“Don’t think so. She knew I went to church, but like most of the people I work with, she had no interest in what they refer to as ‘religious’ things. I had a conversation with her recently and she told me she was seeing a clairvoyant. I asked her why and she said she wanted to know what the future held for her. She said the clairvoyant told her some amazing things, so she had no doubt the clairvoyant was genuine.”
Her mum shook her head. “Frightening stuff, hey? Probably a number of demons, masquerading as angels of light, working with the clairvoyant—faking the voice or image of a dead person. I wonder if they told her she was going to die soon?”
Mackenzie continued. “It’s so hard . . . you want to help these people. They either believe in heaven or nothing and that includes no belief in hell. Then they think we’re crazy because we believe in hell.” Mackenzie grabbed a fork and dug it into the cheesecake. “I sat in the funeral service thinking about it. I watched people that I work with who I know haven’t got the slightest interest or belief in God or church, yet they stand up there and read God’s word.”
A hmmm came out of Mum. “Funerals are funny things. The funeral’s more for the comfort of the family than the deceased.”
“It must be hard for pastors to conduct a funeral for an unbeliever.”
A fly had decided to inspect the food. Mum shooed it away. “How do we know if a person’s an unbeliever, love? You just don’t know the kind of plea for mercy that girl may have prayed out in the nanosecond before her death.”
“That’s true.”
“I was reading an article recently. It impressed me so much, I cut it out of the paper.”
Mackenzie watched as Mum pulled something out of her mobile phone wallet. She unfolded a sheet of paper and put on her glasses.
“The article said what I often thought about funerals but haven’t been able to put into words. It’s from a retiring Anglican Archbishop. It speaks about the cost of individualism, and the shift to self-love, and the consequences this had for the quality of our community, family life and how we treat death. He mentions a famous song called I Did It My Way. Have you ever heard that song?”
“Not sure I have, Mum. But definitely a self-centred title.”
“It is. It sums up modern society pretty well. Anyway, he goes on to say that funerals are now used for eulogists to attempt to resurrect the dead by the power of fine words.” She looked up at Mackenzie and then down to the article again.
“It goes on to say that the last words at funerals come from friends and family, and their aim seems to be to build up the reputation of the dead person, so everyone will believe how good a person he or she was. It all seems designed to avoid the truth that the person is gone, that death is horrible, that bodies turn to dust, that the person hasn’t a chance of avoiding hell based on the quality of their lives.”
“Wow. He is being brutally honest.”
“He is, Mackenzie. But we need to be too, because friends and loved ones are going to hell. We see it as a celebration for believers who have finished their work and have gone home to the Father.”
The fly returned. Mackenzie did the shooing this time.
Mum continued. “Others, the unbelievers, see it as a celebration as well, but more of a closure event, something for those left behind. But then I often wonder, for those left behind, where has the person they’re saying goodbye to gone.
“What sort of funeral do atheists have? Those that specifically don’t want God involved?”
“Similar in structure, but with no mention of God and no Bible readings. They still celebrate the life of the person and recall fond memories, but that’s about it. I often wonder what would happen if the deceased unbeliever was able to come back during the service and report on where he has ended up. I can just imagine the smell of his burnt clothes and hair as he stood there, and the people streaming out of church screaming, ‘It’s true, it’s true. Hell exists’.”
Mackenzie laughed. “Oh, Mum, your imagination runs off the rails sometimes.”
“Sorry, love. I get frustrated too. I have had relatives die around me over the years and it hurts to know that I may not see them again . . . but I still hold on to some hope that I will. I think, deep down, most people believe they’re going to heaven.”
“That’s okay. I have learned a lot and I think you’re right. Most people believe they’re going to end up in heaven because God is love, but they forget he is also a just God. “
“That’s good, my love. Not too many grasp the just side of God, so you’re doing well. Now, to lighten up, when are we going to see Aaron?”
Jethro barked, and ran down to the end of the yard. He stayed at the corner barking. Mackenzie was sure she could see the gaps between the palings darken, as if someone was walking past.
Chapter 9
SEEING MACKENZIE'S RED CAR parked on the road, Aaron sprinted inside, gave Mum a hug, and told her he was shooting over to Mackenzie’s and would be back soon. She told him off as he sprinted out the door, leaving behind a trail of muddy footprints.
He rang the doorbell and waited, and the echo of the doorbell was soon replaced by the sound of footsteps. Mrs Gordon opened the door, with Mackenzie standing behind her. Mackenzie squeezed past and gave him a great big hug.
“Hello, army boy,” she said. “Wow, look at those muscles. I thought you would at least wear your uniform when you came to visit.”
Aaron looked down at his shorts, singlet and mud-covered footwear. “This is my uniform.” Jethro must have thought that was funny, because he gave a bark.
He noticed Mrs Gordon staring at his feet. “The tide was out and I had to retrieve a fish, hence the state of my feet. I tried to clean them. I’ll forgive you for not inviting me into the house. I was just keen to see your lovely daughter.” Aaron gave her a wink. She returned it with a smile.
Mackenzie tucked her arm in Aaron’s. “That’s fine. We’ll sit out here.”
Mackenzie led Aaron to the teak bench on the front porch and sat down with Mackenzie still holding on to his arm. The bench was surrounded by a number of potted plants and a fountain, which Mrs Gordon turned on. She told them that she loved the sound of running water— it was soothing for their souls.
Mackenzie laughed. “Mum’s got to bring God into everything.”
They watched her walk off.
Mackenzie turned her attention back to Aaron. “It’s so nice to see you, Aaron. How long are you here for?”
“A few weeks. I’m off overseas in January.” Aaron watched Mackenzie as she looked down at the wooden floor. She was such a pretty thing. He loved her hairstyle—short, blonde, and tucked behind her ears to reveal small silver earrings.
“Your dad would be so proud of you, Aaron. Is your mum okay about you being posted overseas?”
“She’s okay. She’s a bit of a worrier, especially with the recent news of some Aussie deaths in Afghanistan.”
“I can relate to that.” She looked over towards Aaron’s house. “You know, my Mum always tells me the story of watching you on the big skateboard ramp your dad built. She watched you standing on top of the ramp, overcoming your fears. She said she realised then what a determined boy you were going to be. Fear was not going to defeat you.”
“Well, I try not to let fear get a hold of me, Kenz.”
