The first memory I have about anything to do with God was the preaching of our cleaner man in Wenatchee. More than once the baptist elder would begin to warn me and my mother of hell. I see easily a memory of a brick planter (no longer there in my parent’s house) we would lean against. I remember being very frightened. But I didn’t really understand what he said.
I believe in speaking the verbal message of the Gospel. But I encounter a perfect example of not making the message accessible to the listener. The cleaner man was a good man. Year’s later when I received Christ he acted like it was the real deal. I think because he hadn’t closed the sale.
I always wanted to go to church. I did once in the fifth grade. The children were led down a staircase to the basement of the church. It was dark and musty. The windows seemed to be 40 feet from the floor. The teacher clearly didn’t like kids. And not having ever been to church or even opening a Bible I didn’t understand anything that was being said. I never went again.
I suppose this might be the reason for my passion to make certain that kids benefit from a joyous and accessible experience at church. The church could have had me for my life when I showed up in fifth grade. It would have spared me some painful searching as well.
Such memories do become the building blocks of our response to life. I really wish there were no hell. And I know first hand how terrifying the discussion can be about hell. I wish I could be a universalist. But I can’t. In fact I really feel I am called to see all i can rescued from this horrid fate. But I choose to talk of grace and love more. I think most people don’t have to wait until they die to experience hell.
