I’m not certain where you stand with Jesus Christ, and that concerns me. I read the things you write and I hear you say things about God, but then you say things about dying and coming back to earth as a squirrel? Uh, what?
That is paganism, sir, and mistaken beliefs like that tell me that we probably aren't going to spend eternity together. I know where I’m going, do you?
If you’ve got questions, I want you to know I have the answers that your heart is searching for.
I HOPE SEAN OF THE SOUTH REPENTS
DEAR I HOPE:
This comes as no surprise to me. I’ve always suspected I’d be going to hell.
The first time I realized this, I was working part-time in a Southern Baptist church—long ago.
I spent my days doing construction. On Sundays, I helped lead singing at church.
One Sunday, I brought three of my Mexican coworkers to service. Let’s call them Shadrach, Meshach, and Vincente Fernández.
The boys wore tattered jeans and paint-splattered T-shirts. They sat front row, watching me sing.
After service, the pastor asked
me not to let those boys sit up front again—he thought their appearance was disrupting.
I never sang in that church again.
I’ve got missionary friends, too. My missionary compadres spent three years on a Native American reservation. My friend was there to help a poverty-stricken, heathen tribe.
He was a seminary grad, with answers—all twenty-nine years of accumulated wisdom.
His first weeks, the elders of the tribe showered him and his wife with gifts.
The women brought hot breakfasts, homemade casseroles, fresh vegetables. They brought handmade jewelry, blankets, clothing.
My friend asked the elders why they were being so gracious.
The elders said, “Because we want you to know we love you, even though you tell us we are going to hell.”
I know a man named Jim. He’s almost eighty-three today. He’s…