Originally posted: on FB, Oct. 11, 2009 (http://www.facebook.com/#!/note.php?note_id=169156458085) I wrote it prior to that, but do not remember the date.
I Don't Believe in Hell
This is in response to this comment in another place:
"...a child who is brought up by devout christians, would not be ready to accept any other religion or path."
I can definitely attest to the trueness of this statement...at least for me. I was raised in a very devout Christian home. I truly believed the dogma with every fiber of my being. I would have a few questions now and then--mostly just uneasy feelings with various teachings not quite sitting well within me--but they would usually be burned away in the fervor (fever?) of ecclesiastical exuberance. I was on the right path to the eternal bliss of heaven. Other religions did not have the enlightenment that I was sure of.
Yet, even in this state of ecstasy, there was an undercurrent of fear--fear of going to hell, fear of God's punishment, fear of missing the rapture and the 2nd coming of Christ. Looking at other beliefs would surely corrupt the pureness of my heart and leave me in danger of eternal damnation.
Eventually, I grew a little older, went to college, discussed the meaning of life with many different people who had many different views of life. I started wondering, "What makes me so sure that I am the one who is right?" So many times, teachings in the church would not seem quite right. I couldn't quite explain what was "wrong" but there was definitely a feeling of wrongness when I would listen to the teachings of hell-fire, damnation, and that it was my job to save the world. That, in turn, would lead to feelings of frustration and being a bit overwhelmed with the seeming futileness of "saving the world".
More time passed. More discussions, more studying, more exploration, more self-searching. I came to the realization that I did not believe everything I had been taught growing up. I had always believed in a "personal relationship with God", but eventually "decided" that I could, and had, developed my own slightly unique view of what that meant. I realized that even in a single church, there would be many different versions of what this meant. So, I wondered, how could "the Church" be so completely authoritarian on what that relationship SHOULD be? So, I continued developing the "church of me"--refining what I believed, questioning what I believed, sometimes rearranging what I believed. I realized that there would be those in the "christian" world (yes, I mean to have it with a lower case 'c') who would say I had "backslidden" and was bordering on heresy. But, even with that knowledge, I felt less fear than I had in a very long time.
And then I fell in love with someone who believed very little of what I was raised with. This rattled me a little bit. We got into discussions, and one thing that always seemed to come up was his comment: "Hell is something that was made up by the church to manipulate the masses." And as much as I agreed with him, my old, old fears resurfaced and I would have to change the subject. I was afraid to even THINK of the POSSIBILITY of this statement being true. Hell was one of the cornerstones of what I was raised with. If it wasn't true, what would happen to the rest of the ediface that I had built around it? So, the fear of eternal separation from God reappeared inside of me. It would subside from time to time, but then that same statement would be made, or "There is no hell," would be said, and my stomach would clench a bit and I'd change the subject.
Then one day, I was home alone, making green chili for the next day. I was listening to the radio (NPR's "This American Life"). The theme that week was "Heretics". They told a story of a man who was raised in a church and belief system very similar to how I was raised. It also told how he had been declared--OFFICIALLY declared--a heretic by pastors and organizations that just a short while before had venerated him for being such a powerful leader and bringer of truth.
His heretical revelation?
"There is no Hell."
The story was told in vocabulary and terms that I had grown up with. It resonated with every logical, emotional, spiritual fiber that I had. All the pieces of what I believed, had listened to, and discussed solidified and clicked into place giving me a picture that was clearer than any I'd had in awhile. So, there I am, chopping onions and potatoes and sobbing. It was an interesting sob: deep, deep, deep, but without pain. There was actually a thread of laughter, humor, and lightness in that sob. But it was still deep and gut-wrenching with the realization of truth.
One cornerstone had been pulverized in that hour. Somehow, my buildings of belief, my "church of me", had not come crashing down around me. Rather, it had taken on quite a new glow and solidness. And that undercurrent of fear was mostly gone!
Mostly? Crap. Now what?
I keep hearing and seeing "there is no God". That statement is another one that I'm afraid to look at squarely in the face. Someday, when it's time, when I get the guts to do it... As scary as this thought is to me, I'll look at it, examine it, decide where to put it in my ever evolving church of one.
And when I do...Well, at least I won't have to worry about going to hell.
:)
(NPR story that was referenced:
"...a child who is brought up by devout christians, would not be ready to accept any other religion or path."
I can definitely attest to the trueness of this statement...at least for me. I was raised in a very devout Christian home. I truly believed the dogma with every fiber of my being. I would have a few questions now and then--mostly just uneasy feelings with various teachings not quite sitting well within me--but they would usually be burned away in the fervor (fever?) of ecclesiastical exuberance. I was on the right path to the eternal bliss of heaven. Other religions did not have the enlightenment that I was sure of.
Yet, even in this state of ecstasy, there was an undercurrent of fear--fear of going to hell, fear of God's punishment, fear of missing the rapture and the 2nd coming of Christ. Looking at other beliefs would surely corrupt the pureness of my heart and leave me in danger of eternal damnation.
Eventually, I grew a little older, went to college, discussed the meaning of life with many different people who had many different views of life. I started wondering, "What makes me so sure that I am the one who is right?" So many times, teachings in the church would not seem quite right. I couldn't quite explain what was "wrong" but there was definitely a feeling of wrongness when I would listen to the teachings of hell-fire, damnation, and that it was my job to save the world. That, in turn, would lead to feelings of frustration and being a bit overwhelmed with the seeming futileness of "saving the world".
More time passed. More discussions, more studying, more exploration, more self-searching. I came to the realization that I did not believe everything I had been taught growing up. I had always believed in a "personal relationship with God", but eventually "decided" that I could, and had, developed my own slightly unique view of what that meant. I realized that even in a single church, there would be many different versions of what this meant. So, I wondered, how could "the Church" be so completely authoritarian on what that relationship SHOULD be? So, I continued developing the "church of me"--refining what I believed, questioning what I believed, sometimes rearranging what I believed. I realized that there would be those in the "christian" world (yes, I mean to have it with a lower case 'c') who would say I had "backslidden" and was bordering on heresy. But, even with that knowledge, I felt less fear than I had in a very long time.
And then I fell in love with someone who believed very little of what I was raised with. This rattled me a little bit. We got into discussions, and one thing that always seemed to come up was his comment: "Hell is something that was made up by the church to manipulate the masses." And as much as I agreed with him, my old, old fears resurfaced and I would have to change the subject. I was afraid to even THINK of the POSSIBILITY of this statement being true. Hell was one of the cornerstones of what I was raised with. If it wasn't true, what would happen to the rest of the ediface that I had built around it? So, the fear of eternal separation from God reappeared inside of me. It would subside from time to time, but then that same statement would be made, or "There is no hell," would be said, and my stomach would clench a bit and I'd change the subject.
Then one day, I was home alone, making green chili for the next day. I was listening to the radio (NPR's "This American Life"). The theme that week was "Heretics". They told a story of a man who was raised in a church and belief system very similar to how I was raised. It also told how he had been declared--OFFICIALLY declared--a heretic by pastors and organizations that just a short while before had venerated him for being such a powerful leader and bringer of truth.
His heretical revelation?
"There is no Hell."
The story was told in vocabulary and terms that I had grown up with. It resonated with every logical, emotional, spiritual fiber that I had. All the pieces of what I believed, had listened to, and discussed solidified and clicked into place giving me a picture that was clearer than any I'd had in awhile. So, there I am, chopping onions and potatoes and sobbing. It was an interesting sob: deep, deep, deep, but without pain. There was actually a thread of laughter, humor, and lightness in that sob. But it was still deep and gut-wrenching with the realization of truth.
One cornerstone had been pulverized in that hour. Somehow, my buildings of belief, my "church of me", had not come crashing down around me. Rather, it had taken on quite a new glow and solidness. And that undercurrent of fear was mostly gone!
Mostly? Crap. Now what?
I keep hearing and seeing "there is no God". That statement is another one that I'm afraid to look at squarely in the face. Someday, when it's time, when I get the guts to do it... As scary as this thought is to me, I'll look at it, examine it, decide where to put it in my ever evolving church of one.
And when I do...Well, at least I won't have to worry about going to hell.
:)
(NPR story that was referenced:
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?sched=1273 Listen to it! It's a good one!)
