What Was Hell Like?

I've had a year and a half to think about things since my last post on this subject, What Isn't Hell Like?. I've read a little of Edward Fudge's thoughts on annihilation as a good explanation of what "eternal punishment" means.

And I'm wondering ...

What if hell isn't eternal - at least for us mortal folk? Suppose the "hades" aspect of it really was just a holding tank for those before Jesus' time on earth, awaiting His judgment? And that, at the time His judgment came, it was tanked in the lake of fire for all time?

What if hell - the eternal, ever-burning, lake-of-fire aspect of it - is reserved for the devil and his angels: created, half-eternal beings who knew God and yet rebelled against Him? Because they were created to be eternal from that point on; created to be close to Him and still stood against everything good about Him?

What if eternal punishment is simply that those of us mortals who were created to choose immortality close to God - yet never having seen Him except through His creation and the story of His Son - we choose death when we choose to be anything other than closer to God? Forever-death? Irrevocable, un-appealable and unappealing permanent nonexistence?

When we had the chance to choose to be with Him forever, instead?

When we had the choice to be like Him, and carry His story forward, and live it out each mortal day?

When we were appointed to judge angels by showing them that the right choice could be made in faith and not just by sight alone, making their crime of rebellion all the more heinous?

Isn't "eternal death" the opposite of "eternal life"? Rather than its opposite being "eternal torture"?

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. - Romans 6:23

And why is there something deep within me that wonders how a God - even a God of great righteousness and unimpeachable wrath - can be just in dispensing eternal torture to rebels whose sins were temporal; choices made blindly and in lack of faith?

Thanksliving

I made that typo today while trying to rush together the bulletin for my church; trying to squeeze five days of work into two-and-a-half.

It's a fortunate - and possibly freudian - error. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. (Sorry, Angi. I know yours is Christmas. And the only reason that I'm not fussing about putting up Christmas decorations tonight, before Thanksgiving, is that we're having your faculty Christmas dinner Sunday before our friend has to have his major surgery.)

It isn't the food. It isn't the football games. It isn't even the gathering of family (when we can). There's just something inside that wants Thanksgiving to be a year-round, 24/7 thing. I want every day to be one of my blogging friend JettyBetty's Thursday Thanksgivings. (She faithfully writes one every week.)

I want it to be an ongoing holiday. A moveable feast of gratitude. A lifestyle.

Thanksliving.

Four years ago I wrote this inverse-rhyme poem for my weekly column in the Abilene Reporter-News; a column called "Parenting on Purpose." I haven't always lived as brightly the fluorescent hues of thankfulness I painted in that work - kids can be challenging! - but I am more grateful to God for them and for their mother than words can ever express:

I'm grateful my kids' toys aren't neat
and that their shoes litter the floor.
It testifies - no less, no more -
that they have hands and feet.

I'm thankful though they don't come home
the moment playtime ends.
It tells me they have good friends
within a few yards' roam.

I'm even glad for muddy floors
and grubby, smiling faces
and dug-up garden places.
For they love to be outdoors.

As costly as they seem,
I pay for jerseys and the Y
- and gladly, too. Need you ask why?
It means they're on a team.

For practices that run too long
and games in cold and heat,
I'm thankful. Even when they're beat,
they're healthy and they're strong.

I'm thankful though my children view
a bit too much TV.
It says to me they hear and see,
and want to know what's new.

I'm thankful for the homework check
I must conduct each night.
Though answers are not always right,
I learn when I inspect.

I'm grateful when my children's grades
are not quite up to snuff.
It shows me they try hard enough;
like mine, their memory fades.

I'm glad to see a teacher's note
with praise or warning there.
It proves their teachers care
and my kids' learning isn't rote.

I'm grateful for each curious rule,
and each fund-raising drive.
Though wits and wallet won't survive,
it means they have a school.

I'm thankful though I am accused
of never being fair.
My role as judge is always there;
I've never been recused.

I'm thankful when "Let's go to the park!"
they goad - though other matters task.
I go - and hope that they'll still ask
four decades down the road.

I'm thankful that they think of me
as worth much of their time.
(Though "Hi, Mom!" is what they would mime
on national TV.)

I'm glad to see their reams of art.
Stick-figured Mom and Dad
in colors wild - the fun they've had
while drawing from the heart.

I'm grateful though the lyric's wrong
and when they sing off-key.
For it means all the world to see
their hearts are full of song.

I'm thankful though my children fuss
and fight with one another.
It means they're sis and brother,
and I know they're part of us.

I'm thankful when they flip their lids,
as well as when they sing.
Because, as much as anything,
I'm thankful for my kids.

Ichabod

I haven't blogged much recently, and I regret that.

I think I know what Saul must have felt like when the Spirit departed from him, and I can understand why David begged God not to take Him away.

I hope mine is just the kind of dry spell that Jerusalem had during its time of Ichabod; when the ark had been stolen away and the glory had departed. I hope inspiration will soon return, and when it does I will not take many steps before I offer a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.

In the meantime - broaden your horizons. Read some blogs and books and passages of scripture that you have never read before. Read old favorites in a new way, with a fresh perspective. Listen for God.

If He seems silent, endure Ichabod.

Maybe He has some threshing and refining to do in your life, too.

My Name is Keith Brenton, and I Did Not Approve of This Message

This isn't a political post.

It's one of those techno-nerdy posts.

You see, last night my e-mail address of almost 10 years was used by one of those spamming software resellers as the originating e-mail address for a message sent to thousands of people about OEM (original equipment manufacturer) software.

I know this, because I have more than 500 returned-message notices in my inbox this morning.

Thank heaven it wasn't a message for internet porn, or worse.

So today I'll have to see what kind of remedies and recourses are available to me for the hijacking of my e-mail address.

If you received one of these messages, purportedly from me, you have my regrets.

And I would caution you against purchasing OEM software - from anyone.

Hard Words

Are you sure, Jesus?

If I want to follow You, I have to hate father, mother, wife, children, brothers and sisters?

If I want to follow You, I can't invite friends to a dinner I host ... only poor people?

If I want to follow You, I must sell my possessions and give the proceeds to the poor?

If I want to follow You, I have to see myself only as an unworthy servant?

Lord, that doesn't sound very self-esteem-building. Or familial. Or even friendly.

And it certainly doesn't sound very American.

Are you sure about all that stuff?

Give Me Patience, Lord - Right Now!

Last night I was called back to a post of mine from a few weeks ago (Worship, Gifts and Women) by a new comment, and I read through a few of the other comments with a measure of sadness.

One series of those comments became a conversation with a woman desperate to see immediate change in the perception of her church toward the idea of women being permitted to lead in worship. And I could sympathize with her, more than she could know or than I could express.

While I was rereading those comments, I thought about some things Lynn Anderson said in his 1994 work Navigating the Winds of Change:

Change won't come immediately!
Back in the early days of our nineteen years at the Highland church, some of the elders and I prayed and worked towards changes that didn't happen until fifteen years later! Be patient. (p. 175)
...
Change may not be ethical in some situations.
Some of us may be forced to hard choices. You may be driven by a passion to reach totally unchurched seekers or by a concern to keep from losing the boomer or buster generation from the church. But these people are not likely to be reached through traditional church models. You may have tried your best to get your congregation to retool so that it can connect with the unchurched or with a new generation of Christians. But others in your church, maybe even the founders who have invested their life's blood in your congregation, may be driven by a different vision. In that case, to force your changes may not be ethical.

All churches don't have to be the same. Some churches can change a little, some a lot. .... But remember, some churches won't be able to change - not at all! Attempts to force 180 degree changes on such churches simply is not ethical. (pp. 175-176)

You may not agree with Lynn Anderson. (I don't agree with him on all points - in fact, I think George Barna's research since Navigating was written shows that many young professionals just drop out of church and there's not much that anyone can do about it. But most come back a few years later, missing what they've left behind.) Still, Lynn has been there. He is an unashamed change agent. I've met him, and I think he has a heart for the Lord and for the lost and for the church.

And I believe he knows what he's talking about when he makes these points.

Years ago there was an ad in Christian Chronicle for an album performed by the choir at my alma mater Harding, an album named after a famous old hymn featured on it. The clip-out coupon was phrased: "Rush me my copy of Teach Me Lord To Wait!"

Patience is still a virtue. So is brotherly-kindness.

But they don't come easily to all of us, and they don't come right away to any of us.