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about me pride self sin theology

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complacency hell jesus life punishment religion sin spiritual life theology

Fear of Hell

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Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in.

Robert Frost, “The Death of the Hired Man”

To me this sounds more like hell than home, but that could be because I grew up in a loving home where I almost always found comfort and security. Still, for those who believe in heaven and hell, heaven has entrance requirements; hell has none. Hell accepts all comers. Maybe that’s why Jesus said the way to hell was broad, but the way to heaven narrow. It takes no special effort to get into hell. It’s the landfill of the universe. You end up there unless you take care not to.

The word Jesus used for hell, Gehenna, was a valley near Jerusalem where certain Israelite Kings had practiced child sacrifice, burning their own sons on altars to Molech or even to Yahweh. It was associated with fire, judgment, death, and apostasy. Several times in the synoptic gospels, Jesus commented on the extravagance of efforts one needs to make to avoid Gehenna. If your hand or foot or eye hinders you from entering the kingdom of God, cut it off and discard it. It is better to enter life maimed than to be whole and cast into hell. He may have had a more literal meaning in mind given how imminent the destruction of Jerusalem was and how strongly he urged his followers to avoid lingering in the city when invading forces were marching against it. It could be that Christian doctrines about hell rest on instructions to first-century followers to flee the coming destruction and to join not the resistance.

Jesus spoke of that destruction as a judgment upon the Jews. After all, their long-awaited Messiah came to them, but they did not recognize him, and instead trumped up charges of blasphemy against him and had him executed by the Romans. In the same vein, he inveighed against the Pharisees and religious leaders, implying that they were children of hell and that they could not escape being condemned to hell for they’re utter indifference toward the suffering of their own people. None of the passages that mention hell represent it as a place of eternal damnation for sinners. They represent it as a place of judgment for the complacent and self-righteous.

Of course, there are other passages that do not mention hell but nevertheless imply judgment or condemnation. There are the parables of the ten virgins, the talents, and the sheep and goats—all found in Matthew 25. Each of these ends with some person or groups of persons left out. The door keeper tells the five foolish virgins he doesn’t know them. The master takes the money from the wicked servant and gives it to the servant who has ten bags, then he tells those standing by to throw out the worthless servant into the darkness where there will be frustrated anger and regret. Those sorted to the Lord’s left go away to eternal punishment. Even in these stories, however, Jesus seems to be critical of complacency rather than sin. The five foolish virgins are not fornicators. The servant with the one bag of gold is no thief. The people sorted to the left claim not to have neglected their duty; they just never saw it.

It’s interesting to think about hell as punishment. We use punishment in two ways: as discipline and as retribution. As discipline, the aim is instruction. As retribution the aim is justice. Hell, conceived as a place of eternal punishment, can only be retributive. It has no disciplinary purpose. Surely an eternity of torment cannot be justified for just going with the flow! What is so bad about complacency, about not making an effort?

I think the disciplinary aspect of punishment offers a clue. We punish children so they will not experience the natural consequences of their bad actions. For example, the natural consequence of playing with fire is getting burned. We do not want our children to get burned or to burn someone else, so we punish them for playing with fire. The punishment is not as bad as the natural consequence. It is light and temporary and meant to instruct.

What if hell is the natural consequence of complacency? What if going with the flow is something only dead fish do? What if spiritual laziness leads to spiritual death as surely as physical laziness leads to poverty? Maybe God, rather than actively chastising the damned forever—and without reason, merely stops impeding their headlong rush toward self-destruction. Maybe, as C. S. Lewis once noted, there really are only two kinds of people in the world: those who say to God, “Thy will be done,” and those to whom God in the end says, “Thy will be done.”

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race racism rant

Stop Saying “All Lives Matter”

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There have been plenty of explanations on social media about why you should stop saying “all lives matter.” Yet I continue to see it shared by well-meaning friends who think they are adding balance and reason to a debate that has gone off kilter. Despite deep misgivings about my ability to sway anyone’s opinion, I have at least to make clear why I believe saying “all lives matter” does not add balance or reason and actually shuts down the conversations we need to have about race if we are going to make any progress toward a more just world.

Here is the best analogy I’ve heard.

Suppose you and your brothers and sisters have just come in from a day outside playing hard. You smell dinner, and you all sit down around the table—after having washed your hands, of course. Your mom comes in and starts ladling food onto plates, starting with your oldest brother and working her way around the table. When she gets to you, she skips you and continues with your sister who is sitting next to you. Everyone acts as if nothing unusual has happened. Your dad says a brief prayer, and everyone starts to eat.

“Hey!” you say, “I’m hungry!”

Your oldest brother looks at you. “We’re all hungry, bro,” he says and goes back to eating.

Of course, you have no quarrel with the literal truth of your brother’s statement. It’s obvious to you that everyone is hungry. But you are still angry because everyone else acts as if you have food when you don’t. In saying, “We’re all hungry,” your brother is implying that you have the same capability to satisfy your hunger that everyone else has. Or perhaps he is implying that you believe your hunger to be somehow special, so you deserve special treatment. In fact, all you want is to be treated the same as everyone else.

When you respond to “black lives matter” with “all lives matter,” it sounds like you are saying either, “blacks have no reason to complain because we got rid of racism in America,” or “blacks want special treatment.” In fact, however, racism is still a continuing threat to black lives, and what they want is to be treated like whites. They want not to be killed with impunity by white police officers or white vigilantes. They want not to be seen as a threat because of the color of their skin. They want not to be treated with suspicion or alarm when they are birdwatching in a park, shopping at WalMart, or entering their own home.

So stop saying “all lives matter.” Until black lives matter as much as white lives, all lives do not matter. You are not being reasonable or adding balance. You are being infuriating.

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