Used to be that church was about scaring the hell out of people. Literally. That phrase was not originally about cussing or sounding crass. The roots go back to the Middle Ages and the practice of exorcism and driving out demons. [Think of the movie, "The Exorcist." (Which by the way scared the hell out of me.)]
But let's face it: When talking about "Hell" with a capital "H"-e-double hockey sticks, most of what we envision has more to do with Dante than Scripture. The word translated "Hades" from the Old Testament comes from the word "Sheol," which means nothing more than "grave."
The word in the New Testament often connected to images of what we think of as hell is "Gehenna," which was nothing more than a burning garbage dump in the valley next to Jerusalem. It was Jesus' way of describing the destruction of those who forsake God. But as to a place of eternal punishment, again, that comes more from Dante's, The Divine Comedy, seasoned with a dash of John Milton, and a pinch of William Blake.
So I have been thinking about hell a helluva lot lately, some because of my friend Edward Fudge. He (along with many of my new Bering peeps) continues to get me thinking about what I have been conditioned to accept by my environment over against what we have in Scripture and the discernment of Christian witnesses. If that's too much of a mouthful, let me put it a simpler way: Scripture trumps tradition.
Now that may not sound revolutionary to all you in bloggerland. But to me, grafted into a tradition that loves tradition, even at the expense of kindness, it is monumental. In my own personal church history, being right is often more important than being Christian.
Which brings us back to hell that's not really hell at all.
Confused yet?
Blame the book of Revelation.
For the past four months I have been immersed in what the Greek New Testament calls, "An Apocalypse of John." We call it "Revelation." (Just one, by the way; not "Revelations.") I used to think, as many do, that Revelation had a lot to do with hell. Come to find out, it doesn't. In fact, the mention of the burning lake in Revelation 21:8 uses the promise of a "second death." Death means dead. And if you wind up in the lake of fire that consumes, that's it. Dead. I realize that's not what Dante teaches. But why does he get to trump Scripture? That's a central question to much of what we do in the church, is it not?
Speaking of Revelation 21: Earlier in verse 3, there is a tabernacle. And the tabernacle is called, "God with the People."
Sounds like Christmas, eh?
It's either irony or providence, depending on your ilk, that I am finishing a study of Revelation during Advent. Here we are once again singing songs about Emmanuel and reading Matthew 1:18-25 and saying things like one of the original names of Jesus that means, "God with us." It strikes me that the first book of the New Testament and the last go out of their way to describe "God with us." Those two bookends, and everything in between, invite us into the fellowship of God through Christ. For those who confess Jesus, hell is not even on the table, whether a place of eternal torment, or a permanent grave. Rather, through the incarnation of Jesus, we are ushered into the presence of God, not later, but now. Faith is no longer mixed with threat. The call to endurance is all that matters. Fear and guilt have been taken away.
And that's the good news of Advent, the incarnation, the promise of "God with us." Again, not later, but now.
An afterthought:
Recently, in an act of self-congratulations, I went back and read a chapter I wrote in a preaching textbook. I wrote a sermon on Psalm 103 in the book, Performing the Psalms. That particular Psalm uses a beautiful image of sin being taken from the east to the west. In other words, if we sin in the east, the redeeming God takes our sin and moves it as far away to the west as possible. The poetry is sheer magic.
And that got me to thinking: What if that includes guilt and fear?
So here's an afterthought for your first week of Advent: Take all the fear that comes with the threat of the conventional notions of hell, turn them over to God, and let God catapult them to the west. Then, with the host of heaven, celebrate what God has done, is doing, and will continue to do with the incarnation of Jesus who continues to bear our humanity. Finally, forget about hell as we have inherited it by our European ancestors, and return the focus where it belongs to Emmanuel, "God with us."
And that's that.
By the way, I was going to end this blog with clever/cute something where I wrote, "Oh, hell." But I guess I had better not. Instead, I will just wish you a wonderful Advent season as we continue to sing, "Come, Lord Jesus, Come." Yeah, that sounds better anyway.
