Portage Holiness Camp

It was another hot August night at Portage Holiness Camp. The wing like walls of the old round tabernacle were propped open with long wooden poles. People filled the pews and spread out into the lawn on wooden folding chairs. She sat close to her mother in a pew 10 rows back from the altar. She could still hear the loud chorus of chirping crickets from the deep woods surrounding the camp even as the swell of singing filled the tabernacle and the voice of Reverend Brand rolled down from the pulpit above. She looked up just as the evangelist raised up his trembling fist, rolled his head back, then brought his sweaty face down to meet the crowd in a locked stare. “All men are born sinners. Repent or be lost for eternity, eternity I say, lost to the devil and the firey furnace of hell where the bible tells us there will be terrible wailing and knashing of teeth”.

Her little body took it in, heard it all. She looked down at her hands and wondered what it would it be like to burn forever then picked up the paper fan from her mother’s lap. It was the one thing she was allowed to do during a service. She opened and closed its folds and saw the picture of Jesus as shepherd appear surrounded by sheep. She loved to see the bright blue of the sky and the gold edges around Jesus’ soft hair. Her eyes closed and she began to fan herself. The little breeze felt good in the summer heat.

“Only Jesus can save you, come now, be born again in the blood of the lamb. Bow your heads before him, ask his forgiveness, he who suffered and bled for your sins, your sins. It was for you that his hands were nailed, nailed to the cross, his head a bloodied crown of thorns. Listen, for you know you have sinned before God. God who watches even the falling of a leaf. God who knows every thought, every sin in your heart. If the holy spirit is speaking to you, come down to the altar and repent before it is too late. Surrender, surrender now to Jesus."

She tried to imagine what it would be like to have a nail hammered into her hand and something stirred inside her. The thought came, maybe the stirring was the holy spirit calling her. She turned to see her Mother who was leaning forward towards the pulpit, eyes full of tears, smiling, nodding, her hand waving a small white hankey that floated as if to heaven.

Her eyes moved over the crowd and rested on the red white and blue banner strung up behind the pulpit with the words “Holiness unto the Lord” painted in bold black letters underneath the stars and stripes. She could read it this year. The youth choir sat below it and in front of them sat her father, serious and still. He was not the speaker this time.

The evangelist opened both arms to the crowd, his deep voice rumbled, “No man knoweth the hour and day of Jesus return, are you ready? Or will you be left behind when the day of rapture comes and Jesus calls the sinless home to be with him for eternity. On that day the moon will turn blood red, the blessed will rise up from their graves, and the faithful who walk this earth will ascend up to heaven. The world and all its depravity will be scorched by Armagedon. The Anti-Christ will rule. Will you be left behind to wear the sign of the beast? The 666 that pledges you to him? Grants you food and water but dooms you to hell?”

She closed her eyes and wondered what the anti-Christ would look like. She saw him huge and strong; his knowing eyes peering out from the hood of a heavy black robe and then as a skinny man with a mean face. But, he wouldn’t look like God or the devil she thought. How would people know who he was? Maybe he’s already here. She felt into her dress pocket, found her small white embroidered hanky and rolled it’s lacey edges over and over between her fingers.

“No man can choose the hour or the day the holy spirit calls us to repent, come home now, come to Jesus. Sing the old hymn, let’s sing the old hymn, Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling, calling oh sinner come home. Come to the altar and repent before God and Man or be lost in the darkness forever. Don’t be like a fellow brethren who heard the call of the holy spirit during a service just like this and did not come forward. His fateful car crash on the way home from the service brought him to his deathbed where he cried out to the Lord to send the holy spirit back so that he could repent and be saved from the fires of hell but the holy spirit would not come back. No man can choose the hour and the day the holy spirit calls us to repent.”

The singing began, “Just as I am without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me”. She caught sight of a large man walking down the aisle towards the long white painted altar that stretched the length of the tabernacle. Shouts of praise rang out from the crowd. He fell to his knees at the altar and covered his face with his hands. She saw his back heaving up and down over the altar railing, heard his moaning and crying. Her father came down from the stage, knelt down and put his arm around the man. Her mother stood up, placed their hymnal on the seat, glanced at her, then walked to the altar and knelt down on the other side of the man. The pews began to empty as more people came forward and lined the altar. She sat still in her seat and the stirring sank down heavy into her heart.

She closed her eyes and remembered the kitchen at home, touching her mother’s red apron pocket and asking. “Do you love God more than you love me?” Her mother had replied, “I love you in a different way than I love God”. “But is it more?” “Well, we have to love God the most but it is a different love”. “Do children go to hell when they die?” “Children don’t go to hell until they reach the age of accountability”. “When is that?” “It’s when a child knows the difference between right and wrong”. “But how old is that?” Her Mother paused, “Oh, maybe around 8 years old.”

Her eyes opened and she unfolded the fan and looked at Jesus. I do know right from wrong she thought. It’s wrong to say bad words, to lie, to disobey, to hit somebody, to sit a book on top of a bible, to go to movies, to dance. She suddenly remembered spinning faster and faster in the hall of the church basement as her little red ruffled skirt flew up high about her and the sudden grip of her father’s hand on her shoulder that stopped her in mid-spin. His voice was stern, “We don’t do that here”.

She slid down off her seat, stood, turned, and looked down the long empty pew that led to the aisle. She put the fan in her pocket. I wonder if people will think I’ve been bad she thought as she took one step then another. The stirring in her heart moved up and salty tears burned in her eyes. When she reached the aisle she looked down the grey concrete path to the altar. There was one small open space along the hard white board. She kept her eyes on it and moved to it. She felt for it’s edge, took it in her hand and knelt down in front of it. She moved in closer and laid her arms across it. She bowed her head, closed her eyes and went into the darkness. She saw Jesus hanging on the cross and saw blood streaming down his face. She saw hundreds of open-mouthed people bobbing up and down in a sea of red flames, their arms reaching up to be saved.

Am I being saved? she wondered. An arm reached around her and she shrank down smaller into herself. I have been bad, she thought and opened her eyes to see her mother’s friend, Lucille, kneeling beside her, head bowed. “Jesus we ask that you save our little girl. Forgive her her sins, Lord. Let her be born again in thy blood“ Some one far down the altar cried out, "Thank you, Jesus”. Lucille stood up and shouted, “Praise be to the lord, he is here with us tonight!”. Lucille moved on.        

She bent over more tightly and strained for more tears. She told Jesus she was sorry and to please forgive her and let her be born again. She searched all around inside herself. Nothing is happening she thought and her hands fell from her face as she opened her eyes.  Her bare knees were sore. She pressed down into the numb curl of her toes, pushed her elbows against the altar, stood up, and turned around. The stark light from the hanging bare bulbs hit her eyes. She looked down the aisle to the back of the tabernacle. People were outside standing and talking. The pews were now mostly empty. Her eyes followed the small cracks in the concrete as she slowly walked along. Her hand touched the arm of each pew as she passed.

She reached the end of the aisle and stepped from the concrete onto the grass, smelled the hot summer night air, and looked down one of the long rows of white cottages that surrounded the tabernacle. She could just make out the shape of her friend Susie sitting on a bench outside the fourth cottage. Her heart lifted and she began to run. She thought of the Archie comic books Susie had tucked in her cottage. Her foot caught on a tree root and she tripped. She felt herself falling and spinning through the darkness then hitting the ground hard. “Mamma”, she whimpered. No one saw her as she lay face down in the grass. A wave of burning pain rolled through her body and in its wake, loneliness. She felt a stinging in her knee but stayed still and held close to the ground. An idea began to form just behind her eyes, It’s a sin to see bad things and to want bad things. It’s a sin to think wrong thoughts.

Soon the soft grass under her fingers began to feel cool. She heard the chirping of the crickets, opened her eyes and saw the fan lying in the grass beside her. She reached for it, took it into her hand, and pulled it close to her face. She opened and closed it again and again; saw the shimmer of gold along its edges. She brushed a tear from her cheek and felt a warm trickle on her knee and strained to see it in the dark. This is my blood she thought and she touched it. A bead of blood turned to a blotch that smeared her finger. She took the hankey from her pocket, spit on it, and wiped her hand and knee just as her mother would do. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her dress.

The loneliness welled up in her and she looked again for Susie but the bench was now empty. She checked her thoughts, folded the fan, and put it in her pocket. She looked back to the tabernacle and saw her mother picking up hymnals and putting them back in place on the pews. Her father was talking to the evangelist as he covered the piano. They seemed so far away. She turned towards the voices of her sisters who were walking nearby on the grassy lane that lead to their cottage. She did not join them but followed at a distance, carefully counting each step as she found her way alone in the dim light that spread out from the tabernacle. Maybe there’s still time, she thought, I’m not eight yet.