The Fruits of Hell

Recently, a friend attempted to hire a new employee. The new guy was well-qualified, and seemed to be a hard worker. There was one small problem -- his record of violent crimes. He was an alcoholic who could be violent when he was drunk. He was also six-months sober, working a recovery program, and had a parol officer who checked on him every day, to make sure he was still on the right path. Believing in grace, my friend thought he would give the guy a chance, but another employee was aghast. "How dare you put the rest of us in danger like this!" The employee couldn't make the leap to accepting that the new guy might deserve a second chance, and that his violence was connected to his alcoholism. As it happened, this employee, who wasn't as committed to grace as my friend, was also an evangelical Christian.

Later that week, our church book group talked about eternal damnation. During the discussion, it became clear that none of us believed in a God who could give up on people for all eternity. "That God would be a monster," one person said, and I agreed with her. I cannot believe in a God who has less grace than many of the people I know. In hospice and in my work in the recovery community, I've seen people forgive their family members, even when the family didn't deserve forgiveness, and didn't realize what they'd done. Isn't God supposed to be better than us?

As it happened, capital punishment was in the news that week as well, because of an impending double-execution in Oklahoma (an execution that turned into a single, after the first one went terribly wrong). And the combination of these three things -- an evangelical employee unwilling to give a guy a second chance, a conversation about God's grace as opposed to God's eternal damnation, and yet another scheduled execution -- made me realize that belief in eternal damnation has damaged Christianity's soul.

It is no accident that 40% of self-identified practicing Christians believe in capital punishment, while only 5% of people in the same pole thought Jesus would be in favor. Considering we follow Jesus, and say we believe in grace, one might expect Christians to view the death penalty less-favorably than our non-Christian counterparts. However, our numbers are close to the same (and in fact just slightly more favorable) than the general population. Christians, with our longstanding belief in hell and eternal damnation, are just as quick to believe that some people are beyond redemption. If God can banish people to hell forever, then certainly it follows that those people don't deserve grace. And if some people are beyond grace, then why keep them around? Why not execute them, and let their eternal punishment start that much sooner? Unfortunately, anecdotal evidence would show that this lack of grace doesn't just extend to those on death row. When eternal damnation is your fallback position, it's hard not to be poisoned by it.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says, "Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits." Belief in eternal damnation has yielded bitter fruit for Christianity -- hearts that lack grace. I think its about time this belief go the way of beliefs about slavery and religious pogroms. Even if it were biblical, it's certainly not good for our souls.

A Poem

Visiting the Living

"Bobby," she says,
"I don't know how many
people are in here,
but will you make sure
everyone has a seat?"
Bobby fetches
a folding chair for me,
so I can sit next to her bed,
sharing stories of her life in Lubbock
with a husband who died that day in May,
and who stands at the end of her bed now.
I don't see him,
but he remembers the details she can't.
"Bob," she says,
I couldn't do this without you."

Why I Don't Proselytize

Recently, I was talking to someone about struggles I've been having with our foster son. After listening to me for a while, this person asked, "Have you considered trying to convert him?"

No. No I haven't. And I won't.

That's not what I said. What I said was, "I hold with St. Francis who said, 'Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use words." I feel my call, as a child of God and follower of Jesus, is to love. I must be a channel of God's love to other humans and nonhumans. I can also be a symbol of God's unconditional love in my work as a chaplain and pastor (and I often am). But it's God's job to draw people to grace in the right time and in the right way for them. I don't pretend to know what the right way or time is. It's hard enough to figure out the best way to love people, without feeling like I also have to preach at them, too. 

If there's one thing I've learned in my work as a hospice chaplain, it's that a loving act speaks louder than any words ever could. Often, I have no idea what to say to someone. I can't imagine what they're going through, as they change their mother's diaper. However, I can be present, and I can shine love from every pore of my being. And, when I do that, the crazy thing is that they find the words they need. They hear God talking to them in a language and with a theology that makes sense for them. They find their own way to grace, while I stand as witness.

So, I trust God with my foster son, as I trust God with everyone I meet. I'll keep loving, and I'll let God do the preaching. 

(By the way: It turns out, I was misquoting Francis, but I still hold with the sentiment, which I think Francis would have liked, too.)

Kindergarten Christians

Every time I hear about how American Christians are being persecuted -- because people don't wish us Merry Christmas, or we're not allowed to install a monument to our version of the Ten Commandments, or someone dares to suggest that maybe churches shouldn't get special tax breaks, or because we're told to stop praying "in Jesus name" at government functions -- I think about a friend's son, and how much trouble he had his first year at school. 

We American Christians are like that spoiled child who ends up in kindergarten and suddenly realizes (Oh, horror!) that there are other children. 

Too many Christians stand at the threshold of the 21st century and shout, "What do you mean I have to spend my time in a pluralistic society? You mean I have to share and cooperate with people from other faiths? Wait! You don't mean atheists too?! Waaaah..." And then they throw a mighty, mighty temper tantrum, hurling insults at everyone around them, and breaking things rather than share them with anyone.

I, for one, loved kindergarten. And I'm loving interacting with all the other people in this great-big, beautiful, pluralistic world. Its worth it, to me, to have to share my holidays with other people, and to learn to cooperate with the other kids on the playground, because the other kids are now my friends.

A Poem

I recently had a reason to go through my old poetry, and I found this poem, which I wrote in 2001. It had potential, so I revised it, and I'm finally happy with it.

for one who feels he has the voice of an ant in a field of lawnmowers
(or Ants against the War Machine)

I have seen ants
marching
in columns
across a road
in Africa
where a war raged —
these men against those men,
those men against these —
but every man
stepping aside
for the steady line of army ants
unaware of tanks
or guns
or men with rifles.

And after,
I have looked
to see
the bones of a snake,
overcome by the slow
garrison
moving in unison —
each too small
to matter —
together
swallowing the serpent.

Prayers against Poverty

Last Saturday, during the day, Rob and I took the Second Class bus from Oaxaca, where we were vacationing, to Teotitlan del Valle, an artist community about twenty miles outside the city. In Teotitlan, we had a very expensive lunch -- touted by friends as the best in the valley -- and after we got back, we spent the afternoon walking through the huge, real market that surrounds the second-class bus station (as opposed to the less-real-seeming markets in Oaxaca City, which appear to be mostly for tourists and wealthier Oaxacans). The contrast between our lunch in solidly middle-class Teotitlan, and the cramped alleys of Mercado Abastos couldn't have been starker.

When we got back to our five-star hotel, we saw that the "movie star" was back from her day as well, because her body guards stalked the lobby in baggy shirts and earpieces. In the splendidly manicured courtyards, two brides in hundred-thousand-peso dresses were getting their pictures taken in the perfect late-afternoon light. And that night, as I lay in bed surrounded by the rooms of a former convent now filled with wealthy Mexicans and Europeans, I thought a lot about the extreme contrasts in Mexico between the rich and the poor. I also admit I despaired a little at the enormity of the problem of poverty -- and felt guilty at my participation in it -- even as I prayed for for the welfare of the people I'd literally bumped into that day at the market.

Then this afternoon, as I caught up on email, I discovered that many other people were meditating on world poverty that night. October 16th to 18th was designated by the United Nations as a time for "a global call to action against poverty" called STAND UP and TAKE ACTION. A friend belongs to a religious society that had committed to pray at 9pm on Saturday night in every time zone "for the wellness of all impoverished," and she emailed me an invitation to join in the prayers.

I'm still overwhelmed by the poverty I witnessed in Oaxaca, but I also believe in the power of prayer (especially if its part of a plan that includes further action). And I'm glad I was able to participate in my friend's prayers, even if I did it inadvertently.