Through The Mists. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Two. The Judgement Hall.

My thoughts went something like this: A land of surprises, huh? Yes, it certainly is! And why didn’t he also call it a land of revelations? How long have I been here? An hour? A day? A month? I have no idea. Based on my sense of time, it feels like I just tried to save that boy. But based on the amount of insight I’ve gained; it feels like I’ve been here for years.

How strange it is that I don’t know how I even left! I didn’t fall—I didn’t feel any pain or any sign of coming back from unconsciousness. How did this happen? So many people live their lives fearing death, dreading the moment their soul faces it.

And there are so many teachers who love to emphasize the terror of that hour. But my experience has been completely different!

I wonder if, amidst all the surprises in this life, it will ever be possible. “Oh, God! I don’t yet know where You are or who You are. But the revelation I’ve been given is so full of love and bright with promise that I feel it must have come from You. It fills my soul with hope. I don’t yet know if I’m saved or lost, but in Your mercy, please hear me. Out of Your pity for humanity, let it somehow be possible—by some means I don’t understand, through some way Your love can create—for me to send my voice back to the mortal world and help lighten the burden of error weighing down my fellow humans.

You know, my God, the blindness and ignorance of those who claim to lead Your children. Many have never experienced Your great love; many have never felt Your grace. So many are stumbling in the dark, blinded by human traditions, and so many have wandered away from Your path. The songs of Zion have been forgotten in the pursuit of fame, wealth, and power.

And weary travelers make their way home, sighing, groaning, and crying, marching to the heavy rhythm of their struggles.

If there is any joy here for me, O God, my Father, I am ready to give it up. If my penalty is to suffer in hell, I am willing to bear it—if, in Your mercy, you would send me back with the power to tell others the truth of Your constant love and to lift the doubts from those who are searching for You but cannot find You.”

Is it wrong for me to say I don’t know where God is or who He is? Maybe it is! But it’s the truth, and I believe being honest is the right thing to do. Everything around me is so completely different from what I expected that I feel unsure about trusting anything I used to know. The longing for others to know the truth, as far as I can see it, pushes me to say that prayer. If only some powerful hand could, even just for a moment, pull back the veil and let the people of Earth see the future as it really is—what a revelation that would be! How it would turn their sorrow into joy, erase all doubts about God’s endless love, and declare the good news that everyone’s hearts long to hear.

It would change the Earth as it has changed me. I, who had been warned many times that the way I lived my life would only lead to condemnation before God, was instead greeted with words of hope and encouragement: “You have nothing to fear.” How different that is from what is taught on Earth, where God’s love is restricted to fit the beliefs of each group, while anger and punishment are used as endless threats to force sinners into salvation. What must such teachers think when they finally wake up to the truth I’ve found here?

“Here! But where is ‘here’?” That’s a question I still don’t have a clear answer to. Is this heaven? No, surely not! Or if it is, how shockingly different it is from the harps, singing, and crown-wearing crowds the Church describes. It doesn’t feel like heaven—no! The surroundings don’t fit that description at all. So, what kind of place is this? Could it be that there’s an in-between state after all? Maybe! And perhaps, beyond the crest of these hills, the judgment throne stands, where I’ll be called at some point.

I hadn’t considered that before, but the idea doesn’t bring me any fear. The words I’ve heard here fill me with a hope I’m certain won’t be broken. Whatever happens, I’m ready to learn the truth as it unfolds. In the meantime, I’ll rest.

Many people believe that when we enter the spirit world, we will be greeted by friends and relatives who passed on before us. In many cases, this is true. However, even after I realized what had happened to me, the idea of such a reunion never crossed my mind—until I felt, rather than heard, someone call my name.

I turned and saw a young woman dressed in a delicate pink robe, walking down the hill toward me. Her face looked vaguely familiar, as though I might have known her a long time ago, but the lines of care and hardship that I might have remembered were now replaced with beauty and grace. I had completely forgotten her, but she clearly remembered me. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and she reached out her hands to take mine. She was the first person I knew to greet me.

“A thousand welcomes!” she cried as she took my hands in hers. “I’ve just heard the news of your arrival. Am I the first to meet you?”

“Yes, Helen, the very first,” I replied.

“I’m so glad to hear that! I always hoped it would be me. I’ve been watching, praying, and waiting for this moment. It’s all I can do to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?” I asked, completely surprised.

"You don’t need me to tell you that," she replied. "Our Father knows, and He will reward you."

In that moment, I realized that heaven is as much a state of the soul as it is a place, and that true friendship plays a big part in creating that state. Not long before Helen arrived, I had almost convinced myself that I wasn’t in heaven, but her appearance completely changed my mind. She brought me such an overwhelming sense of joy.

I felt so fulfilled that I couldn’t imagine there could be any greater happiness to come. This joy came from the presence of someone I had barely known on earth.

As far as I knew, Helen’s story wasn’t a long one. Her mother had died from sheer starvation while trying to support three children and a sick husband by working as a cleaning woman. Helen had tried to help by earning a small wage at a match factory. At only fifteen years old, she had to take on the full burden of keeping the family afloat, even though their situation had worsened considerably. She worked far beyond her strength, fighting desperately to stave off hunger and keep the family together. But the small wages she earned for making matches were barely enough to count, and the little extra money she made elsewhere wasn’t even a fraction of what they needed. Eventually, she collapsed under the strain, broken hearted and defeated.

I learned her story shortly before her death and went to visit her in the hospital where she was staying.

For several days, I sat with her for short periods, trying to comfort her by assuring her that her siblings would be cared for after she passed. Her greatest worry was what would happen to them, and it weighed heavily on her, causing her the most pain in her final days. She ignored the missionary who urged her to prepare her soul for death. She had no fear of dying and wasn’t concerned about herself. All she cared about was knowing her siblings would be safe. When I gave her my solemn promise that they would be, she calmed down and closed her eyes in peace.

I had long forgotten about my brief connection to her and her siblings. But in those first moments of our reunion, I felt like I had found something I had been searching for—a sister’s love.

"Are you surprised that I was the first to meet you?" she asked.

"I’m not sure," I replied. "Everything here is so surprising that it’s beginning to feel normal."

"If not surprised, are you happy that we’ve met again?" she asked.

“Yes, Helen! More than glad,” I replied. “For your sake just as much as for my own. You’ve been happier here than you expected, haven’t you?”

“Yes! Much happier,” she said. “And that happiness has always been made greater by your reassurances that it would be so. At one point, I almost feared you were wrong, but when I discovered you were right, I was even happier for your sake.”

“I’ve always believed,” I responded, “that anything done out of love couldn’t be wrong. I never claimed to know much about God, and now I realize I know even less than I thought. Still, I haven’t changed my belief.”

“Why, ‘God is love,’ Fred; that’s all we truly know about Him. ‘Anything born of love is also born of God.’ Come home with me and let me share what I’ve learned about Him since I came here.”

“Not yet,” I answered. “You must remember that I just arrived and don’t yet know where I’m supposed to go.”

“You’ll figure all of that out as you go,” she said, starting to turn away. “Come with me now.”

“But don’t I have anyone else to meet? Is there no—”

She saw the confusion and uncertainty on my face, smiled, and asked, “Are you looking for the judgment seat?”

“Yes! I have no idea what my position is or where I should go.”

“Fred, you need to let go of the ideas you had on earth as soon as you can. You’ve already passed the judgment hall, and the verdict is reflected in the clothing you’re wearing.”

“Passed it? When? I don’t remember anything about it!”

“Maybe not, but it’s back in the mist you can see where so many others are coming into the plain,” she said, pointing toward the area that had already drawn my attention.

“Is that the way I came?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s the only way to enter this life.”

“I don’t remember anything about it—I wasn’t aware of anything until I woke up and found myself here, standing where we are now.”

“That’s entirely possible since your transition was one of those quick crossings that bring you into this state so suddenly that you have no awareness of the event. I often think it’s a great blessing to come that way.”

“Why? Am I tiring you with my questions?” No, not at all. I’m happy to answer as much as I can. However, I haven’t been here very long, so there will be questions I can’t answer. You’ll need to ask others who know more than I do.”

“I feel like you’re exactly the teacher I need right now since everything is so different from what I expected. I feel like a child who has to learn everything from the beginning.”

“I’m happy to help you with what I can, but don’t talk about being tired, because no one wearing our colour can ever grow weary.”

“Wearing our colour?” I repeated, unsure of what she meant.

“Yes. You’ll understand soon that the colour of our clothing reflects the condition of the person wearing it. But you won’t fully grasp this until you’ve seen it for yourself.”

“But why do you think it’s better to enter this life the way I did?”

“If you think of entering this life as being born rather than dying, and view the sickness leading up to it as labour, followed by exhaustion after birth, it might make more sense to you. Look,” she said, pointing toward the mists, “see how many people need help to cross—some even have to be carried into life. Others stop to gather strength before moving forward. Now tell me, don’t you think it’s better to come as you did?”“When you explain it that way, yes, it does seem better. But you know we were taught to see it differently on Earth.”“That’s a big misunderstanding that has to be corrected here. People tend to think of earthly life as the main stage of existence, rather than just the beginning.

As spiritual beings, we should be taught to see everything from a spiritual perspective, just as a schoolboy is encouraged to view his studies as preparation for what he will achieve later. Earth isn’t everything, nor is it the final stage of development. It’s just the foundation, and this life is the next step. The mistakes of the earthly stage must be dealt with here before we can move into the roles we’re meant to take on. This will become clearer to you as you go on.”

“I’m very curious about the judgment hall. If I went through it without even realizing, as I must have, how can a fair judgment be made under those circumstances?”

“The idea of a judgment hall is another misunderstanding. People take it literally when it was only meant as a metaphor, like a parable.”Top of FormBottom of Form

“Are you saying I don’t know about it because no such place exists?” I asked.

“There isn’t a literal trial or a personal judge handing out sentences. That idea is fiction. The judgment of God is much more just and accurate than any human trial could be. It doesn’t require evidence from anyone else—only what the individual soul offers. The rule guiding this judgment is the one that hung above my bed in the hospital: ‘Do not be deceived; God is not mocked, for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.’ Justice cannot fail because no one is called to testify against another.

“When a soul passes through the mists, it separates from the physical body and is stripped of any false identities or masks it may have worn during life, no matter the circumstances or reasons. The mists dissolve everything except the true spiritual essence. In those mists, the truth is fully revealed—nothing is hidden. It’s like all the records of life are opened for everyone to see, whether the outcome is acquittal or condemnation.

“It would be as ridiculous to think that a person could change their spiritual state at the last moment as it would be for a builder to look at a finished cottage and declare, ‘This should have been a cathedral,’ and magically turn it into one, or for a farmer to point to a field of turnips and say, ‘That should have been wheat,’ and expect the crops to change. In the same way, it’s irrational for someone on their deathbed to believe that simply adopting a particular creed or belief in their final moments can erase a lifetime of actions and secure them an easy path to eternal joy.

“No, Fred! As the physical body fades away, the spirit takes on a form that naturally reflects its life and character. The ‘colour’ of that form is determined by a person’s past actions and motives—not by their beliefs or public declarations. That colour is the righteous judgment the soul has passed on itself, based on God’s unchanging law.”

“So, do you think works are more important than faith?” I asked.

“Works are to faith what the spirit is to the body—they are its life. ‘Faith without works is dead.’ Faith can only be shown through actions. Jesus taught, ‘Inasmuch as you did it,’ not ‘Inasmuch as you believed it.’ Only love and noble deeds can accompany a soul into this life; all forms of belief are left behind in those mists.”

“Then who can be saved?” I asked.

“We hope that eventually every single person will be saved. And if someone is excluded, I believe it will only be because of their own choices.”

“Why is that?"

“The judgment isn’t final,” she said. “It only decides the position a soul takes when it enters this life. The soul still has the ability to rise higher and can also be helped by others who are always working to lift those in lower conditions. So, the judgment isn’t eternal or meant to punish; it’s meant to teach and heal.”

“Do you mean to say there’s no hell, Helen?” I asked.

“Not at all. There are hells of torment that are far worse than you can imagine, but they exist as places of purification, provided out of the fullness of God’s love. You’ll understand this better as you learn more.”

“I feel lucky to have found a teacher like you to correct my ignorance,” I said. “Before meeting you, I felt like a neglected schoolchild who had barely learned anything. Now it feels like everything I thought I knew is wrong and needs to be replaced.”

“You’ll find that everything you need for correction has already been provided,” she replied. “And knowledge is easy to gain for those who truly want to learn. The life you’re entering is an active one. Everyone who can work has a specific mission to fulfill, so we’re all ‘working together with God.’ My job right now is to meet new arrivals, so I’ve been trained in the kinds of questions that are asked first.”

“If the judgment is based on works alone, who are the ones that receive the abundant entrance promised to believers?” I asked.

“In that judgment,” she said, “every action, motive, and circumstance in a person’s life is carefully considered and given its true value. The balance is determined based on these. Acts of charity done for selfish reasons or personal gain are measured by what they achieve, but they leave no lasting credit to the person’s soul. For example, great acts of generosity, like funding a hospital or church, are balanced by the harm done if the money came from exploiting others, like in the alcohol trade, leaving ruined lives in its wake.

“But actions driven by genuine, selfless love—helping to ease pain, suffering, and poverty out of compassion, not for recognition—are valued differently.

A man who gives up something he needs to help someone else in need, who patiently endures wrongdoing while leaving justice to God, who defends the weak even if it brings shame or hardship to himself, who refuses to judge harshly because he doesn’t know the full story, and who shows mercy to others because he too hopes for forgiveness—these are the ones who, in that judgment, can hold their heads high and hear the words, ‘Well done.’”

"This ensures that everyone is treated equally in their opportunities, but those who have been given wealth or power are held to greater responsibility," she said.

"Are you suggesting people should reject wealth?" I asked.

"Certainly not," she replied. "But we teach that every gift is entrusted to us as a responsibility, and everyone will have to account for how they used it when they pass through the mists. God has provided enough on Earth to meet everyone’s needs and offer some comforts to all His children.

But the strong have taken more than their share, leaving others to face luxury on one side and starvation on the other. Is this right? Of course not! And at the judgment, simply claiming that wealth was acquired honestly won’t be enough. God expects wealth to also be shared lovingly. Imagine a man dividing his wealth among his children, only to see the eldest take what belongs to the youngest. Do you think that father would allow such injustice? Would God, who is infinitely just, do any less? No! In God’s view, the bond of brotherhood is more important than legal rights, and His judgment is based on family responsibility, not commercial laws."

"What about someone who wanted to do good but couldn’t because of difficult circumstances?" I asked.

"Others will explain that to you in greater detail," she said, "but I can give you a partial answer by sharing a story from one of the first receptions I witnessed after arriving here."

"Do you have receptions in heaven?" I asked.

"Yes, though they’re a little different from those on Earth. When friends cross over the boundary to welcome someone home, we call it a reception. The one I’m telling you about was for someone who received one of those abundant entrances you mentioned. Omra went to greet him."

"Who is Omra?" I asked.

"He’s the leader of this state and the most exalted spirit I’ve seen, apart from Jesus," she replied.

"Have you seen Jesus, Helen?" I asked.

"Yes, once," she said, "but He was far from me, so I didn’t speak to Him. Now, let me tell you about this reception. The man we welcomed was a resident of a workhouse, but thousands of spirits came to greet him."

"From a workhouse?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes! I’ll never forget it," she said.

"When Omra approached his bedside, the dying man’s fading eyes saw him, and he cried out to his friend, who was asleep in a chair nearby, ‘John! John! I’m leaving now; someone has come for me! John! Don’t you see how bright the room is? Look, the angels! And—No! Not Jesus! Surely not for me!’ Then his frail body, which had half-risen in excitement, fell back. When the watcher woke up, he found the man’s body cold because his spirit had left it behind."

As the man's soul left his body, Omra put his arm around him and welcomed him. The man looked confused and a little scared as he glanced at the crowd gathered to greet him. Turning to Omra, he stammered, "This...isn't...for me! It must be a mistake! You didn’t come for me, did you?"

"Yes, we did, my brother," Omra replied gently. "We don’t make mistakes. All those are behind you now."

"But...but it can’t be for me. I haven’t been a good man! My Lord, it must be a mistake! What have I done?"

"You fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and cared for the sick," Omra replied.

"Ah, now I know you’re wrong. I spent almost my entire life in the workhouse. I never had any money to do those things. It couldn’t have been for me."

"You gave your dinner to a hungry boy," Omra said. "You gave a pair of boots, even though you could barely spare them, to a wandering tramp. You gave your glasses to an old woman who couldn’t see to read, leaving yourself without. You sat by an old friend when he was sick and nursed him back to health. You bore your poverty patiently and encouraged others to stay hopeful and content. Didn’t you?"

"Well, yes, I did sit with old Bill for a bit, but he would’ve done the same for me if I’d needed it. I don’t know much about the rest."

"But we do," Omra said. "Such deeds are never forgotten here.

 And there were many things you wanted to do but couldn’t because you lacked the means. Honest intentions are always accepted by God as if the act had been accomplished. So, you see, we are not mistaken."

By this point, the man had been carried some distance away from his body and was now dressed in new robes. He was joyfully escorted to one of the many homes prepared for people like him.

"What a surprise for him," I said as Helen finished her story. "It must have been as shocking as my own experience. But where are these homes you’re talking about? I haven’t seen anything like a building yet."

"They’re just over the crest of the hill," she said. "Haven’t you been to the top yet?"

"No, I haven’t."

"Then come with me; we’ll go there, and you can leave the mists behind while I show you the land in a different direction."