]

Their stories were moving and hardly anyone left, even when the clock swept past noon and forty or fifty more still stood in line. All seemed to need to tell of the ones who had left them.

It's a similar situation in the just-published prequel The Rapture. Except in the scene in heaven, instead of dozens of people whose spiritual stories are told, its millions or billions of raptured people. And Irene and Raymie are (nauseatingly) thrilled and moved by each and every one ... and never tire of hearing the next story.

[Bugmaster]

Actually, considering the Biblical stance on riches in general, and usury in particular, the mortgage and credit card companies would be pretty much the only organizations completely untouched by the Rapture. Well, them, and abortion clinics, and maybe the YMCA.

[JS Bangs]

The reason, I think, that L&J portray Bruce in this way is that they're trying to make him out to be the ideal modern evangelical pastor. The modern evangelical pastor does not expound the Word of God with seriousness from a pulpit. He stands colloquially in front of a microphone and chats. He's simple and ordinary and has an "aw-shucks" attitude about the pastorate. His function is to tell the people that God loves them, that they're special, and that really God is just like him: an ordinary, non-threatening guy that doesn't want them to change a thing.

[pfc]

"I imagine the credit-card lobbyists have already arrived in congressional offices with briefcases full of money to quickly amend the bankruptcy bill to clarify that the outstanding debt of the disappeared must be repaid by their closest unraptured relative."

I imagine, further, that Congress will be fully staffed, with no members having been raptured.

[Perry]

He shouldn't be standing up there reeling in the faux humility of his prior ignorance. He should, instead, be empowered by his newfound revelation. He's known the story all along, but he's only just now realized what it means. He should be preaching like St. Stephen before his execution, or like St. Paul after his blinding, transforming epiphany on the Road to Damascus..

I disagree. Paul and Stephen had heaven to look forward to, Bruce has missed the boat. I would think that it would not be unnatural for him to be sober, depressed and more than a little bit scared that he missed out and will end up in hell. I can understand being fired up when having an epiphany that you are going to be rewarded with heaven, but it seems as though it would be harder to be fired up when your epiphany is that you messed up and may not have a chance (IIRC the characters in the book were not yet sure they still had a chance).

[Ray]

Back in the January analysis, we have this excerpt " There is no doubt in my mind that we have witnessed the Rapture. My biggest fear, once I realized the truth, was that there was no more hope for me...I had heard people say that when the church was raptured, God's Spirit would be gone from the earth. The logic was that when Jesus went to heaven after his resurrection, the Holy Spirit that God gave to the church was embodied in believers. So when they were taken, the Spirit would be gone, and there would be no more hope for anyone left. You can't know the relief when Pastor's tape showed me otherwise."

So he believes that he can be saved. (In fact, at this stage he's probably said The Sinner's Prayer, so he has a cast-iron, no-exceptions guarantee that he's going to heaven.)

[Mouse]

For me the part where Bruce grubs for money has to be the funniest thing ever. I mean, he's still talking like nothing's changed since the rapture even though society has essentially gone to hell. There's no talk about collecting a special offering to go towards victims of a disaster of immense proportions?! I'd hate to have been in that church after Katrina; probably all they talked about then was the upcoming church social.

[wintermute]

Mouse: In order to make the analogy more apt (and more horrific), remember that this a church in downtown New Orleans, and all-bar-one of the church officials, and 90% od the congregation have just drowned.

[Mark]

Technical question: Presumably there would be women who were pregnant who didn't get raptured who have given birth since the rapture. What happens to their children? Do they get raptured at birth or are they just out of luck?

[Beth]

No, Mark. Fetuses and embryos (presumably even the frozen ones), got raptured. From what I understand though, women do get pregnant post-rapture, so I guess God doesn't care about those innocent lives.

[Erick Oppeen]

As much as anything else, the whole "unborn children get raptured" thing is what creeps me out the most about this whole idiotic scenario. I call the people on the other side of the abortion issue from me "fetus fetishists," but this sort of thing is beyond fetishism.

[Axiomatic]

Is it just me, or would Bruce Barnes be better served by a huge neon sign pointing at his head, saying LOOK AT ME, I'M SO HUMBLE, STOP THE PRESS, THIS NEEDS TO GO ON THE FRONT PAGE, BRUCE BARNES IS THE HUMBLEST MAN IN TOWN, GIVE IT UP FOR THE HUMILITY KING!!!

[ako]

I think part of the problem is that the book isn't written from a normal approach of 'put these characters in these situations and try to understand how they'd react'. Most writers, even ones trying to decribe a particular emotional state, spend a lot of time looking at who the characters are, and how they might react particular circumstances. This helps provide the telling little details, and makes fictional characters seem fully human.

In the 'Left Behind' books, they seem to start with how the should feel, and work backwards to fill in the details. People should, in their view be happy that their loved ones are miraculously raptured up to heaven, so they don't get to mourn like normal people. People should be worried about the Antichrist and the apocalypse, so everyone is oddly interested in obscure Romanian politics and conferences prominently featuring Jews, and no one cares that much that all the children are gone. Bruce Barnes should, in the author's eyes, be humble, so he places no value on his training and experience, despite him having (under the circumstances) the most important job and knowledge on earth.

I've seen similar writing in some internet fan-fiction, usually by people either defending their favorite character or writing a Mary-Sue (annoyingly idealized character). The same lack of detail, the poor characterization, not worrying about the basic mechanics, all of it. It's done when the writer doesn't care about more than one or two characters, and isn't interested in the actual plot, just ramming a certain viewpoint down the reader's throat.

I will say this, though. At least L & J don't type the whole thing text message style. "OMG, u hav 2 repent!"

[burt]

O Lord,
It's hard
To be Humble
When you're perfect in every way

I can't wait
To look in
The Mirror
Cuz I get better looking each day

To know me
Is to love me
I must be a hell of a man

O Lord
It's hard
To be humble
But I'm doing the best that I can

[Bugmaster]

I will say this, though. At least L & J don't type the whole thing text message style. "OMG, u hav 2 repent!"

Hahaha ! I'm still laughing. I almost feel like writing a short Rapture story in this style.

> OMGWTF !
?
> Raptur
...
u got pix ?

[Thlayli]

Note that this reaction is a kind of accomplishment for LaHaye and Jenkins. They have created, in Bruce, a character human-seeming enough to register as annoying. Progress, of a sort.

ROFL!!

That is why I read this series.

[LL]

One thing that always creeps me out about some religious people is just this that Fred addresses: their overriding concern about the soul renders everything else unimportant, not even worth mentioning, apparently. Ironically, it makes them seem soulless. Robots for Christ. Their prime directive is to make sure everyone gets to heaven according to the programming, not to feel anything for anybody, or make allowances for human weakness or desires. I'm not saying we should all be weepy and clingy at every difficult time (though if that's your MO, no offense intended), but some sign of emotion other than religious mania would be nice, rather than terrifying.

RE the "revival": listening to 50+ people "confessing" would make me long for a round of nuclear missiles right smack on the United States. The apocalypse couldn't come soon enough for me if waiting for it meant listening to millions of newly enlightened go on and on about how much they love Jesus now.

RE comment on Congress being fully staffed after the Rapture: laughed out loud at that one. Let me put it this way: I don't want to be a member of a club that accepts The Hammer...

[slinky]

I call the people on the other side of the abortion issue from me "fetus fetishists"

Nothing like nuanced public discourse to take us to a more productive level.

[Denizen]

"No, Mark. Fetuses and embryos (presumably even the frozen ones), got raptured. From what I understand though, women do get pregnant post-rapture, so I guess God doesn't care about those innocent lives."

Even worse, when people are raptured its revealed in the prequel that they all become the same age when Jesus died. Raymie, Rayford's raptured son, instantly becomes 32. Irene youthens to 32. So that mean that all those fetuses and embrayos and fertilzied eggs must also have become fully adult human beings after the rapture.

[Reverend Ref]

The reason, I think, that L&J portray Bruce in this way is that they're trying to make him out to be the ideal modern evangelical pastor. The modern evangelical pastor does not expound the Word of God with seriousness from a pulpit. He stands colloquially in front of a microphone and chats. He's simple and ordinary and has an "aw-shucks" attitude about the pastorate. His function is to tell the people that God loves them, that they're special, and that really God is just like him: an ordinary, non-threatening guy that doesn't want them to change a thing.

Really? Is that how modern evangelical pastors operate? So why aren't these churches of 50,000 people contacting their congressmen and lobbying for a gay rights ammendment, or allowances for gay marriage. Afterall, God loves us all and doesn't want us to change the way we are, so why all this anti-gay sentiment.

I think it's more like, "God is just like me, and as long as you believe what I tell you to, you don't have to change a thing."

And, oh yeah, "We're not going to take up a collection today, but, dammit, I have needs."

Too funny.

[Judy]

I don't recall the exact details but isn't there a section were Bruce Barnes says he does not sit at the deceased (oops, I mean raptured) pastor's desk. Something to do with LaHaye disliking the junior staff using his stuff / taking his place. Perhaps Barnes' not speaking from the pulpit has more to do with LaHaye feeling it would be usurping a place that does not belong to him.

[Mouse]

Denizen, are you frickin' serious? Where the hell is the biblical precept for the raptured all turning thirty-two? Did LaHaye and Jenkins drink several shots of vodka and throw darts at the bible at random before coming up with this?

Re:Wintermute:

I can't believe I didn't fully carry out the analogy. That makes Bruce seem sociopathic to the extreme.

I often find myself mentally rewriting parts of Left Behind while reading these posts. Like at the service, everyone looks like they've been through hell, not only because of emotional breakdowns, but because of widespread pillaging, there's no electricity and the plumbing's shot. Bruce has pretty much set up camp at the church and is hoping and praying that the looters leave him alone. He has a shotgun at his side but he hopes he doesn't have to use it. Most of the people at the church are camping out because either their homes are simply too dangerous and/or they hope they'll be safe at the church. The other church-goers have traveled at their own peril in hopes of getting some comfort or finding help and shelter.

But then again, LaHaye and Jenkins would much rather mention stuff like riots rather than explore the consequences of a society shot to hell.

[Theo]

Denizen, are you frickin' serious? Where the hell is the biblical precept for the raptured all turning thirty-two? Did LaHaye and Jenkins drink several shots of vodka and throw darts at the bible at random before coming up with this?

I'm pretty sure it's not in the Bible, but the idea that everyone will be 33 (or whatever age Jesus is calculated to have been at his death and resurrection, supposedly the most "perfect" age) at the final physical resurrection is a pretty old tradition. I suspect it dates back to at least the Middle Ages.

[Skyknight]

Denizen: Actually, we get PRECISELY that same accelerate-the-dead-before-birth-to-adulthood situation. In "The Rapture", one of the raptured women is jubilant--she's just met the daughter she aborted herself of, and said daughter has forgiven her.

...

I can't help but think about the many less-than-one-month-in miscarriages that Fred has mentioned several times before. If THEY qualify for heaven under the same precepts as the aborted...

Well, even at around 1,400 cubic miles, New Jerusalem is going to be pretty cramped.

Let the record show, by the way, that that length WOULD encompass just about all of the Roman Empire, east to west. That was probably John of Patmos's point...

[Skyknight]

(WHY don't we have an edit-your-response option, again?)

Theo: I wish I could find the causal link that the medievals saw existing between "perfect age" and "age Jesus was when slain and resurrected". It IS pretty chilly, though, since it suggests that God had pre-charted the exact span between the Christ's birth and death. That, in turn, suggests that he pre-charted the Crucifixion itself. Did he pre-chart the Fall, too?! And all of this...to what end? Mere glory?

[Mark Z.]

Theo: I wish I could find the causal link that the medievals saw existing between "perfect age" and "age Jesus was when slain and resurrected". It IS pretty chilly, though, since it suggests that God had pre-charted the exact span between the Christ's birth and death.

It also suggests that God thinks of the whole business of being born, growing up, and aging as a big mistake, and has decided to fix it in the next release. From now on we'll all just be 32.

Only we won't, because we have not, in fact, been alive 32 years. God is faking it. This is the same logic that has God creating fake fossils to make the earth look a bazillion years old even though it was created last Tuesday. For that matter, it's the same logic that has God wiping our minds upon resurrection so that we don't ask inconvenient questions about what happened to Uncle Mike.

The mindset is this: History isn't real. This world isn't real. People aren't real. Only God is real. All of us figments of the divine imagination can therefore be created, destroyed, and otherwise messed with at will, and we'd better not complain about that, if we know what's good for us. The best we can hope for is to impress God sufficiently with our piety that he decides to keep us around as worship-bots instead of torture-puppets.

Fuck that.

[Duane]

(WHY don't we have an edit-your-response option, again?)

Trolls would abuse it.

[twig]

"worship-bots instead of torture-puppets."

I smell band name.

[Cactus Wren]

It's estimated that some three-fourths of fertilized human ova never even implant in the uterine wall, but are naturally flushed out with the next menstrual period.

I have not the remotest doubt that L&J consider each of those to be a "person".

Thus we see that in L&J's version of Heaven, the never-born will outnumber the born by roughly three to one.

[Skyknight]

That, in turn, makes me wonder if LaHaye is cognizant of this in the first place. It does make his estimated New Jerusalem population of two billion seem a bit smaller than it should be. I'd say eight billion, but that's neglecting the miscarried of non-Christian women. Where are we now for the number of the holy? Seven trillion?

Back to the main subject, though...Is there a reason that a true Christian (to LaHaye, anyway) would not WANT to stay on Earth during the Tribulation, in order to help the wayward come to the one true bindingfaith? In other words, what would he see impossible about, for lack of a better phrase, Christian bodhisattvas?

[Skyknight]

{grumble} I forgot to mention that I bring this up because of the point about how Barnes SHOULD be trying to help guide the left-behind through their woes. In other words, among the already-saved, where are the volunteers to do the guiding?

[Jeff]

Skyknight:
You're assuming that the "true Christians" (as defined by LaHaye) would have a choice in the matter. Ihaven't read any of this drek other than what Fred has posted, but it seems that they all got pulled into Heaven willy-nilly. (Since these "true Christians" will be gloating over the coming destruction of their friends and neighbors, I can't imagine any would want to help anyway.)

[Denizen]

"Denizen: Actually, we get PRECISELY that same accelerate-the-dead-before-birth-to-adulthood situation. In "The Rapture", one of the raptured women is jubilant--she's just met the daughter she aborted herself of, and said daughter has forgiven her."

So, the only explanation is that God has "template" personalities that can be applied to blank states after the Rapture?

[Grumpy]

All seemed to need to tell of the ones who had left them.

Seemed to, but we know that's not what they were actually thinking about. Wink, wink.

Either that, or the authors meant that it seemed like everyone told such stories, but in fact there were a few who didn't. We learn nothing about these oddballs.

[Mouse]

Fred, you realize that the scene you're looking forward to never actually occurs. It never occurs to LaHaye and Jenkins that people would want to know how all these actions reconcile with the whole loving-God idea.

[Nicole J. LeBoeuf-Little]

Indeed. Chloe's question is not seen as a theological dilemma, but only as an indication that she will be a tougher nut to crack.

[Temporarily Anonymous]

"What on earth is going on? Why are these narcissists coming forward to talk about "where they'd been on their spiritual journey"? Spiritual journey? Your daughter is gone."

The world has plenty of narcissists though, so I can see a good number of people willing to talk exclusively about themselves; and once enabled to do so, even otherwise sensible people will wallow in themselves if they receive sympathy & approval for it. A friend of mine died (young) recently, and there were instantly plenty of people - even some of her close friends - willing to explain how her death fit into their personal development and what valuable lessons they learnt from it.

So I could see this dynamic getting started and being hard to stop, in some groups. But it surely wouldn't be typical. Grief for the missing & for everyone's shared loss seems like it would predominate.

Again though, it's almost as if everyone left behind got a memo on the day: "To: Leftovers; From: God; Your family is fine; I put them up in room 703. PS: watch out for the Horsemen." Perhaps that might reduce the tragedy of your children, friends & family having their earthly lives cut short. But it wouldn't reduce the personal tragedy, which is that you'll never get to see any of them again. That's a lesser grief, but it never ends.

[The Old Maid]

So, the only explanation is that God has "template" personalities that can be applied to blank states after the Rapture?

In the fifth "Anne of Green Gables" novel ("Anne's House of Dreams"), Anne Shirley Blythe has her firstborn child. Now, in the context of those novels and that culture, new parents had unspoken obligations to name their babies after 1) relatives; 2) friends; then 3) prominent locals such as the preacher, schoolteacher, etc. It's a long list, so you don't dilly-dally; you get started right on it. As soon as I read that Anne named her newborn "Joy" -- and she doesn't know anyone named Joy -- I knew the baby was going to die. (Did, too.)

(I know, I know. It fits the "match the name to the Message" post above. But I told you that story to tell you this one.)

So Anne has lost her Joy. The author doesn't breeze over Anne's grief but shows it as shadowing her days. When the sun shines, Anne feels no delight; when it rains (and Anne used to love the rain), Anne pictures it beating down so mercilessly on that little grave; when the snow falls she pictures her baby's small face as not just dead but frozen too; and "when the wind blew, she heard sad voices in it she had never heard before."

In time she seeks out an elderly friend named Captain Jim. The authors never say that as an old man he must have buried many loved ones, but Anne feels it and can reveal her vulnerability to him. She says that it's more than losing her loved one, losing a loved one so young, but that Anne feels she would walk right by her in heaven too. "Oh, I know she'll be 'a fair maiden clothed in celestial grace,' but she'll be a stranger to me." And Anne cries. But Jim responds, "God'll manage better than that, I reckon."

Thanks to the pacing, Anne does heal a little, enough that it doesn't seem over-the-top when she has her second-born (a son, named James Matthew). Anne babbles, "Oh, now I know what he meant when he said God would manage it better. I can see her first steps," etc. etc. etc. Anne feels mystically touched by the arrival of her second son; she believes God has conveyed a message to her (whether in waking hours or in her dreams, the novel doesn't say. Dream messages have Biblical support, though.). Anne feels that God wants her to know her first baby, to know Joy's distinctiveness, so that they will indeed have a personal relationship. "When I see her, I'll know her."

Don't know how much Scripture there is to support this proposal (Mormons believe in some contact between living and dead, but Anne isn't one). But it does remind me of an old Fred-post (about whether people in heaven forget their loved ones), in that relationships go a long way to shape us into who we are -- and if we erase those relationships, to what extent are we still "us"? Don't know how much Scripture addresses this issue, either.

[aunursa]

Anne feels that God wants her to know her first baby, to know Joy's distinctiveness, so that they will indeed have a personal relationship. "When I see her, I'll know her."

I don't know about the Bible, but L&J briefly touch on this subject in the prequel The Rapture. The authors describe one scene in heaven where a raptured mother meets the daughter she had aborted years earlier, and the daughter forgives her. (In the LB universe, everyone in heaven is physically and mentally about 32 years old, but retain their memories of life on earth.) Presumably the aborted daughter has no memories, but nevertheless both recognize each other. As I recall L&J don't attempt to explain this conundrum.

[Rachymabe]

Have you people EVER read your bible???

[bulbul]

Have you people EVER read your bible???
Yep. Why?

[Duane]

Yes, though I had to quit before I completely abandoned my Christian faith.

[Jesurgislac]

Have you people EVER read your bible???

Yes, from Genesis to Revelations in a reading project I assigned myself when I was fourteen or fifteen, and of course, I've re-read some books and chapters more than once since then.

Why do you ask?

[Ray]

I don't have a bible, and plan on keeping things that way.

[The Old Maid]

In the interest of slaking all our L.B. thirst ... the two most recent Fred-posts have been on Meaningful Names and meaningful responses. Okay. Hmm ... couldn't help noticing that Bruce Barnes teaches the people "a simple chorus of adoration." More specifically, the novel says he teaches them "a praise song for God the Father, Jesus his Son, and the Holy Spirit." Rayford, a man uncomfortable with/unused to deep feeling, finds this song "moving." So do the visitors, who are so "overcome" that they drop out of the music to softly hum.

They don't name the music!

Granted, musical tastes vary, and a visitor from one denomination who vacations at a different church because it's available might not be familiar with the music in the new church. Also granted, musical tastes change even within one home church. Again granted, nondenominational churches may not have the "home office" sending musical suggestions with the annual calendar. Surely these nonattenders can't be expected to insta-memorize the golden oldies (though I'm sure most of them have at least heard of "Amazing Grace"). But surely there are some songs universal enough to be appropriate. Would suggest something like "He Didn't Throw the Clay Away [The Potter]" -- though, in fairness, that one wasn't written until about 3 years ago, so Bruce Barnes couldn't recommend it. Any votes on what they did sing?

Amazing Grace would be a great choice. It's reasonably short (171 words, including the extra verse), singable, a familiar tune, and particularly appropriate for a roomfull of new converts. The language is clear and simple, without the contrived 'trying to be cool' feel. It's suitable to a solemn occasion, and full of hope. And the lyrics of the later verses 'the Earth shall soon dissolve like snow..' are expecially well-suited to those awaiting the apocalypse.

Plus, it doesn't have that territorial feel of so much modern Christian music that's written in opposition to modern culture, so people can show how separate from the world they are.

For all those reasons, I'm guessing they sang "Our God is an Awesome God"

[Fred]

Fixed the Mahalia link.

About the song, Jenkins writes: "Bruce sang a brief song from Scripture, honoring God the Father, Jesus his Son, and the Holy Spirit." I couldn't figure out what this was. Sounds a bit like "Father, I Adore You" -- which is actually quite lovely when sung as a round -- but the lyrics aren't "from Scripture."

Then again, considering LaHaye and Jenkins' weird civil religion, they probably consider Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the U.S.A." as a song with scriptural lyrics honoring the triune God.