Against Free Will

From the author: This is a short story I wrote on a simple idea I had. What would happen if someone challenged God's final judgment?

I lost track of how long I stood in line. You sort of just get used to just standing here. The shock of just waiting in line to be judged by God Himself made time trivial. There were about a hundred people ahead of me. Everyone wondered when they would receive their wings and fly amongst deceased family and friends. From their friendly conversations, I couldn’t tell if they were friends in their previous lives or became acquainted here. Apparently there were some mothers who carried their children.

“You’re a young one,” said a man leaning on a cane. Still dressed in a black suit and matching tie, he smelled of preserved flowers and ointments. An orange lily peaked out from his breast pocket.

“Somewhat,” I replied, not wanting to attract attention. In fact, I was much younger than most people here. “I live a good life.”

“A good life, or a short one?” the man grinned at the inappropriate joke. When he regained his composure, he extended his right hand. “I am Mr. Smith.”

My grip felt insecure in his bony hand. Even though we were in Heaven, I was sure I could break his hand with a firm grip.

“Come on, ya pansy!” he exclaimed, and I jumped. I hardly felt a change, but he tightened his grip.

“Mr. Smith, not to be rude,” I replied, lightly squeezing his hand, “but I’m not comfortable making friends now.”

Mr. Smith nodded and returned both hands to the cane. I thought he was going to strike me for being rude, but he simply smiled.

“It’s not that I am not friendly. I just don’t want to complicate things.”

“How much more complicated can you get? We’re all dead!”

“Some of us would rather go to Heaven than Hell,” said a guy with a deep voice.
Jagged ritual scars, or so I assumed, curved over his eyebrows.

“I don’t think he meant it in that manner,” I replied. “I just don’t want to become friends with you guys here and never see you again.”

“We are all living in one world now,” said Mr. Smith. “You have no reason to go to Hell, do you?”

My mind felt numb and my cheeks became warm. Not a legitimate enough reason for God to send me to Hell, but an extremely personal one.

“I accepted God into my life.”

“Then you shouldn’t be denied Heaven,” the man with the scars said. “No matter my excuses or reasoning, I will go to Hell.”

From the healing scars on this man’s shoulders, I felt his sorrow. His eyes told a personal story that I only knew from human rights’ classes. My life, no matter how short, was something fortunate. I doubted his life was something that could be forgotten, or even cherished. I wondered if God would be merciful to ease this man’s memories or torture him with regret. I wasn’t here to make friends, but I wanted to ask this man questions of his experiences. Perhaps I could help him reach Heaven.

“If God is merciful, then your sins did will be forgiven,” I said.

“God does not forgive those whose fingers are stained with his brother’s blood.” At that I thought back to the Biblical account of the first murder. I wondered if we would meet a God of mercy or justice. “My brother would be better left off without me.”

Sunlight rippled against his eyes, and his jaw tightened as he held back the tears.

“God would be most merciful to allow my brother not to see the eyes of his murderer.” He cleared his throat and turned to me. “So Mr. No Name, it sounded as though you have doubt of going to Heaven.”

“According to what I have been taught, I believe I will go to Heaven.”

“Then what’s the doubt?”

This man’s story moved me. I don’t know if my story or reasoning could even be compared to his. He had reason to argue with God to be in Heaven. I didn’t.

“There are many people here, I would imagine, who have reasons to be in Heaven. Maybe there are some who don’t deserve to be there and will fight to be in Heaven.”

“Yet you’re doing the opposite?”

I wondered if my heart still pounded in my chest. There was no pulse in that space between my eyes and ears, yet the unwanted truth heated my cheeks. Everyone around me had their personal reasons for going to Heaven, whether their beliefs gave them hope or a longing to see family.

“When I was younger, their faces were like a photograph,” I said, keeping a low voice. “I closed my eyes and felt my mother’s arms. My father’s laugh. Now when I close my eyes, the memories are like a movie without sound and scenes out of sequence. I don’t know which memories belong where. Even the sounds are redubbed from my own imagination.”

Two words came to the man’s mind and yet they served no purpose other than filling the silence. The ritual scars on his forehead wrinkled as he thought of a more meaningful response.

“So you would argue with God to be in Hell? To see your parents?”

Hearing it come from someone else made me cold. It surprised me that this man I only knew for a few minutes understood my reasoning. Some of my friends couldn’t figure out the reasoning on their own until I told them. Even then the more conservative of my friends would say God comes first.

“That’s very noble of you, my friend.”

Silver rays of light came into my peripheral and I noticed we reached the gates of Heaven. What happened to all the people that stood ahead of us? Only a single figure stood at the gates. Sunlight appeared to reflect against his wings, producing an aura of silver light.

“Welcome to Heaven,” said the angel, his voice smooth with a resounding echo. “God awaits His children beyond these gates.”

The angel waved a hand at the gates and curtains of light warmed our faces. For a moment, I felt euphoria and wondered if my acquaintance forgot his troubles. All the light around us softened until I noticed a row of pillars circling me. Emblems of crosses, doves, pentagrams and other unrecognizable religious symbols sat atop each pillar. Perhaps God’s influence extended beyond a single religious sect. Blue sky opened above me and the clouds were few. I was alone.

“Welcome, my child.”

I spun around, looking for the source of the voice. It was a voice I never heard before, but I knew the speaker. Some people heard Him in prayer. Others found comfort in Him from watching the sunset. At this moment, I understood why people sought His guidance. I didn’t know where or how I’d find my comfort.

“Your heart desires that which is beyond your vision.”

“So you’ve already decided my fate?”

“Can it be true that you would rather suffer in Hell than a life of eternal grace?”

“My previous life lacked any suffering that should qualify me for peace. The only suffering I endured was never knowing my parents.”

“Is it not I who gives life to all creatures?” God’s words caused my shoulders to tense. “I am the Father of all life.”

I felt His presence evading my mind. He knew I disapproved, yet how could I challenge His omnipotence?

“I would not suffer in Hell. Even without the luxuries of Heaven, my parents would provide me unconditional comfort.”

God’s voice left my mind. I wasn’t sure if He no longer looked over me from every direction. Perhaps I said something that upset the Father. I couldn’t imagine anyone else arguing against God to enter Hell. Maybe righteous men who knew they deserved Hell argued against Heaven. That’s a possibility. Millions died before me. I couldn’t be the only one who would ask to be damned for eternity.

As I stood waiting in God’s absence, I wondered how much my mother changed from the photographs. Had those wrinkles faded from the corners of her eyes? Did her hair remain curled at her shoulders for these past twenty years? Well she must have cut her hair once in a while. My last memories of her were sad. From her taking out a splinter from my left hand to shopping for bubble gum, I didn’t know which happened first. I guess the latter happened often.

I didn’t remember my father too well. Every waking hour he worked. I rarely saw him other than on the weekends, and even then he rarely talked. Too exhausted from working twelve hour shifts six days a week. Friends and family remembered his kindness for every customer and the dedication to his family. No one expected his dedication to providing for the family would create distance memories. I don’t even remember what we last talked about, but I figured I never said good-bye.
One of the last memories I had of my father, or at least I thought, was of me arguing with him about wearing a pair of socks. Could that be how I last saw him? I wasn’t sure.

As I tried reliving the past, a surge of pain filled my eyes. These weren’t simply memories. Even though two decades passed, I knew they happened. They weren’t something I created. I remembered living in that time.

“I do not wish to interrupt your thoughts, child. There is no return if you wish to reunite with your parents.”

My lips didn’t move. God must had known I had no intention of letting go. His utopia remained empty.

“What of the others who are sent to hell? What of that man I met before I entered heaven?”

God remained silent. I wondered if He knew what I wanted to say and was allowing me to speak, or He had other intentions.

“I don’t know what caused the man to kill his brother,” I said, somehow becoming a lawyer, “but he shouldn’t be sentenced to hell.”

“Do you take me as a merciful God, or a God of proper judgment?”

I’ve always wondered how a merciful God would differ from a rational God. Forgiveness comes from mercy. If that were the case, then every criminal would be forgiven for their sins. A rational God, one who judges without remorse or pity, would damn the lives of even those who accepted Him if they committed inhumane crimes. It must be difficult being God.

It then occurred to me that I hadn’t chosen what mattered most. This wasn’t a decision of heaven or hell. Rather this was a decision of choosing my family over God. My whole life was clouded by religious ideals. Heaven or hell didn’t matter.

“I choose to be with my parents,” I said firmly.

Wherever God was, I felt His smile. A circle of radiant light swirled around me. A sense of warmth caressed my skin and I no longer felt alone. There she was, her hair glowing silver. Stepping next to her was a slightly taller figure with three freckles on his scalp. I didn’t need to rely on the pictures anymore. Before the light faded, I fell into their arms.