The journey of faith isn’t about escaping hell; it is about embracing heaven

“I can’t believe we’ve been friends this long, and I haven’t shared my testimony with you.”

“What?” His statement came out of nowhere. We were having coffee at our favorite shop. We often met here to hang out, talk about our kids, our life, and all manner of things. At the time, he was one of my closest friends.

“My testimony,” he said again matter-of-factly. “You know, the story of how I got saved.”

“Oh. Cool. I’d love to hear that story. Fire away”

Instead, he pulled out his calendar to schedule a time. It all felt calculated and strange, but we agreed on a time the following week.

He and I experience and express our faith very differently from one another. I knew what he was talking about when he made his initial statement. I’ve heard lots of testimonies. But a testimony isn’t a scripted or calculated story you tell. It is a life you live together. In my mind, our entire friendship had been a sharing of our testimonies. 

As it turns out, the previous Sunday, his pastor challenged everyone in their congregation to share their testimony with at least one of their “unsaved” friends. I guess I was that friend.

Testimony day arrived. Our conversation started normally enough, but then he pulled out his notes. He had outlined his story so as not to miss a point. He asked for permission to begin.

“Go ahead,” I said as I mentally strapped myself in for what I knew would be a wild ride. He described himself as  a “wretch” and as “depraved.” He told me about all the terrible, no good, rotten, sinful things he’d ever done. He told me he was wicked and wretched from the very moment he was born. He told me about the times in college when he smoked cigarettes and drank too much. He told me about the lusty thoughts he often had and how he and his wife almost went too far and ruined their purity before they were married. In the end, he was a weeping mess. He sobbed in our corner of the coffee shop as I listened for almost an hour. He moved from his story to a bloody depiction of Jesus’ death and asked me to imagine an even worse consequence as what I deserve. Finally, he said, “I know I deserve to go to hell. That’s why I’m so glad I prayed to accept Jesus. Now I get to go to heaven when I die. Would you like to pray the sinner’s prayer with me and receive God’s love?”

I paused momentarily and said, “Thanks for sharing all of that. I appreciate your trusting me enough as your friend to be so vulnerable. Can I ask you a question?”

He reluctantly agreed.

“Do you think that I am unsaved?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he replied.

He knew I was a pastor. He and his family had worshiped at our church on occasion. We had prayed with and for one another several times.

“Have you ever prayed the sinner’s prayer?” He asked.

“No.”

“Then how do you know? How do you know if today is your last day on earth that tonight you will be in heaven with Jesus? I know you believe in God. I know you are a pastor. But have you ever admitted your wretchedness and depravity?”

“No,” I replied. “Honestly, I NEVER use those words in any thought or conversation about myself or anyone else.”

“Then you aren’t saved.”

“In our time as friends, is that how you’ve looked at me? As your wretched and depraved friend who needs to be saved? Is that why we hang out”

“No. You are a good guy. I like hanging out with you.”

“Cool. You are a good guy too. Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure,” he said again. This time cautiously.

“When was the last time you looked at your kids and thought, ‘They are so wretched and depraved! If they don’t get their crud together and apologize to their mother and me and beg for our forgiveness, we will put them out on the streets and abandon them?”

“I would never think that. We would never do that. That’s ridiculous.”

“Are you saying you know how to love your kids better than God knows how to love you?”

He paused and then raised his voice. “Of course not! God’s love is perfect!” He was agitated with me now. This did not go the way he envisioned it. 

“It sounds like the God you want me to pray to (in the way and for the reason you want me to pray) is far less loving than you are. It sounds like you know how to practice grace and forgiveness with your kids better than God does with God’s.”

We talked for a while longer. He left frustrated and maybe even a little bit mad. Our friendship was never quite the same. I found out later his pastor told him he should keep his distance from me since I am clearly a false teacher. 

Maybe I pushed back too hard. It cost me a friendship—that part I regret. But something breaks inside me when people make God, who I know to be loving and good, into someone I don’t even recognize. I don’t think God is full of wrath and vengeance and eager to condemn. I don’t think God wants us to beg and plead for forgiveness. I don’t think God sees us as wretched and depraved. It seems God has gone to great lengths to convince us of quite the opposite. It appears God sees us as loved and beloved. God continually reminds me of and reorients me (and everyone) to my true identity. I am LOVED. Period. I am a child of God, made in the image of God. God is love. Love is my DNA. I have the same sin problem everyone else has, but God’s grace has forever covered any wretchedness and depravity that tries to overtake my true self. I am whole and healed and healing. The journey of faith isn’t about escaping hell; it is about embracing heaven.