The last time I spoke about God, I was really angry. How could a loving God watch as the one’s he apparently adored suffered? How could a loving God send those he loved and created to Hell?
Before now, I’ve been a pretty committed Christian. I’ve always asked questions, but with my mum’s death fast-approaching, and God seemingly being nowhere to be seen, these questions have became so much more important.
When I was 14, I met a preacher at a Christian conference. It was my first Christian conference and I was amazed! My friends and I were in the youth tent, where they had a live band who led the worship, there were wide games that involved hundreds of teenagers, and when the preachers spoke, I could totally relate to what they were talking about. There was a Q+A session on the Sunday morning, and it seemed that everyone had a question for the panel at the front. I was never chosen to ask my question, so persistent, I found the preacher after the session to ask her face to face. “Do non-christian’s go to Hell?” The answer seemed simple to me, “No, of course not! What kind of loving God would do that?” Instead the answer I got was, “Yes. Yes they do.” I was crushed; the preacher watched my face fall and asked, “Are your family Christian?” Is it only people from non-christian families that struggle with this question? “No. I’m the only one.” “Well then young lady, it’s your responsibility to make your parents Christians. God has placed you there to save them, and if you don’t, it will be your fault that they go to Hell.”
I walked out of the meeting tent heavy with the task I had been appointed to. I cried all through the afternoon concert. How was I, Naughty Rose, going to persuade my parents to become Christians?
God had done some incredible things during that conference. I had seen young people healed before me, and I had experienced the Holy Spirit (a story for another time); I knew that God was both powerful and loving. But now God had also become an enemy of sorts; I was fighting him to get my parents into Heaven.
Now I am older, and hopefully a little wiser, I don’t believe what I did then. I do not believe that my parent’s salvation depends upon myself. I am not convinced that God allows his creations to suffer in Hell for eternity.
But whilst my mum was ill, this all came back into question. It may not be my responsibility, but what if my behaviour, my character, the reasons and stories of why I believed in God, had the possibility of being the small things that tipped the balance? What if I held back, and she went to Hell? The words the preacher had spoken to me now hung over my life, made every day with my mum stressful and pressured as I tried to find the courage to share my faith with my mum.