The great disappointment of 1844

October 21st, 1844:  Boston, Massachusetts

Hundreds of people stood on a grassy hillside just outside Boston, dressed in simple white robes, holding hands with their families and looking vaguely up towards a dark, cloudy night sky.  Children sobbed and sniffled, and in spite of all their protests, they could not persuade their parents to go home.  Their blubbering robbed the occasion of its momentousness, and disrupted the silent prayers of the assembled faithful.  It began to rain again.

Revered Dixon stepped up to a makeshift pulpit and raised his hands to the heavens.  He took a deep breath.  "Brothers and sisters!", he cried , "the hour nears that will bring us our deliverance!  As I gaze at my pocket watch, it presents itself to me that there are no more than fifteen minutes before the hour of our lord Jesus Christ's return.  This is truly our final hour on this earth.” He deftly moved from a roar to a whisper. His audience followed the dynamism of his voice like ducklings follow their mother. “Now, more than ever, it is imperative, brothers and sisters, that you ask our lord for forgiveness of your sins, in order that you should ascend to paradise and sit at his right hand in the coming fall of earthly kingdoms at the hands of the beast and his prophet".  Many knelt down to pray, staining their white ascension robes with mud and grass.  Harland felt a giddiness rising from the pit of his stomach as he folded his hands in prayer.  Although he would miss his apostate family, he felt certain that over the next seven years of tribulation that they would come around and would eventually be reunited.

Ten minutes left.  The children were still crying, and some of the adults had joined in.  Harland tried to imagine what it would be like when they ascended to heaven.  Would the cloudy sky open up and take them up, or would they simply disappear?  If they did, would they leave behind their shoes, personal effects, and  ascension robes?  Was it pride to wonder if, as Enoch became Metatron after he was raised up to the Lord, they would become angels after their own ascension?  

Two minutes to midnight.  He raised his head from prayer.  Softly, he called to his assembled congregation, "Brothers and sisters".  The children continued to sob softly.  "Many have called you fools.  Fools for believing in the Reverend Miller's calculation that the End Times will commence tomorrow.  Fools for giving up your diverse material possessions in preparation for the coming of the lord, for as it is written in the book of Matthew, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.  My brethren, do not quail in uncertainty;  In a moment, our long wait will finally be over, our earthly pilgrimage shall cease, and we shall be vindicated by Jesus Christ himself, our Lord and savior.  Now let us wait and pray".

For the first time all night, the whole group fell silent.  There was no sound at all but a slight breeze ruffling the wet cotton robes of the assembled.  All heads bowed down in silent prayer.  A minute passed.  Then another.  Harland opened his eyes and quietly pulled the chain that connected to his pocket watch.  The flipped open the etched brass cover.  The minute hand pointed to a minute past midnight.  He thought he felt his heart skip a beat and quickly accelerate.  It must be fast, he thought, as he closed the cover and placed the watch back in his pocket.  He closed his eyes again.  

He became aware of a restless rustling from the congregation.  The wind stepped up a notch, blowing the rain at a lazy sideways angle.  Again, he consulted his pocket watch.  It was now ten minutes past midnight, and the weather seemed less portentous than before.  It was rainy, but certainly not stormy.  A family of six turned to leave, dragging their soaked white robes as they descended the hill.  The father placed his arm around his wife, and his other hand on his youngest son's shoulder.  Their disappointment was almost palpable, and Harland felt a small stab of guilty pain at the sight of them leaving.  His brow furrowed, and raindrops found new channels to ride down his face. He rested his elbows on the mahogany pulpit, and his head in his hands.  A slow confusion took place before him, and he know he had to say something or else it would degenerate into chaos.  He stood up straight and purposeful, placed his hands on the pulpit, and cleared his throat.  "Perhaps we have failed to take into account the differences of latitude and longitude between Boston and the holy land", he said, tentatively, and regretted it instantly.  An aging schoolteacher, Eldon Pratchett, looked Harland in the eye, and declared "If that is indeed the case, then we should have ascended hours ago".  He let out a series of dry coughs and then continued.  "Go to hell, Dixon".  With that, he shakily struggled to his feet with help from his two sons, and turned to walk back down the hill.

"No! At least wait with me until sunrise!" he cried. There was an edge of desperation in his voice.  With each departing member of the congregation his exasperation rose a degree.  A third of the gathered had now left.  Many of those who stayed did so because they no longer had a home to return to.

They waited all night.  He kept his face trained towards the sky until about one in the morning, when his neck began to ache.  By half past two, his legs and back began to ache, and reluctantly he sat down.  His head swam with incomprehension.

The sun rose behind a screen of heavy, grey clouds, and they remained earthbound.  Cocks crowed just as they did every morning.  Harland no longer protested when people left.  He felt cold, wretched and painfully embarrassed.  A small boy strolled past the group on his way to the schoolhouse.  He stopped and looked them over, the huddled, sorry mass of believers.  "Have you not gone up yet?" he flashed a smile that seemed too ironic for his age.

Harland's thoughts turned over and over on the axis of denial.  He closed his eyes, paced the hillside and re-imagined the whole event.  This time, 11:59 of the 21st was his last minute on earth.  He imagined a warm light taking him away from the earth, his body slowly dissolving into divinity.  He became a weightless entity, and his robes and shoes were the only reminder of his time on earth.  He saw, in his mind's eye, gilded streets, cherubs flitting about in the air.  No disease, no hunger, nor death, only eternal bliss and worship in the house of the Lord.  It would be neither a hot summer, nor a freezing winter, but an endless season of bliss in the heights of divinity without pain or want.  

He then opened his eyes and remembered where he was.  An aftershock of the previous night's disappointment hit him in the gut like a pugilist; the effect was visceral, and he found himself unable to stand.  He couldn't even find the energy to cry anymore.  He swooned, dropped to his knees, and began to dry heave.