Apology of Hell Chapter 2

Introductory Comments:

For some reason I always have to make some introductory comments. Don't ask me why, I can't seem to help it!

A while ago, I posted a chapter of a sort of novel I am trying to write as something of an apology of hell. If you haven't read the first chapter or you don't remember it, you can read it here. You could probably follow the second chapter without reading it but it'll probably help somewhat.

As before, I am eager for your comments, especially those of you who have some writing experience or expertise (Crista... Heather if you read this - I know you have a couple times at least, Sabrina... I know you try your hand at creative writing from time to time). As with any fiction, the story and pictures should not be taken for a one for one representation of how I think Hell will be like. But I am trying to not only picture something of what hell might include, but help to show why hell, the punishment of the unsaved, is just. I recognize that this question is bigger than this writing attempt, but maybe I can help people realize why 'good people' could go to hell.

The writing still needs editing and improving, especially the beginning paragraphs which seem horrid to me. Again, I welcome your criticisms and/or helpful comments. Feel free to leave them as comments, or if you'd rather email them to me that's fine too: mcrichey@liberty.edu

Chapter 2

Despite my relief, done with the first day, any feelings of relief I had were overwhelmed by my fear and apprehension for what was still to come. I remembered that my guide had accused me of murder. If the punishment for adultery had been this horrible… I didn’t want to think about it, but couldn’t help being overcome with terror. My whole body shook and trembled so violently that despite my attempts to stand up, or even sit up, were useless. All I could do was lay helpless on the floor, shivering and weeping.

“You will now face your second charge.” The creature’s eyes caught mine as he entered or appeared into the room. His gaze was magnetic and powerful. It seemed that either he or some unknown power had control over my eyes and would not let them rest upon the floor as I sought to avert them in vain.

“Gluttony. Oh how much your countrymen will suffer for this crime! How peaceful you were in your greed! You pretended to be good; you thought you were beautiful; but you did not know that you were hideously ugly in your appearance, bloated and disgusting! Your brothers and sisters had nothing and you had so much! Yet you fed your dogs better! But it will be better for the starving brother in the end!”

His words, as they so often did, terrified me into silence. I continued in my struggle to avert my eyes. His eyes did more than frighten me. They condemned me. They told me that not only did I deserve my punishment, but that I really had no right to exist. I had felt guilt in my previous life but I could always choose to ignore it, to hide it from my immediate consciousness. When he looked at me, my consciousness was flooded with guilt impossible to suppress. I had thought I could defend myself, but I was beginning to realize that I was indefensible.

“Your punishment then, glutton.”

As before, the small room disappeared and I found myself in a rapid succession of scenes from my life. They seemed rather inconsequential and they passed by swiftly. The first scene was from my childhood. I was in a department store with my mother demanding that she buy me something, what it was I cannot remember, that I wanted. I refused to accept her negative answer, but threatened and began to make a scene. To avoid embarrassing herself in front of the general public, she caved in and I became the proud owner of whatever it was, which I somehow knew would almost never be used. In the next scene I was with my college buddies at a restaurant. I merely ordered an expensive steak and the scene quickly faded. Other scenes found me buying a new car, putting a down payment on a house, buying a new television, or on the phone with the cable company. Other scenes were quick glimpses of board meetings at work and even one at church. Yet another strange scene found me buying my son a new game system for Christmas. There was a brief moment from the Hawaiian vacation my wife and I took for our fiftieth wedding anniversary. These scenes closed with me as an old man pulling into the driveway of my comfortable condo in my newly purchased Jaguar, a mere six months before my death.

During these scenes, I had seen everything in first person, from my own eyes as I had seen them when they had actually occurred. But after the final scene, I (or my view) was slowly lifted out of my beloved Jaguar. I ascended rapidly into and then above the clouds until I could see the earth’s continents. The earth rotated until I was no longer the North American continent, in which I had lived all of my life, and I began to descend again at an ever-increasing rate towards a continent that had been of little concern to me in my lifetime, Africa.

The scenes that began to flash before my eyes were horrifying. I saw images of starving children that I had seen on television, but this time I could not change the channel and I could not look away. I watched in horror as they withered away, bloated, died, and were consumed by vultures and maggots. I saw people from my country who were doing what they could to help, but were so short on food that they could not feed them all. I visited the homes of women and children dying of Aids. I watched children watch their parents die, and I saw mothers and fathers forced to bury their children. I saw even more horrifying images of men slaughtering women and children with machetes. I saw very young boys forced to don military gear and very young girls raped and discarded as garbage. In the background of each image, I could see people in my country who were doing all that they could to help. Some gave money to charity; some gave money to their churches that sent missionaries and aid in the form of medicine, food, and education. A few even dedicated their lives to ending the suffering, disease, and violence, leaving their countries of origin and the comforts therein to do what they could to help. I did not look for myself in these pictures. I had no doubts concerning my absent.

After these images cycled through once, they repeated themselves but with one change. I saw myself in every scene. In each image, I sat at a table eating a great feast. As the scenes progressed, I grew larger and larger until I was quite obese. But I never once paid any attention to anything going on around me. There was so much more food there than I ever could have eaten but I never shared any of it. Oblivious to the starvation around me, I continued to gorge myself on my feast. When the cycle finished a second time, I saw myself sitting at my table surrounded by a great crowd of starving people begging me for a scrap of food. I ignored their pleas and continued to shovel more and more food into my mouth. As I ate, I not only became more obese but I grew tremendously. Soon I became a massive giant, thirty feet high. When I had finished growing, I lifted my table in both hands and dumped the remainder of the feast down my throat and set the table back down, empty, and walked away having never looked at the starving rabble that lay dying at my feet.

The grotesque became the pathetic. I found myself in the room once again. In the middle of my room there was a great table full of every food imaginable. Around the table were seated all the people I had seen starving in the earlier scenes. I’m not sure how I knew who they were because their appearance had been radically transformed. They were of a healthy weight and were dressed magnificently. Two were obese, one woman whom I had seen starve to death was excessively so, the rest were of varying sizes and shapes but all looked healthy and comfortable. The children were children and misbehaved like any western child does as the table to the consternation of their scolding mothers. The men I had seen butchering innocent people in earlier scenes laughed and spoke comfortably with their former victims, who, unafraid in their company, laughed, conversed and sometimes even flirted with them like they were the best of friends. Sometimes there would be minor arguments, sometimes there would be gossip about a person or persons not present, sometimes there were snide and rude comments, but on the whole it was a quite civil and enjoyable banquet.

But as for me, I was no longer the grotesque gargantuan giant who devoured everything in sight, but starving, skinny, and shabbily dressed in rags. I was unable to stand up, my legs were worthless – too scrawny to support my weight – and I could think only of finding something, anything, to eat. My body was ripe with sores and wounds of every kind and infested with insects and infections. I was able to catch and eat a few insects and once found a rather large grub, but the only real source of food I could see was the table but, try as I might, I was powerless to reach it.

But those at the table ignored me. They ate and laughed but they didn’t look my way and they didn’t throw any food my direction. Midway through the meal, a television, which I had not noticed until now, was turned on and a newscast came on discussing the horrendous conditions in the United States, mass disease and starvation, civil wars, and natural disasters. One of the women at the table, who I had seen stave to death earlier, appeared disgusted and scolded the man who had apparently turned it on,

“Turn that off, can’t you see I'm trying to eat?”

“Sorry. I feel sorry for those people though. The famine has been pretty bad recently, even worse than usual.”

“They have no one to blame but themselves. If their governments weren’t so corrupt and if they would actually listen to people who want to help them they wouldn’t be in such a mess. They are killing themselves. We’re not to blame.”

“I know. Still I feel bad for them.”

“So do I. But what can you do? Their governments are so corrupt that you can’t send them any food or money. Until you replace their governments they’ll always be that way.”

“Yeah, I know. And we all remember what happened when we tried to help them in New York. They killed our troops who were trying to help them. Still, I wish we could do something. Oh well.” After a short pause, he turned towards one of the other men, “Did you see the game last night? What an amazing comeback!”

And the conversation went back to more comfortable subjects. There was one small exception to the apathy. A small boy got up and threw me a dinner roll, towards the end of the meal. As I devoured it greedily, I was made to remember a time when I was a young boy myself and had given five dollars to help a missionary minister to people. I had felt sorry for them and gave some of the money I had received for my birthday. The roll was not much, but it relieved my hunger slightly for a few short minutes. I received nothing else from the party for the remainder of the meal.

Towards the end their supper, some of the children attempted asked for their dessert before they finished their meals. Their mothers scolded them,

“Don’t you know that there are starving children in Europe who would give everything they had for your carrots? Clean your plate or you’ll go to bed without your dessert.”

They reluctantly ate their carrots as their mother told them to. There was still a good deal of food left over and I hoped that, perhaps, some of it would be thrown my way. But instead, their plates were placed upon the ground and their dogs came in and licked the plates clean. I was ignored. I began yelling and screaming, trying to get their attention, but no one even looked at me. They arose from the table and they and the table slowly faded from view. As for me, the process of starvation continued. I continued to wither rapidly. My throat was beyond parched, my lips began to crack and bleed, and I was no longer to sit up by the support of my pencil thin arms, as I had throughout the scene. Now helpless, I could do nothing as vultures and rats began to gather around me. As a large vulture swooped down to pick at what remained of my pathetic carcass, I tried to fend it off but my arms were quite useless. As he began to tear at me, the scene slowly faded and I found myself back in the empty room with Immer-Messe.

Book Review: The Shack:

Preliminary Matters

I usually stay far away from the Contemporary Christian Fiction category. Like the Contemporary Christian Music genre, I find it to be, in general, of an inferior quality and shallow in content and significant thought. There are, of course, exceptions in the CCM genre that I have discovered and love to listen to, but I cannot, when considered as genre, stomach the shallow and cheesy lyrics, inferior music, and extremely irritating DJs on their radio stations. But even though I have looked for and discovered exceptions in the CCM genre, I have not even bothered in the CCF category. I read and greatly enjoy C.S. Lewis, but everything I have looked at coming out today is like eating unsalted grits off the floor in comparison to a top sirloin steak at a 5 star restaurant. You can listen to a song, roll your eyes, and forget about it, but to invest the time to read books that will most likely be a complete waste of time is somehow less appealing.

My whole point in saying this is that The Shack is not the type of book I normally would pick up and read. But I kept hearing about it and the emotions connected to people’s evaluations were so strong that I felt that I had to read it to know what they were all talking about. Some people felt it was the greatest book that they had ever read. Others thought that it was heresy. I twice had people approach me after I preached at other churches and ask me if a certain statement in the book was heresy or not. This was very intriguing to me and since I had people who kept asking me if I knew anything about it or what I thought about it, I figured that it would be fun to read it and write up a review over my Christmas break. Making the prospect more fun was talking to my sister who had read in the book and had already formed very strong opinions from what she had read (negative opinions) but agreed to read it with me and both put up evaluations on our perspective blogs. I look forward to her review whenever she finishes up.

There are two types of book reviews and evaluations that I cannot stand. The first is the book review that worships a book and its author without any view at all to its faults and shortcomings. This reviewer will get angry at the slightest criticism of the book’s content or author. The other reviewer that frustrates me is the hypercritical type that refuses to interact with or engage the book or the author. This reviewer is either threatened by the slightest difference in another’s viewpoint or just enjoys ripping people apart without any recognition of the contribution of the book or reception of the potential benefit he might receive in reading it. What I have seen of people’s reviews on the recent controversial bestseller The Shack have been almost exclusively in one of the previous categories. They either love the book and are offended at the slightest criticism of it, or they hate the book, tear it apart, and begin organizing a book burning service.

There is a third type of book review however, which may be full as bad as the previous two. It’s the book review that refuses to give a real evaluation. The reviewer will say some good things and some bad things, seemingly out of obligation to both categories. He’ll conclude by saying that the book is worth reading but that there are either some things to be cautious about or some minor yet important shortcomings that one should be aware of. Before I even began reading the book, I had already decided to write such a review. I was going to point out the good things and bad things, say that the book has value but be careful for certain things. But as I think about it, how is this really interacting or any kind of an attempt at an honest review if I decide ahead of time what basically I’m going to say. A good review will point out positive and negative aspects but not out of obligation but from an honest attempt at dialogue. I do have good and bad things to say, but I am trying to give an honest reaction to the book and its contents and not just say what I should say out of an obligation to form.

This review will be an attempt to avoid all of these extremes. The Shack has invoked a lot of strong feelings both ways but it does deserve, methinks, a place in the theological conversation. It is well written and the dude writing it knows theology well. Whether Young’s theology is the correct theology or not is another matter completely.

A quick warning. If you have not read the book and plan to, I may give some things away. I don’t really think that’ll ruin the book for you as it’s not really a mystery novel or anything, but if you would rather read it first then wait on reading this. I will not even try to be sensitive to not ‘ruining the book.’

Okay, enough talking about reviewing the book… review it already!

Book Summary: If you have already read the book you can kind of skim this…

The book begins with a guy who receives a letter in the mail that proposes meeting him at The Shack if he wants to talk, signing it Papa (his wife’s favorite name for God). This invokes an angry response from ‘Mack’ and we begin to go into his past story to see why. He went on a camping trip with his kids (his wife couldn’t go for some reason – work maybe) in the wilderness of Oregon. While he is saving one of his kids from drowning in a canoeing accident, a serial killer kidnaps his 6-year-old daughter and after an extended chase and investigation, they find evidence of her murder in a little shack deep in the woods. They never find the killer and they never find the body but her bloody dress the police find in the shack leaves little doubt that she was dead. This horrific event causes what he calls ‘The Great Sadness’ to descend upon him from which he cannot seem to recover. He blames himself, is angry with God (though he masks it, sort of), and has a hard time communicating effectively with his wife and kids. On a weekend at home alone he receives this note supposedly from ‘Papa’ and there we are, all caught up.

Against, perhaps, his better judgment, he decides to go. If it’s the killer, he’s bringing a gun, if it’s God then he can voice his complaints and have at it. So he drives up to the shack at there he meets God and the real story begins.

But God is not what he expects! Instead of an ‘old white guy with a beard like Gandalf’s’, he finds a big black woman with ‘a questionable sense of humor’. For most the rest of the book he gets to know God. The father is the first person (the big black woman). The Son is a laid back Jewish Carpenter. The Holy Spirit is a small Asian woman who is really hard to see clearly. Ultimately, he gets to see how much God loves everyone and the love that is within the Trinity. What they want from him is not religion or to follow any set of rules or any set of obligations but a relationship. God (the father) listens to Her ipod, not CCM or hymns, but various secular music by musicians past present and future, all of whom She (don’t panic over the pronouns please, at least not yet) loves particularly. She doesn’t get angry with Mack or point out how or why or if he’s wrong but basically just ‘hangs out’ with him without an agenda helping him get to know Her better. Mack hangs out with each of the persons of the trinity, gets to know them and Him (at the same time). They are all God, all one, what one knows they all know, where one is they all are, yet they have different personalities and roles. God doesn’t force anything on Mack because real love ‘doesn’t force itself’ but rather He brings Mack to the place where he can know Him better and ‘heal the wound’ in their relationship. After a while (I don’t have time or space to summarize everything), he goes into a cave for judgment. But the judgment is not God judging him but he gets the chance to judge God. After judging God to be wrong for not preventing his daughter’s death he is forced to judge the world and between his children. He is told to choose two of his children to spend eternity in the ‘new heavens and earth’ and three to spend an eternity in hell. Not able to do this, he begs to be able to suffer in their place. This is the right answer because it was God’s answer, He judged them all worthy of love and sent Jesus to die in their place. Mack begins to realize that he is unworthy of being judge. He learns that it is not institutions or the legalistic following of rules that God wants but love and relationship. Mack enters into a sort of loving and intimate relationship with God, which grows throughout the book. At the end of his time with God in the shack, he is given the choice of going home and back into the world and spending eternity with God like he has been experiencing. Although difficult, he does the ‘right’ thing and goes back into the world for the sake of others (though still remaining in intimate relationship with God). The story end by his getting into a car wreck on the way back, almost dying, slowly recovering and he begins to patch up his earthly relationships and grow in his relationship with God.

Reviewing Various Aspects of the Book

View of God

One of the aspects most difficult for some to get over is viewing God as a big black woman. Criticizing the book on this grounds is not justified, methinks. Young is not saying that God is a woman but clearly affirms that God is neither male nor female, which is completely a correct and orthodox point (the Father actually appears as a man late in the book when Mack needs more of a ‘Father figure’). Nor does he anywhere call God, mother or depart from the idea of God as father. God appears as a ‘big black woman’ for two primary reasons: 1) Because Mack’s bad relationship with his father made it too difficult for him to be able to view God as a male and 2) Because Mack’s preconceived view of God was a old white man with a Gandalf beard. God manifests himself in a way that breaks his stereotypical view of God (rather than reinforcing it). Although some may have a problem with this, I do not. I think it is not only appropriate but also helpful. God is not male (or female). Both male and female are created in God’s image and in some aspect both genders represent something of who He is, the male no more or less than the female. Unfortunately there is one place where it sounds as if the female is closer to representing who God is and the male. Women (typically according to Young) find fulfillment in relationship and men in accomplishment. These both have their problems, the woman because she seeks it in men instead of God. This was stupid, wrong, and really hurt the former point he was trying to make. Men and women are different and reflect God differently. Its not a matter of one being a better or worse representation of who God is. Both were created differently for a purpose and both mess up differently. Oh well. This wasn’t a major point in the book; just a side issue that really ticks me off, so I’ll forgive it. See how wonderfully kind, gracious, and forgiving I am?

Trinity

Another very interesting aspect of the book was its representation of the Trinity and, though less prominent still present, the complications surrounding the incarnation: Jesus’ human and divine natures. Young assumes certain issues about the Trinity (economic trinity not hierarchical, mutual submission between the members of the godhead etc…), but on the whole does a very good job. It’s not perfect, of course no explanation or picture of the trinity will be, but he does a very good job representing the threeness of God and the oneness of God (more emphasis on the former, however, rather than the latter). As for the submission aspect, he has an agenda here, which I do not think I agree with, all, of course, based upon his understanding of relationship. I’m not going to go into length about any nitpicky stuff regarding his portrayal of the Trinity. Overall I think he did a very good job with it and the imperfections are more related to the genre (Fiction) than to any heresy or unorthodox theology.

The Father

As far as his view of the Father, I think he did a good job overall once again. The issue he is most trying to correct, methinks, is the view that the Father is the unloving, harsh, and ‘mean’ person of the Trinity. He rightly shows that the Father loves His children and that sending Jesus to the cross was a difficult (can I use that word?) thing for him as well. It was very helpful to see him portray what God loving people looked like. ‘Papa’ takes a very special interest in all of ‘Her’ children. She wants a relationship with them and desires good for them. It’s very easy to think of God’s love as a cold love thought of only in distant theological demonstrations, the decision to elect, the sending of Jesus, and the provision of forgiveness and eternal life. These are all good and indispensable. But thinking of God as loving in the way humans are expected to love, laughing with us, rejoicing with us, crying with us, taking interest in us, caring for our smallest concerns, knowing us intimately, helps to bring home what God’s love means in our daily life in ways that we can more readily understand. This was very helpful for me and corrective to some of my ‘cold theology.’

Jesus

His view of Jesus was both good and bad. Young does a good job, I think, of capturing the human and divine natures of Jesus without division, separation, etc…. He has good and solid explanations of Jesus’ miracles; they are done through the power of the Holy Spirit as a human being, not by his own power. Jesus is very Jewish and very human, which is good, but very cool, laid back, and relaxed, which is far far far too simplistic. The visions of Jesus post-resurrection are so far removed from Mack’s vision of Jesus that He is scarcely recognizable. Jesus’ glorification is not present. Paul and John’s experiences left them blind or almost dead. Mack’s Jesus is a ‘hey what’s up man, how ya doin, lets go walk on some water for fun, happy-go-lucky-drug-free-hippy kind-of-guy.’ The only thing about this Jesus that corresponds to the Jesus of the NT is that he’s Jewish! I can’t imagine that this Jesus would have ever called the Pharisees vipers or cleansed the temple with a whip. We shouldn’t be out of balance by thinking of Jesus as a harsh whip bearing man who insults everybody, but Young’s Jesus is grossly out of balance. I do not think that Young’s vision of Jesus has nearly as much correspondence to the Jesus presented in the New Testament as a picture of what Young thinks the ideal man would look like. The guy he comes up with is a very good man, but not Jesus.

The Holy Spirit

Young’s Holy Spirit is, put simply, weird. I’m not sure where most of this comes from. It is mostly neither good nor bad, affirmed or denied by Scripture. The Bible tells us very little about the Holy Spirit. But there is one very important aspect of the Holy Spirit that he misses. Sarayu (his name for the Holy Spirit in the book) does not draw attention and focus to Jesus at all, which is, methinks, the Holy Spirit’s primary role in the NT. I never saw this in The Shack and I was looking. Maybe I missed it?

Freewill

Young is obviously more Arminian (in the popular sense of the word) in his theology than I am. That’s okay; I can deal with that. I do not believe or act as if I am the sole judge of truth. I may be wrong, he may be wrong, we both may be wrong. I won’t attack these kinds of theological differences. All wrong theology has problems and will result in an improper view of God and improper praxis, so it is important, but I'm not going to get on a Calvinistic soap box and go after his 'Arminianism'. But I will take issue with some larger problems here. He uses freewill to solve all of the major problems in theodicy and it just doesn’t work. He ignores completely the problem of hell (he mentions hell but never explains or incorporates it). Ultimately God allows people to do sin even though it hurts them and God because he loves them and love does not force anyone to do anything. I’m sorry but this is very insufficient. I’m not saying that free will cannot help answer some of these questions but its much more complicated than that, whatever your theology. My parents made me go to school, did not allow me to eat small plastic objects, made me eat my vegetables, did not allow me to stay up all night, made me go to bed, and refused to allow me to do certain harmful activities because they loved me. Answer me this question, does God send people to hell forever because he loves them or are there other motivating factors? I want to make it clear that I am not questioning his theology, I'll do that elsewhere, just pointing out the deficiency of his answers. God’s love cannot be used to explain every action and aspect of God. God does get angry. God is just. God hates sin. I have found people, and I can be this way at times, who focus too much on God’s justice, hatred of sin, anger, and jealousy without a proper understanding of his grace, mercy, patience, and love. These are not to be understood as being in contradiction, or even in tension, but they must all be understood and realized. I don’t think Young does as good a job with theodicy as his fans think he does. Ultimately he falls far short, just like the rest of us do. That’s okay, but the book doesn’t leave us with the impression that this question hasn’t been answered. It acts like it has answered this question perfectly and completely. Maybe I’m inferring something here, but either way, he doesn’t even nick the surface of theodicy. His answers are insufficient. I can't imagine a godhating atheist being convinced by them.

Universalism/Salvation

There have been some people who have accused Young of universalism. This is unfair. He does not affirm universalism or the idea that all ways lead to God. Quite the opposite is, in fact, true. God calls people out of all religion, including Christianity (more on that later) into relationship with him. To paraphrase Young’s Jesus: ‘Not all roads lead to me but I will go on all roads to find you.” Young is not a universalist (as far as I can tell) he just doesn’t deal with the issue of unsaved people. That’s okay, he can’t deal with everything, but he can’t pretend that he has solved the theodicy problem without dealing with it. As for what he would say about unsaved people, I would guess that he would very much like what C. S. Lewis wrote: “the gates of hell are locked from the inside.” I think I agree with that. Are they locked from the outside too? Hmmmm….

Religion/Relationship

Well Surls, if you are reading this, here we go again. Back to the ‘Christianity is not a religion it’s a relationship cliché’! Young takes this statement and runs with it. Good grief! This is where I think he has his primary problem and why he is out of balance on so many other areas. This is also where he is most valuable and helpful in so many ways.

It is helpful because he does such an incredible and awesome job of showing what this means and what it looks (or maybe will/should look) like. Most of us would agree in theory that God has a sense of humor but never think of Him laughing with us. Most of us would agree that God knows and cares about us intimately but don’t imagine that He would take interest in our music, writing, or even personality. WOW! Young does such a good job with that! It was so good and helpful and corrective to think of God that way. But I think I can peg his main problem from which all of his other problems rise. The idea of God wanting a relationship and not religion is the very center of his theology. Almost everything in the book is based on that statement. There is suffering in the world because God wants a relationship. The corrective to every wrong view of God is to understand that God wants a relationship not religion. But he misses some very important aspects of Christianity because of his unbalanced focus and, perhaps, wrong definition of what a relationship is. Young’s God wants relationship and a relationship does not have any obligations or agendas. But God does have an agenda: He is in the process of conforming us into the image of His son, is He not? And God does have obligations: reject the world and its system, turn from your sin and all your other hopes for salvation and embrace Jesus as your hope of salvation. God and Jesus also give commands in the Bible, NT included. God does love people and want a relationship with them, no problems there, but seeing Christianity as merely a relationship will create more problems than it fixes. I’m not saying that it is wrong to use this phrase but care should be taken when we use it. We have to be sure we know that people know what we mean when we say it. If it communicates: “God is not looking for people to follow a set of rules and legalisms but for people to follow Jesus and turn from their sin,” then its good, If, however, it communicates: “God is not looking for people to follow a list of rules, to live a certain way, to believe anything in particular, or to give up anything, just people who are good people who love whatever their idea of God is,” then it is indeed a very very scary and dangerous statement. Unfortunately, I think most people hear the latter concept, not the former. People who have grown up in legalistic churches and backgrounds, or have just grown up in orthodox Christianity will understand it the first way, but the less educated and those growing up in a postchristian culture will not. Unfortunately, whether he intends it or not (and I would guess he doesn’t), I think Young will be read by many as advocating the latter option.

Man Before God

I was originally intending that this would be a long section but I’m getting tired so it’ll be short. Young presents a confrontation between God and man and it seems more than relevant to compare this confrontation with other God-human confrontations found in the Bible and compare them. At first glance, they seem nothing alike. We read about Paul’s confrontation with Jesus on the road to Damascus, John’s vision of Christ in Revelation, Isaiah’s vision of God and His throne, Moses’ dealings with God on Sinai and in the Wilderness, and Ezekiel’s vision of the throne, and there seems very very little to find that corresponds. But the most relevant comparison would not be any of these but God’s meeting with Job. Both are presented with horrific tragedy, both feel that God is unfair, and both meet God face to face. I’ll just make two points of comparison here and then move on to the conclusion.
The more obvious point is the way God is presented and the response this produces in Job. God is awesome, awful, and fearful and Job shuts up. When Job sees God face to face he is not able to voice his complaints. He has nothing to say but ‘I repent’ and ‘I’m putting my hand over my mouth’. God asks Job ‘who are you puny man’, he doesn’t plant a garden with him or cook him dinner. In this there is a very great and important difference. When man is confronted with the Almighty God he shuts up. Mack didn’t.

The less obvious point is where Young is good. In neither Job nor The Shack does God really explain Himself. In The Shack, Mack learns a lot about God but does not learn why Missy had to die. Mack’s answer is not found in God explaining Himself but itn seeing and knowing God. This is exactly the answer that Job receives. God does not explain Himself in Job. Throughout the whole book Job asks myriads of questions. How many does God answer? None. Not a single cotton picking one. God does not need nor is He obligated to answer man’s questions. But God did answer Job in Himself. When Job saw God he saw something of who he was before God and could do or say nothing. He affirms that he spoke without knowledge, things that he didn’t understand. That, ultimately is what Mack’s answer is: ‘These are things you can’t understand, instead of being angry, know me better and trust me.’

Towards Something of a Conclusion

Well this is really long and it’s really late (or early, depending upon your perspective) so this needs to be wrapped up. I am very glad to have read The Shack. It helped me think more deeply about what it means that God loves me and wants to be in relationship with me. It helped give me a better idea of what God is (perhaps) like in relationship with Himself. Most importantly it made me think about God and yearn to know Him better. For that I am grateful and appreciative.

I am also grateful for an enjoyable read. If more books in the Christian Fiction genre were this thought provoking and well written I would, perhaps, hang out there more often. Let’s hope this starts a trend of more theologically aware and mentally stimulating writing in a mostly barren desert of shallow theology and literary swill.

But I cannot recommend this book to everyone. I wish I could. I can and will recommend it to some people who are educated and/or discerning enough to be able to glean value without swallowing the whole thing, but I couldn’t stand up in the pulpit and tell people to read it.

Some people will be irked at me for this review. They’ll tell me that I have to remember the genre, it’s fictional, it’s an allegory. You can’t read it like a theological treatise. True. But I can’t help but ask what effect this will have on people’s view of God. Will it help them better understand their trials and sufferings? Will it help them better understand God? Will it help them better understand who He is, what He’s like and what He demands (and that is the right word, demands)? Overall I think for the average pew-sitter it will move them further away from understanding the God of the Bible. This is unfortunate because there are some very good things in this book that could really help people think about God in ways that they haven’t before but should. It could really help people understand what it means that God loves them and wants a relationship with them. It might even be able to help them understand things like the Trinity better. But at what cost? For the mature and stable Christian, this is a good read if read wisely. For the pastor or theologian it is, perhaps, an essential read given the popularity and influence this book will likely command. But there are far too many people out there who do not seem to be able to think critically when it comes to their faith and spirituality. These people are not only the people who are most likely to be harmed by reading it, but probably the most likely to like it. The people who are able to derive the most benefit from it, more academic-unemotional-serious-logical types will probably not like it or read it, and they probably should. But if you want to find something suitable for everyone to read, give them Job. It does a better job (hehehe). You may, somewhat fairly, object that it is harder for most people to follow. Write a good paraphrase then! Do a Bible Study, write a book, preach a sermon… I don’t know, do something! You figure it out.

I would very much like to hear your feedback on the Shack and my review. Let’s dialogue. I would really like to hear Nate and Austin’s opinion, especially in light of Austin’s previous blog about the term ‘religion’. This book does, regardless of whatever else it does, make you think and makes for great theological dialogue.

Apology of Hell, Chapter 1

What follows is the beginning of my attempts at an apology of hell in the format of a story. I need feedback, positive and/or negative. If it is good, if you like it, tell me. I need to know if I have anything going here. I also want to be able to improve it, so I also need constructive criticism. Honesty is virtuous.... I don't think I'm an overly sensitive/fragile person, though I am a little nervous posting this!

Also feel free to interact with the ideas behind the story. Obviously this is not meant to be a mere bedtime story.

Nate and Crista,
I think I showed this to you before. The beginning is much changed but the bulk of the middle and end is the same. I value your opinions and would like to hear them again, even if already expressed, whenever you have the time.

Everyone else,
I will take your advice and critiques seriously. Your suggestions will probably lead to edits and changes. Think of this as a rough draft. More will come as I write it.



Remembering...

Dying is a blur. I remember the fading but little else. But as to the details of living, my memory is much stronger in death than ever it was in life. Every forgotten, murky, and trivial strand is now remembered as vitally important, clear and distinct, and finally irreversible. In the last days of my life I had difficulty remembering much I had forgotten. Now I am trying hard to forget everything but I am unable to forget even the smallest detail of my existence.

What follows is my past, present and future. There is nothing coming to change my existence. My past created my present and determined my future. My story is not intended to frighten you, though it may. I describe my life now to reflect upon that which I cannot change. I wanted to argue my case. You can judge whether I have one.

The fruit of the eyes

Awake again, I found myself in a small room, empty and devoid of furniture, color, doors, or windows. I was naked, but was neither hot nor cold, I could not even tell if there was a temperature in the room, but I was both sweating and shivering. I was afraid of the emptiness and of being alone but was terrified when I saw a creature appear in front of me. It, like me, was naked. It seemed human but had no organs from which one could distinguish its sex. Its face was without a hint of an expression. Throughout all of our talks it never smiled and it never frowned. It spoke to me in a voice unlike anything that I had heard. It was clear and distinct and I do not think one could have ever misunderstood any word it spoke, but to describe it further is impossible. This expressionless, sexless, and descriptionless being studied me briefly without speaking and then introduced itself.

“I am Immer-Messe. I am here to explain and enlighten. Do you know where you are or why you are here?”

He asked, but I think he knew I was ignorant of either answer. When I had managed a weak ‘no’ he went on.

“You are here to reap what you produced in life. Here you will eat what you have fed to others and wear what you have given to others. Whatever god you have chosen to worship for will repay you for your service, if it is able.”

“You will now reap the fruit of your adultery,” it continued after a pause for a reply that I did not have ready.

It was wrong. I argued his claim, “I never cheated on my wife. There has been some mistake.”

“You dispute that you are a cheater?”

“Yes I do.” I replied confidently and indignantly.

“You never desired other women?” He asked peering deeply into my eyes, “Never undressed a woman in your mind? Never looked at images of women other than your wife? What you do with your mind, even if never acted upon, still bears fruit here.”

This creature was infuriating and intrusive but I was compelled to answer and found myself unable to lie,. “Uh…” the words were stuck in my mouth, “I might of done so on occasionally. No more than anyone else. But that didn’t harm anyone. My wife didn’t mind much. She never really lacked my love. I was good to her. I was faithful to her. How can you accuse me of adultery by charging me with a victimless crime?”

“Victimless? We will allow you to judge whether it is victimless. You will see and you will judge. Here now, is the harvest of your adultery!”

He and the room slowly faded. I found myself in an old bedroom. I was standing in front of the mirror but the image looking back at me was not my own, but that of my first wife. Judging from her face this was a late in our marriage which had begun to strain. As I (?) looked in the mirror I felt fat and bloated. I began to feel ugly and unwanted. Tears began to flow steadily down my face leaving my eyes red and blotchy and I felt even more ugly. I then turned around and sat down at the computer in our bedroom. On the screen was a picture of a twenty-two year old model with the perfect body. As I looked at her I compared her assets with those of the image in the mirror. The comparison again made me feel ugly and worthless. I felt ashamed of my body and of myself. Who could ever love anyone so unattractive? On the desk was a wedding picture. My hand (or my ex-wife’s hand) took it and smashed it against the wall. My shame turned to hatred, my hatred turned to back to tears. I made another trip to the mirror but the image was too disgusting to endure. I walked into the bathroom and found the scale. 138. Somehow I knew this meant I had gained another pound. The feelings of frustration and despair were overwhelming. I went to the toilet and knelt down in front of it. I began to make myself throw up….

Slowly, although I cannot tell how or when, the scene faded. I was no longer in my wife’s body, but the emotions I had been suffering remained. I was back in the same small room. It had changed however since I had left it. On one side of the room was a great table, with no end of my favorite meals. The wall opposite the table was one giant mirror. Against the third wall was a toilet and nothing else. On the last wall was a computer. At the desk sat my ex-wife, and on the screen was the ideal male body in a double bicep pose.

As time progressed, I felt more and more hungry and I helped myself to the fried chicken. The chicken tasted exactly as I remembered it but as I ate, I could feel my body expand and the feelings I had while I had been in my ex-wife’s body returned. The desire to be attractive to my ex overwhelmed me as the hunger had earlier. I turned from the chicken to the mirror to the man on the screen. I felt disgusting. I shouldn’t have eaten the chicken. I crawled to the toilet as if by habit. Throwing up was miserable. As I threw up I felt my body begin to shrink back to its original size, but I couldn’t get the taste of my own vomit out of my mouth and I felt disgusting. I looked at my ex again, hoping that she would take notice of me. She didn’t. She continued to stare at the man on the screen. I looked back at my reflection. I was still disgusting. Now the feelings of despair and hopelessness returned. I collapsed in the middle of the room and was overwhelmed by tears of sadness, anger, and frustration. They were interrupted by an intense hunger and desire to eat….

I cannot remember how many times this cycle repeated itself nor can I remember how or when it finally ended. Whether the shift was gradual or sudden, I cannot say. All I know is that eventually one scene faded or ended and another scene began.

I was in the center of the same small room. Instead of a mirror for one wall, the walls, ceiling, and floor reflected my own image. The image that I saw was much improved from the last scene. I was young (twenty-one or two) and in perfect shape (better than I’d ever been in my life). In the previous scene, the only attention I got from my wife was a glance of disgust. Now I was surrounded by women and I was the obvious center of attention. For the first time of my stay in hell, I felt good.

The women, however, never approached me or talked to me. At first I could not catch what they were saying, but I began to catch comments occasionally. They were making lewd and vulgar comments about my body. When I realized what they saying, I was embarrassed but slightly pleased at the attention and rather proud that my body could attract such attention. I waited, hoping that finally one of them would come and talk to me, but my patience bore no fruit. At last, rather frustrated and overcome by loneliness, I began to call out to them, hoping, longing to have an actual conversation, but none of them responded. As my loneliness grew stronger, so did my frustration. I began screaming and shouting. I finally realized that not only did they care nothing about me, but that as far as they were concerned I didn’t exist. My body was just an image for their pleasure. The real me; my character, my thoughts, feelings and well-being, meant nothing to them. I was a picture, nothing more.

Slowly, I became aware of a disturbing sensation. My body was changing. As I watched in the ever-present mirrors, I began to age. My face, which had been perfectly smooth, began to wrinkle. My muscle tone lost its definition. My waistline began to expand. For the first time, I noticed that there were other men in the room. I don’t know if they were there before or not, but there they were. They were as young and fit as I had been earlier. The women became bored with me and the crowd around me dwindled as they spread out to the other men. I was filled with despair and as my body continued to deteriorate, so did my self-worth. I tried everything I could think of to catch the attention of the women in the room but nothing worked. I was powerless. No one paid me the least bit of attention. I was worthless. All I wanted was someone to talk to, someone to complement me, someone to care about me. But of course, they didn’t, I was nothing. To them, not only did I not now exist, but I never had.

Again the scene faded, and I found the room as it had been at first, empty and without door or detail. In front me appeared that same strange creature with whom I had previously conversed.

“You have just begun to taste the feast you have made for yourself,” he looked at me directly in the eyes but I could not return his gaze and looked away. “Now you know the after taste of lust. You have yet to complete your punishment, and you never will, but it is sufficient for now. For now it is finished. Was your punishment unjust? Are the accusations false? There must be no questions of justice.”

I tried to answer it but I could not. I wanted to protest and argue that I did not intend to hurt anyone, but the words would not come out. I wanted to lie and deny that I had ever been guilty of his accusations, but I could not. I knew that penalty had been fair and no words could leave my lips.

“Do you accept the justice of your punishment?”

My head had already drooped in shame and I could not look at the creature. After a brief pause I could do naught but nod and hang my head in shame.