The small church is full and the preacher is screaming at the top of his lungs. Many in the congregation are crying. The boy hears the preacher telling him he is bad, and that God is going to get him if he doesn’t believe in Jesus. The preacher invites all who are not saved to come forward and accept Jesus.
The choir begins to sing and the preacher’s invitation blends with the music as people begin to move forward. The boy wants to go with them because he wants God to love him. He feels guilty and dirty and suddenly finds himself standing in front of the preacher. The preacher asks the boy if he really accepts Jesus as his Lord and Savior. The boy says yes, and weeps. After the service he is congratulated by people in the church and feels proud to be saved.
A few weeks later the boy is wearing a white robe and prepares to enter a tank of water. The preacher is in the tank speaking to the congregation and motions for the boy to enter the water. The preacher whispers in the boy’s ear, “hold your breath when you go under…I don’t want you to be strangled.”
The preacher plunges the boy into the watery grave and raises him shortly thereafter. The boy feels afraid, guilty, embarrassed and confused. He wonders if God has really accepted him. He is not sure. Why would God care about him? The boy is only sure of two things: He does not want to go to hell, and Jesus can keep him from going. Fifty-five years ago, I was that boy. I really did not believe I deserved to go to hell, but I was convinced God was going to put me there as punishment – for something.
What happened to me that Sunday long ago has been repeated countless times in the lives of others. I don’t think I really understood what I was doing on that long ago summer day. I do know I was afraid of going to hell and Jesus was the insurance policy against it.
Twenty-five years later I made the same decision again – in the same little church. It was like returning to the scene of the crime, but the second time I knew what I was doing. By then, I had learned I really deserved to go to hell and I desperately needed Jesus.
The second time around the old religious words of fear had been transformed into words of love and life.
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