Asking whether or not hell is real is like asking your teammates in a football huddle whether or not they think it’s possible, from your team’s current position on the field, to sink a three-point basket.
Wrong question.
Wrong game.
Missing the point.
Here’s something I hate: conversations that ostensibly are about answering a question to which, in fact, there is no knowable answer. Getting stuck in a conversation like that transmogrifies my poor little brain into a crack-snorting hamster on a wheel.
So, to state something so obvious I should be embarrassed to type it: No one has any idea — none, zero, zilch, nada, void, total blank — what happens to anyone after they die.
It could be that heaven is awaiting some of us. Or all of us. It could be that hell is waiting for some or all of us. Could be a Dairy Queen awaitin’. Could be a dentist’s office. Could be a six-room igloo. Could be interplanetary pinochle tournament.
No. One. Knows. It’s. Not. Knowable.
And if at this moment you’re inclined to grab your Bible, stop yourself. It’s not in there. You can pretend the Bible tells you what happens to people after they die, but you wouldn’t be fooling even yourself. Paul enjoins us to give up childish things, and you can’t get more childish than pretending the Bible is a magical window that lets you see beyond life.
Trying to use the Bible as proof of what happens after we die is like trying to use a telescope to row a canoe. Wrong… [Read more…] about “Is hell real?” What are we, six-year-olds?