Date: Prior to April 11, 1857.
Location: Unknown, probably USA.
After a bounteous repast I was led into a little room where lay Minna.
She smiled sweetly as my gaze met her own, and I at once felt myself in the presenece of a purely spiritual being. And yet I experienced no restraint; for, if indeed I was a stranger, that smile, and I shall never forget it, made me perfectly at home. She could not speak much; it exhausted her, it was wearisome. But, ah, she did talk in a language not of earth. Upon a snow white, tastily fringed pillow, her pale emaciated head lay, while her full blue eyes cast inquiring glances around upon what by many would be deemed vacancy, but which to her was thronged with angel forms.
I had learned her history, her life, and I was truly thankful that the dear ones who guide and guard me had led me to the place, and thus enabled me to be a witness of a scene which would be to me a baptism from on high.
She had not “professed religion,” but she had practiced it, and soon she was to receive the great reward. She had beheld the door of the great spiritual temple opened, and had heard a voice from within, saying—”Come up hither.”
Minna had always worshipped in the great building not maded with hands—Nature’s fair cathedral—and now she was to pass up to its higher courts to join the myriad congregations in its holier worship.
Did she weep? Ah, no. Why would she weep? She would rather rejoice, for she knew in whom she trusted.
Did we mourn as we stood around her and saw the chords which held her spirit sundered one by one?
Not so. Not so.
She beheld the path before her, and it was flooded with glorious light. There was no “dark valley” for her to pass through. No cold waves for her to buffet. She had made that valley luminous with acts of goodness, and dried up all the waters with the warmth of her love.
All that night we had watched the doors open and the angels beckon. Step by step the willing spirit had receeded from its earthly tenement and neared its immortal home. We heard the soft footsteps of unseen attendants, and seemed to catch an occasional glimpse of their radiant forms.
Hour after hour passed, and yet she lingered.
“I see,” said she, “my spirit home—beautiful—beautiful—beautiful! There is my father, my brother; and there is he to whom my young heart was plighted, but who passed on to the better and, waiting to join his hands with mine at an angel altar. They are there, all there. Yes. I see them—they smile on me—they are all there.”
She paused. Heavenly joys illuminated her countenance. There was bliss too great for human utterance—too etherial to find expression on lips of flesh. She whispered “yes,” as if in reply to some spirit with whom she was in converse;—then turned to us and said :—
Yes, send for my old pastor that I may tell him of what I see. O send for him that he may see my joy. He has turned away often and said I was deluded—has said the angels did not come and talk with me, and smooth my pillow—that I should be sorry when I came to die—O send for him, send for him, that he may see how a true spiritualist can die. No! not die, but pass the second birth—be born of the spirit.
One night—it was a calm summer night—the moon shone brightly on every hill, Minna had a vision. She beheld herself borne away by two bright beings to a glorious home where she was welcomed by all the dear friends who had left her on earth. She met them all, and there was, indeed, a joy unutterable and full of glory. They led her up higher and yet to more distant realms, and opened to her sight more resplendent beauties; then some one whispered in her ear—”This is your spirit home, which you shall soon inherit.” She awoke, and the vision was no more; but all night its beauty dwelt in her mind, and her little room seemed full of holy beings, and vocal with sweet voices.
“Hark!” she whispered. “Hark! a choir of angels is coming. I can just hear the music. They are more than I can number. But who is this that comes to bless my pastor? She says she is his mother, and she comes to bless him. She is tall, and graceful in appearance. She has a dark and speaking eye, and black hair. A sweet smile plays upon her features as she kisses a bible, and extends it as if to give it as a parting gift to her son—”
“My mother! My mother!” exclaimed the pastor, as he threw himself upon his knees at the bedside, and burying his face in his hands, gave vent in tears to the deep feelings of his soul.
Banner of Light, (Boston: L. Colby & Company, Vol. 1, No. 1, April 11th, 1857), p. 7.
The Katabasis Project 
Leave a comment