Why the Hell?!

Why the Hell?!

Here comes some Sunday Cynicism

The last church I went to faithfully (and played any part in) really messed with me. The first time I became truly confused and frustrated with what I was doing and who I was, I ran into conflict with my church over having a friend who was a Mormon.

I would love to say long story short, but since when have I been short and to the point? Oh well, here we go...

I have suffered with depression for quite some time, and this friend of mine was one of the few people who would let me pour out all the feelings and hurt that were building up in me. Most importantly, she would not pass judgement on me, but would instead show that she truly empathized with me. Her friendship meant so much. However, I was still a good Christian. God was everything, and what I thought I knew of him formed the basis of my life. And this fact soon came into conflict with who I was and am.

One night at work, my boss and I began talking theology like we often did, and the topic of hell came up. We both spelled out the exact beliefs we held dear, part of which was that those who didn’t believe in our specific god and basic beliefs would burn in hell forever. My friend stopped us, looked at me and asked, “Christopher, do you believe I am going to hell?”

Hell is where unbelievers go when they die. It is a fiery lake of burning sulphur (Rev. 21:8), filled with weeping and gnashing of teeth (Mat. 13:50), and all who are sent there will be tormented forever and ever (Rev. 14:11) where the worm doesn’t die and the fire isn’t quenched (Mark 9:48). Yup, pretty damn horrifying. But I never internalized this. I mean, I believed it, and I knew what I was believing. Yet I didn’t fully “know” what I was saying by this.

My amazing, loving friend was a Mormon, as I said earlier. As such, she disagreed with the core of my religion. Thus, I was honest and without a second thought told her, “Yes. If you died right now, you would go to hell.”

I have rarely seen someone so hurt, nor cry the way she did. To be honest, I doubt I saw the worst of it, since she ran into another room to cry alone. Her friend, the one she cared so deeply for and would have done just about anything for, condemned her to an eternity of torment without even a hint of struggle. It was as if her life meant nothing to me.

Of course I cared about her. I am a caring person, oftentimes caring too much. But my natural ability to empathize had...well, a shell surrounding it. My religion gave me the strange ability to separate myself from what I was telling her, and thus be able to tell her something so harsh without so much as blinking. However, seeing the tears cascading down her face, the pain and sadness pouring out from her as if I had just taken a club and beaten her with it, I just...I can’t describe just how badly I felt and still feel. My shell cracked.

That moment has changed me forever. It is something that defines me, and shoved me onto the path of self-understanding that I am still on.

For months, I struggled with the reality of what I believed. And at the core of it was one question, why would a loving and just god send my friend to hell? Why did she, one of the most loving humans I knew, deserve to be tortured forever? Honestly, she was a far better, more caring, more honest, more beautiful person than I was. And yet I was going to heaven and she was headed straight for hell.

Why the hell?!

One sunday a couple months afterward, I was dragged into a side room of the museum the church was meeting at. The pastor’s oldest son was quite incensed. He claimed I was talking constantly about my friend, spending time with her and showing very obvious care for her (which apparently was a no-no). On top of that, I was not spending enough time with and caring for the other people in the church. It was my duty as a believer to care far more about my brothers and sisters in the faith than about some evil girl who was hell-bound. I was told I was being judgmental and critical of people in the church, and lenient with outsiders. If I didn’t love believers and questioned the authorities in the church, how on earth was I truly saved?

I’ll spare you the rest of the details, but let’s just say that I blew up, and everyone in the other room could hear me chewing him out.

If I wasn’t questioning absolutely everything before, this experience put all my beliefs on the chopping block. Thankfully I was hurt and enraged enough to gladly hack away at anything and everything I believed if I was given a good enough reason to.

Maybe a year (and many books, blog posts and YouTube videos) later, I built a pretty firm foundation for how I would venture out into the world and figure out what was real and what was fiction. These were my tenants, and still are.

Believe nothing unless it has sufficient evidence to back it up.

No matter what direction you go, be honest with yourself, and be willing to change everything in your worldview.

Nothing must go unquestioned.

These are the few principles I hold steadfast to, and they have led me to where I am now.