I believe in hell.
The hell I believe in is empty, though. Hell has been harrowed and sits as nothing more than a mausoleum memorial to the universal salvific power of Christ’s love. It is a shadow, a memory, with no power to terrify or threaten any more. Hell is a no place, a no thing. Hell might exist, but it has no power.
I used to believe in a different hell, a hell that had the power to consume us, to torment us, to punish us for the sins we had committed in life. Hell was the antithesis to heaven, and heaven was the goal. That made hell the failure, the place for those who lost the bet. Hell was the thing that instilled fear into death and kept me up at night worrying if I had said the right prayer, confessed the right sins, led a righteous life so that I could enter the gate of heaven and not have the gates of hell shut me into the prison of torment.
Hell was what we deserved as sinful people. It was the default setting. Only the grace of God could keep us from our doom, and there were conditions to this grace. You had to accept the grace in the correct way, usually with some sort of “sinner’s prayer” where you confessed you were a sinner deserving of hell and asked Jesus to become your personal lord and savior so that you could be spared from hell. You also had to keep pure. God may have forgiven you, set you to moral zero so to speak, but it was your responsibility to keep your slate clean. If—when, actually, because it was always assumed that it happened all the time—you did something to blemish your cosmic scorecard, you had to ask for forgiveness, throwing yourself at the feet of the divine in hopes that this time they would be merciful yet again.
These were the conditions of grace: correct acceptance and living worthy of the grace you received.
This idea of (conditional) grace governed my thoughts about hell. I had to make sure I was ever vigilant that I met these conditions so that I wouldn’t fail and be punished in hell for all eternity.
There was another pressure that came with this concept of (conditional) grace and hell: evangelism. Since I believed every human was deserving of hell, I felt a weight of concern for the people around me. Their eternal souls—just like mine—hung precariously over the pit of hell. We were all sinners in the hands of an angry God, only they didn’t know (or didn’t believe) it.
While I was saved—something I desperately hoped but was always scared I wasn’t—from this eternal torment, they were not. I felt an immense burden to announce the good news that they could be saved from hell if they just embraced this (conditional) grace. I wanted to save as many souls as I could. So, I evangelized.
Evangelism is fairly straightforward when hell is the centerpiece to your salvation. You announce that people are sinners worthy of hell, tell them that God has provided them a way out of their doom, tell them what they have to do to get in on God’s good (conditional) grace. Then, you invite them to accept the offer, say the sinner’s prayer, and be saved from hell.
There were creative ways to do this: invite your neighbor over for a barbeque and casually bring the subject up—as if everyone sat around talking about sin, hell, and salvation. Hold debates with atheists when you could prove that man was sinful, that God and Christian faith made more sense than atheism, and then give the ever-important invitation to accept the (conditional) grace. You could invite your friend to a church event where they were sure to hear the gospel presented in this way.
The point wasn’t the method. The point was that they heard the gospel presentation and the persuasion to believe it and accept (conditional) grace.
Evangelism was the job of every believer. It was the reason we weren’t just whisked away to heaven after fervently praying the sinner’s prayer. Evangelism was the most loving thing we could do for those we considered lost to their doom of hell. We HAD to point out what we considered sin in their lives, so they knew they needed God to save them. Without that harsh reality, they would forever remain blinded to their condition of damnation.
This idea of evangelism was predicated on the belief that a hell of eternal torment was central to the salvation message. So, what happens to evangelism without the threat and doom of hell?
As I said, I believe in hell, but it is a far cry from the fearful belief I grew up in the shadow of. The hell I believe in now is a footnote on the story of salvation, not its central premise. So, what does this mean for evangelism, for sharing the good news with other people? What does it mean for the definition of what the good news is? Without eternal torment to be saved from, what’s the point of sharing your beliefs with anyone at all?
The core of the question is this: if everyone receives salvation, what is the point of trying to convert people to Christian faith?
But that’s not a good question. See, if the goal of evangelism, the goal of sharing good news with other people, is conversion, then there is no point in the face of universalism. The point of conversion is salvation from hell… but if everyone is already “saved from hell” what is the point of conversion?
This is also the wrong question because it is predicated on the framework of “salvation from hell is the goal of Christian faith,” and that, my friend, is simply not true.
We need a better framework—for lots of reasons—if we are going to do anything other than discard evangelism.
So, let’s imagine: what could salvation be if hell is already empty and powerless? Without the threat of hell, what is the point of the Christian faith? What are we converted to when we accept Jesus as lord?
At the heart of these questions is this: what is the good news of Jesus?
My friend Brandon is translating the New Testament, and, in many cases, the word he uses instead of salvation is liberation. And that, my friends, is a better framework.
The good news of Jesus, the triumphant message of Christ, the gospel, is liberation.
At its core, it is liberation from sin, but sin isn’t just a nifty word for moralism. It’s not only about personal wrongdoings and moral failings. We’re talking powers and principalities here. Systems of power and oppression. Patriarchy. Racism. Bigotry. Anti-trans movements. Violence and militarism. The gospel is that Jesus has come to free us; to liberate us from the hold these elemental powers of this world system have over our lives.
The point of the gospel, this liberation, is new creation, the place where systems of power and oppression are done away with and our liberation is fully enacted. This new creation is the promise of the Holy Ghost, the hope of salvation we have in Christ. New creation is where all this is heading, and we who are the baptized, we who hold to this Christian faith, get to be a part of making new creation a reality.
See, our actions, the deeds we do, the works we engage in, are going to be tested as we enter eternity (see 1 Corinthians 3.10-15 and 1 Peter 3.10-13). The works of righteousness, of justice, peacebuilding, mercy, love, these sorts of deeds are going to be refined, shown for the good things they are. The rest, those things that don’t build new creation, the works that support the systems of power and oppression, the deeds of sin, they will all be burnt up in the refining fire of God’s justice as new creation comes into its fullness and we see the reality of our liberation.
Instead of salvation from hell, we are liberated to begin building the new creation now. Why wouldn’t we want to invite people to do this work with us?
And this is evangelism without hell. It’s not about making sure people believe the Christian faith or say some sort of magic prayer. Evangelism, sharing the good news of liberation, is announcing that there is another way to live, that we’re not bound by patriarchy and capitalism. We are not doomed to live under all these systems of power and oppression forever. Hope is coming true, and we can rebel. We can raise a holy ruckus and get into good trouble. We can work towards new creation now, in the old world system.
And everyone is invited to come and take part in the work.
Maybe people will see the justice we are working towards and understand that we are doing this work because of Christ. Maybe that piques an interest in who Jesus is, and maybe some people come to believe in Jesus as liberator. But even if they don’t for now—there is a day when we will all see the liberator Jesus and believe—the work can still be done.
Look at what is already happening in society around us. People are doing justice and loving mercy, some are part of the Christian faith and some aren’t. But no matter what (or no) religious bend, new creation is beginning to poke through the cracks, to break into this shitty timeline. No matter how far we seem to be pushed back by unjust legislation and the horrors of trauma and abuse, we keep pushing forward. And that is work I want as many people doing as possible.
There is another world possible. I believe it is inevitable and is coming. I want to be about setting the foundations for that just, egalitarian, free society of God now.
So, I invite people to come, work beside me, believe that things can and will change. Have hope, and give hands and feet and imagination to that hope.
Will you join me?
Will you do justice and love mercy beside me?
Will you learn to love your neighbor, and see that we are all neighbors?
Come, the harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Let’s change that.
Call me an evangelist. I believe in spreading this hope, this rebellious liberation, this gospel.
Friends, The Book of Common Words is 100% reader supported. Here we explore the Christian spirituality of being human through podcast, poetry, and prose about my life, art, and the Christian faith. If you would like to support this exploration, and gain early access to all the podcasts, poems, and prose, consider joining my Patreon community.
For anyone looking for long term spiritual support and companionship, I would love to sit with you as your spiritual director. Helping people hear what God is saying to them and what they are saying back to God is something I treasure doing. I offer support and companionship for any phase of your spiritual journey, from drawing deeper to God to deconstruction and big questions. If you’re looking for someone to join you on your journey, I’d bo honored to be your spiritual director.
One of the best way to support my work is to share what you’ve read here with your friends and acquaintances. Every share is an invitation to our little community. Thanks!
Thank you for stopping by my little corner of the internet. If you would like to be notified and receive my posts, poems, and podcast episodes in your email, just fill out the form below.
Leave a Reply