Fake Saved

When I was 5 years old, I was a really good kid who liked going to church for (gasp!) the sermons! The singing was a nice bonus but having to sit next to my dad who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket and (usually) Brother Christian, who couldn't either, I was a little deprived of the niceties of the singing until I got a little older and could sit somewhere else. But I loved the dramas of the sermon. The gesticulating, the reminders of our doom in hell if we didn't let Jesus into our hearts, the feeling of peace and serenity that I was in the right place and my parents were doing the right thing to take care of me to ensure that I made it to heaven to live happily ever after.

We often had visiting preachers in those days. The fellow I'm remembering today was a rather young-ish preacher with yellow hair (probably what made him look young) a skinny profile and a voice to boom you into the hereafter with bells on and your bonnet on fire (from the near-miss of hell and damnataion of course!). This preacher also had energy and jumped around up at the pulpit for emphasis. He had my rapt attention.

Towards the end of the sermon, Mr. Preacher started calming down--he had us in the palms of his hands, he knew it--and enticing us to come to Jesus. He was describing heaven for us and modeling this beautiful golden city with castles and streets of gold and sunshine all day long and if we had Jesus in our hearts we could just see this glorious place. His hand motions were so convincing to my 5-year-old brain that I realized at that very moment that Jesus wasn't in my heart because I couldn't see the city. The magic he performed up there at the pulpit was lost on me because I wasn't right with God! How could this be when I was so perfect in every way--I was, after all, the conscience of my entire family reminding them with regularity when they'd sinned! But that city remained as invisible to me as to the murderer.

The key, of course, was to let Jesus into my heart, be saved and then I would see the city. All I had to do was walk down the aisle and the magic would be revealed. I wasn't about to turn this down, so I got up from my seat beside my daddy, went BEHIND the pew where he sat (he always sat on the right back pew looking at the pulpit) and then went down the CENTER aisle so everyone could see me. I would be saved and then I would see the golden city and it would be a fabulous day. I could hardly wait!

So down the center aisle I marched, tossing my curls for effect. I had on the most gorgeous long dress of fimly material. The material was decorated with a garden scene and had lace and ribbons in all the right places and was probably the prettiest dress I owned...I met up with this new young preacher and with Brother Sanders and pronounced loudly enough for the first two aisles to hear that I wanted to be saved, so we said a prayer, my soul was saved, and then Brother Sanders announced to the congregation that Leslie Thornton had come to be saved. All the while he was talking I was looking behind me to see that gorgeous golden city, but it wasn't there! My panicked mind thought at first that God had forsaken me that I had come to him but he didn't want me, then I tuned into what Brother Sanders was saying...something about me being able to finally see that beautiful golden city when I reached heaven.

I was thunderstruck. Mr. Young Preacher had duped me into believing that the city of gold was right there on the pulpit but the way Brother Sanders was saying it I had to wait until I died! Right about this time the piano and congregation started in with "When the Roll is Called up Yonder" and everyone was shaking my hands and old ladies were hugging me to their powder filled bosoms and I was once again taken along on this journey I didn't quite understand.

I was mortified beyond imagining. On the way home I wasn't my usually chatty self, but was quiet and almost sullen. Mom told me I needed to call Grandma on my way home so she could come over to celebrate, so I did. I remember being in my room and being grouchy and my dad saying something about me not acting like someone who was saved that very day. More mortification because I realized then that they could see through my charade. I'd better chipper up and act saved or someone else would catch on, so I put on my most beatific face and tried to be polite and happy for the rest of the day. I was baptized a couple of weeks later and never ever told anyone about how I was fake saved until I was well into adulthood.