Mercy      
by Andria Anderson   

    Pat and Ethel Weltson sat next to each other, holding hands worriedly.
    "I wish someone would come tell us what's going on," fretted Ethel.
    Pat withdrew his hand from hers to chew on one thumbnail.
    "Yeah," he answered with his usual paucity of words.
    "There's a sign on that wall over there.  Maybe it'll tell us what's going to happen," Ethel said.
    Pat nodded and rose from his chair.  He stepped across the room and read out loud to his wife, "Welcome. Please be seated.  When your name is called, proceed through the double doors.  Be prepared to view a video replay."
    As he walked back to his chair by his wife, Ethel asked, "Video replay?  Of what?"
    "Of our lives, of course, dear," answered Pat.
    "But I don't want to watch that," Ethel stated in consternation.
    Pat looked at his wife gently.  "It's not like you can change the channel here, dear," he reminded her.
    Their silence resumed.  Uncharacteristically, it was Pat who restarted the conversation.  "I can just see it now.  Here you are, shoplifting as a kid.  Here you are, lying to your neighbors.  Here you are, cheating on your income taxes.  Here you are cheating on your - ," Pat paused and tried not to look at his wife.  He resumed in a subdued voice, "taxes."
    "Oh, dear," Ethel spoke distractedly, obviously not having listened to Pat.  "I wasn't always a good mother.  And sometimes not even a good wife."  She looked at Pat with a sad frown.
    They continued to sit, each wrapped in their own concerns.  Presently, the name "Pat Weltson" reverberated through the room.
    With a resolute intake of breath, Pat stepped through the double doors.  The room inside was empty except for a stuffed chair facing a projection screen.  Still looking around the room for clues, he seated himself.  His face held tension like a vise.  His hands clasped each other and clenched.  His body perched on the front edge of the chair.
    The video replay started, and Pat flinched.  He didn't bring himself to look at the screen for a long minute.  Once he did work up his courage, he sat blinking in bewilderment.
    "Uh - excuse me," he called.  "Uh - if there's a projectionist or somebody?  Excuse me?"
    The video kept playing.
    "Well - if anyone can hear me, there seems to be a mistake.  You see, that replay showing up there is not of my life.  I'm Pat Weltson, and that video is showing Jesus."
    The video kept running.
    "I'm rather flattered that you could possibly confuse my life with Jesus'.  His was perfect, after all.  But if you look at my life, you'll see -"  Suddenly, Pat's words ran out.
    His thoughts jumped swiftly.  God had promised Jesus as his substitute, Jesus' death taking the place of his own and all that.  And God had promised to take his sins as far from him as the east is from the west.  Would God really look towards him, Pat Weltson, and see Jesus instead?  Had Jesus covered his sins that effectively? 
    His jaw and knees dropped equally, as the realization broke through his petty mindset.  Jesus' substitution was perfect, completely perfect.  In the waiting room, with the world all gone from him, Pat had seen his life with an enhanced clarity.  Sins he hadn't even thought about haunted him.  The blackness in his heart leered up at him.  The frightening fate he deserved from a righteous God loomed over him. 
    Now this video played.  Instead of displaying his frailities, instead of listing and cataloguing his failures, the images portrayed the man who dared to take his place.  The God who loved him enough to buy his freedom shone from the screen. 
      The God's-eye view of his life continued to play.  Pat's knees melted onto the floor.  His hands and face followed.  Pat's astounded mind gaped at the sheer size of this gift, and a lump tightened in his throat.  Finally, the immensity of it overcame him and great, racking sobs of thankfulness shook his body.  Both under and over him, throughout his sobbing, the room was lathered with waves of pure love.
    Later, when Ethel entered, the room was empty except for a stuffed chair and a projection screen.