Edgework

Over the past decade or so I have documented my theological journey away from a belief in hell defined as conscious, eternal torment for the vast majority of humans who have ever lived. I have done this openly through my blog essays and in various other ways in diverse settings. Following this deconstruction process, I have been able to construct a more positive, biblical vision of the nature of the Good News Jesus proclaimed; one which does not include traditional notions of hell.

I will not rehash the arguments I have made earlier about hell at this point. My goal in this present series of essays is to reflect more specifically on my journey toward authentic spirituality. Consequently, I will share a bit of my story relating to hell, including how I found a good measure of healing for the trauma that I experienced because of growing up in an environment saturated with the ever-present threat of eternal damnation.

I realize that the doctrine of hell did not do as much damage to some people in similar circumstances as it did to me. I think that how we respond to the teaching of hell may depend on our unique personalities, home environments and other life experiences. In later years I came to understand that I have a highly sensitive personality, which helps to explain at least some of what I experienced.

I did learn from early on in Sunday School that “God is Love!” But I soon picked up on other messages that called such thinking into question. I heard and sang about “…fountains filled with blood, drawn from Emmanuel’s veins” in which I should want to take a bath. Weird or what, I thought! But if I didn’t, I heard in the annual revival meetings I attended with my parents, I would spend eternity in hell in conscious torment. I was dirty from the get-go and had to be washed – or else. To put it mildly, I was confused.

That confusion began to morph into trauma as I entered my adolescent years. I had been told countless times that if only I would accept Jesus as my Savior, all would be well. For reasons which still remain somewhat of a mystery, that didn’t work for me. As a child I prayed every night, “If I should die before I wake, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to take.” Yet, by the time I was twelve or so, a sense of foreboding began to mushroom in my soul. No matter what I said or did, I was damned and I knew it. Just for being born and being a disobedient child I was destined to burn in hell forever!

I began having nightmares of falling into hell, arms and legs flailing, only to wake in a cold sweat and with great fear and trembling as I searched for the string dangling from the lightbulb in the center of my bedroom. Once the light was on I knew I had escaped the flames once more. This happened two or three nights a week for about three or four years. Desperate evening prayers did not keep hell at bay.

Fortunately for me, shortly after my 16th birthday, I had a dramatic encounter with the God of the open arms. Why the delay, I may never know. In any case, I encountered the God of Love who was not brandishing a cudgel! When I told my story to friends and family they assumed that I had finally given in to the promptings of the Spirit and now I was safe in the arms of Jesus! So I was able to move on. The nightmares vanished and I assumed all would be well. I even began to agree with the hell narrative I was still being told, but now I could be smug in my personal safety net. But now I began to see every person I met as either in or out, saved or lost, elected or damned.

To make a long story short, the more I studied and struggled, the more doubts I began to have about the hell narrative. I am indebted to my colleague at Steinbach Bible College, Archie Penner, for awakening in me the hope of a wider salvation than the church was preaching. “Infants, imbeciles and many God-fearers who never heard the name of Jesus will be saved!” he thundered. And I shook with sympathetic vibrations. During my sabbatical year at Regent College, 1992-93, I studied and wrote some more on the subject.

Back at college, I engaged the president on the subject, who agreed that evangelicals needed to do some work on the subject of hell, but I found no room for an open dialogue. Fast forward to 2002 when I experienced a burnout. No longer able to hold a job, I nevertheless was able to continue my quest for better understandings about hell. During this time I developed some very close personal connections with persons in my church and community who were on a similar quest.

As we studied, wrestled and prayed together, some of us got to the point where we were ready to go public with our findings. One friend began to speak openly to family and friends and was met with considerable fire and fury. Eventually I wrote a series of ten essays on the subject on my blog site, Edgework, at mySteinbach.ca. So now the word was out. I got some negative feedback, but at the same time a lot of affirmation for having come out of the closet.

So now, after half a century, I had managed to “pass by on the other side” of hell and come to a more intellectually satisfying place. But then I came face-to-face with the fact that the damage done to my soul during my traumatic youth had left some unhealed wounds. The challenge I faced was how to find healing for those wounds. Stay tuned.