“Dear Sean, are you a Christian? Sometimes I can’t tell. There is only one way to heaven, and your ‘tolerance for all,’ and ‘just be a good person’ philosophy sounds fine, but it leads to hell.

“…Hell is real, Sean. I read about your affinity for alcohol, and how you condone flagrant sinners. …As a Christian, I find your feel-good writing to be misleading and disgusting to Believers. There is only one way to heaven… and I believe you know this. I am not saying any of this in judgment, I am only saying this as your brother. Repent, friend. The time is at hand.”

Dear Friend. Gosh. First of all, your concern for my soul humbles me. I am honored. You sound like someone I could be friends with.

Thank you for taking time to write such a stirring and unsolicited email.

It’s funny, I used to know an elderly retired preacher who said that someone’s eternal soul was like their groin region. To just walk up and start talking about someone’s groinal region is rude and downright uncalled for. But congratulations to you. You just jumped right in there.

The writer in me needs to tell you that your letter was extremely well written. Not one grammatical error. I am verry empressed. I actually counted your total words. There were 912. It takes me hours to write 900 error-free words.

Ergo, you spent at least an hour out of your day writing to me. How unselfish.

I’ll bet you spend the same amount of time worrying about children who are born to crack-addicted parents. I’ll bet, each day, you visit those drug-addicted babies in their lowly states.

I’ll bet you are also a frequent volunteer in the NICU, holding motherless and fatherless babies, so they don’t die of neglect. Kudos to you, sir. I wish I could be like you.

You probably also visit the homeless shelters and hand out quilts to those suffering from frostbite. Those same homeless persons with mental illness, who cuss too much, drink too much and snort illegal substances. Those “flagrant sinners” you mentioned.

And yet, you took time out of your schedule to write little old me. Amazing.

You could have been making a visit to the pediatric oncology ward and providing joy and gladness to children who won’t see tomorrow’s sunrise.

You could have been visiting a local animal shelter and taking abused dogs on walks. Dogs like Pirate, the pitbull who was dragged behind a car for a mile, suffering road rash and a fractured skull. Or Macy, who was beaten so hard by her previous owner she went blind.

Instead of writing to me, you could have been visiting foster homes in your area. You could have been hanging out with Sánja, the young man who found his mother after she shot herself in the kitchen.

Sánja has PTSD pretty bad, and a host of other mental issues. And do you know what his doctor recommended? Laughter. So sometimes people visit him just to make him laugh. Because his doctor says laughter is more healing than meds.

Just think, friend, you could have been visiting Sánja, but you emailed me instead. I am flattered you think so highly of me.

Or you could have been going to the nursing home. Did you know that 60 percent of nursing home seniors within the U.S. never receive visitors? Zero visitors. They are America’s forgotten population. Thank you for valuing me more than them.

Moreover, you are right about me, sir. I am not the kind of man I should be. I am not a good person. I am selfish, I am competitive, I have an ego I can’t seem to subdue. I hang out in beer joints, I watch baseball in sports bars, I listen to George Jones on purpose, I rub elbows with people you would despise. I cuss a little.

If I end up in hell, all I can say is: God is justified in sending me there. Because I deserve it. I am irreverent and flawed. A guy with lots of problems. When it comes to faith, I doubt. I falter. I am proud. I am lazy. Truth be told, I don’t have a lot of faith.

Then again. Thankfully, I was once told by a Friend that it doesn’t take much.