A profound piece by Andy May
The fire had burned down to coals, and every now and then a little flame would reach up through the wood and disappear again.
Above us, the stars seemed almost too numerous to count. We sat there quietly for a while.
Finally, he said, “I just don’t understand your view.”
I smiled. “Which part?”
“The part where you think everybody eventually comes to God. What about the people who reject Him? What about the people who don’t want Him?”
I poked at the fire with a stick. “I’ve wondered about that too.”
He looked at me. “You don’t sound very certain.”
“I’m certain about God. I’m less certain about all the things we’ve been told we have to believe about Him.”
That got a laugh. “Okay, so tell me what you mean.”
I looked up at the stars. “Let me ask you something. Suppose you really knew God as He actually is. Not the caricature we’ve sometimes created. Not an angry deity waiting to catch you making a mistake. But perfect goodness. Perfect love. No deception. No manipulation. No fear. Nothing hidden.”
“Okay.”
“Would you really choose to be burned alive forever rather than receive that love?” He thought about it. “No.”
“Me neither.”
“But some people would.”
“Maybe. But that’s where I have a question. What part of them wants that?” He frowned. “I mean it literally. What part of a human being looks at perfect Love and says, ‘I would rather experience unimaginable suffering forever’?”
He didn’t answer.
I continued. “Maybe you say, ‘Their free will.’ Fine. I understand that a person can resist love. I do it myself sometimes. We all do. But free will explains the ability to resist. It doesn’t explain why someone would remain eternally resistant to goodness itself.”
He stared into the fire. “So you think people don’t have free will?”
“No. I’m saying free will isn’t an explanation for everything. And certainly not for an eternal, irreversible hatred of God.”
“Maybe they hate God.”
“I can understand somebody hating God right now. People have been hurt. People have been deceived. People have been angry. People have experienced terrible things and blamed God. I understand that.” I threw another piece of wood onto the fire. “But forever? That’s a long time.”
He looked at me. “Exactly.”
The flames rose for a moment. “Think about it. We’re not talking about ten years. Or a hundred. Or a million. We’re talking about an existence in which the person never becomes different, never sees differently, never learns, never heals, never comes to understand, never encounters anything capable of breaking through the resistance.”
“And God respects their choice.”
“That’s another phrase I’ve heard.”
“You don’t buy it?”
“I believe God respects human beings. I don’t believe God’s respect for a damaged choice requires Him to abandon the person forever.”
He nodded slowly.
“Besides, if someone is drowning because they refuse to take your hand, do you say, ‘Well, I respect your decision,’ and walk away?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why would perfect Love be less persistent than we are?”
That one sat between us for a while. The night was quiet except for the fire.
Finally he said, “But what about judgment?”
“Judgment is real.”
“You believe that?”
“Absolutely. I just don’t assume that judgment means God has stopped loving the person being judged. Sometimes love judges precisely because love refuses to leave us as we are.”
“So the fire isn’t the end?”
“Maybe the fire is part of the healing.”
He smiled. “That’s pretty convenient.”
“Maybe. But consider something.” I leaned forward. “Scripture says God is love. Not that God occasionally behaves lovingly. It says God is love. Then it says love never fails.”
I let that hang for a moment. “So I have to ask myself: If God’s love ultimately fails to reach the creature He made, what exactly does ‘love never fails’ mean?”
He looked back at the stars. “And what about the verses that say God wants everyone saved?”
“That’s my point. Paul says God has shut everyone up in unbelief that He might have mercy upon all. Not some. All. And then Paul ends that whole section in wonder. ‘For of Him, and through Him, and to Him, are all things.’ The fire cracked. ‘To whom be glory for ever.’”
He was quiet.
“So you think everyone gets saved because God forces them?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“I don’t know every detail.”
He laughed. “That’s honest.”
“I think honesty is important here. I don’t need to pretend I’ve got the mechanics of eternity mapped out.” I looked around at the darkness beyond the fire. “I just trust the character of the One who holds it.”
“And you think that’s enough?”
“For me, yes.”
“Even when you don’t understand?”
“Especially then.”
We sat quietly. After a while he said, “But what if you’re wrong?”
I smiled. “Then I’ve spent my life believing that Love is more powerful than hatred, that mercy is bigger than my sin, that Christ actually accomplished something rather than merely making salvation possible, and that God will ultimately accomplish what He intends. I can live with that.”
He laughed. “You really don’t have an answer for everything, do you?”
“Nope.”
“That’s unusual for a theologian.”
“I’ve never claimed to be one.” We both laughed.
Then I looked up again. “Besides, look at those stars.” He followed my eyes. “Imagine the God who made all of that.”
“Yeah.”
“The God who knows every person who has ever lived. Every wound. Every lie. Every fear. Every secret. Every reason someone ran from Him. Do you really think the final word over all those people is going to be, ‘You resisted Me, so I will preserve your resistance forever’?”
He didn’t answer.
I continued quietly. “Or could the final word be something much simpler? Love wins.”
The fire settled back down into glowing coals. Neither of us said anything for a long time. We just sat there beneath His stars.
And somehow, for the first time that night, neither of us seemed quite as interested in having all the answers.
– Andy May, shared here with his kind permission