Do you know where you’re going when you die?
Growing up a Christian, I’ve been asked that question in one form or another a few thousand times.That has been the go-to, can’t miss, literally “scare the hell out of them” question that much of conservative Christian evangelism is built on: what happens when you die and are you sure you know where you’ll spend eternity. It has always been and still is a heavily loaded question of course, taking for granted that there are souls, that an eternal destination beyond this planet exists, and that one can know for sure where they’re going. It’s also a brilliant question from a motivational standpoint, because it taps into both the fear or anxiety we all have about what is beyond this life, the inherent longings to know what happens after our last breath—and it claims to have the answers everyone would like to possess.
A few years ago, I was talking to a good friend about faith and doubt and about that cavernous gap between what we believe and what we know, between what we hope or suspect and what we’re certain is true. The subject of organized religion (more specifically, pastors) came up, and my friend said:
"Boy, it takes real balls to get up there every Sunday and preach at people as if you’re sure of this stuff!"
The idea that anyone would be so bold and arrogant and brazen as to stand before a group of their peers on a given day and dare to say, in essence, "What I am about to say? This is exactly what God is like, this is exactly what God says, and this is exactly how you should live and believe in light of what that God says", seemed to her to be the very epitome of "ballsy".
And even thought that was part of my job description for the much of the last two decades, I've come to agree with her.
I was raised in the Catholic Church, attending Sunday School and church services and prayer gatherings and youth rallies and Christian concerts. And as a minister in a local church for twenty-seven years, I've been to seminary, led and attended thousands of Bible studies, participated in hundreds of small group gatherings, and preached weekly for years. Continually during that time I've read Scripture, consulted Bible commentaries, devoured great theological books, attended scores of ministry conferences and mission trips, and spent literally thousands of hours in corporate worship, prayer, and quiet reflection.
And yet if I am completely honest, I have to admit that the sum total of these endeavors has proven incomplete, just as incomplete as someone who hasn’t done any of those things. None of them have yielded the kind of iron-clad, water-tight, knowing that most ministers and many religious people of every tradition claim without reservation.
Yes, these things have all given me a certain level of confidence at times but even in my best days it's never given me beyond a shadow of a doubt surety. And when I see the world, its suffering, its cruelty, and the way we struggle here, certainty is an impossibility.
And that's really all any of us can testify to with any authenticity, whether we claim or denounce religion, whether we lean into theology or academia: something less than absolutes.
At the end of all our studying and praying and accepting and rejecting and feeling and dismissing and meditating and wrestling; whether we're completely sold-out for Jesus or unapologetically Buddhist or devout practitioners of another faith tradition or fully defiant in disbelief of any Deity—none of us really knows. That can be a terrifying realization or it can unify us into a massive tribe of affinity.
After all our pursuits and positing, we're all really just Agnostics with suspicions. Our lack of certainty should be the single greatest unifying truth we have.We all live with this fundamental question What happens after we die?hovering in the periphery of our minds. Some of us claim to find absolute answers in our theology, others in Science. Most of us however in the deepest places in our hearts, in the quiet of our rooms at night live somewhere in between, with far more mystery than certainty.Where do you think you go when you die?
I’ve been telling you it’s an impossible question to answer—but it’s good to keep asking it, because our suspicions about how we got here and about what happens after this life, influence where we find our identity, the way we view death, how we spend our time, the connections we have to other people and to the planet.
Our ideas about mortality shape our morality.
We develop our rules about how we treat people from the worldview we have, from the laws we believe are in place.
But we don't get to know—none of us. Your childhood pastor doesn't know, your best friend doesn't, your college professor doesn't, your favorite author doesn't, the finger wagging preacher doesn't, your judgmental Facebook friend doesn't either. That is the nature of life on this side of the grave, where we all stand and speak from. While here, there remain gaps in all of our spiritual hypotheses, no matter how earnestly and carefully and prayerfully we craft them. And even though we have lenses that can now show us images of billions of galaxies, unthinkable spaces and times away, it still can’t see the beginning, and likely never will.
At the end, our choices of where we go after we die are Heaven, Hell, or the dirt—and we’re gonna have to make the best guess we can. We can have peace and we’ll probably be kinder people if we can admit that.
Surety is a nice idea, but it’s highly overrated. There’s a dangerous hubris involved in claiming any kind of moral authority or precise theological clarity other than “Here’s the best guess I can make based on the available information, though I very well may be wrong—I just don't know.
I think those few words can be some of the most humble, most honest, most sacred ones we ever say. When we admit that we have something less than certainty, we aren't shutting down anything, we aren't denying faith or morally failing or falling away, we aren’t ignoring science and data or tangible, measurable realities either. We are simply acknowledging that we don't have all the answers yet; that to quote the immortal bard, Bono, "we still haven't found what we're lookin' for."
I'm OK with not being certain about everything; even many things. People who are sure are much more likely to be arrogant or rigid or intolerant of dissent. They are far more likely to be insufferable jerks because they don't consider the possibility of the wrongness. I think those with the honesty to admit that they have limitations on their knowledge and that their faith is just their best, most well-intentioned guess, make for better learners and listeners, and are generally just a lot easier to be around and talk to.
Whether you reference Science to deny the existence of God, or use the Bible to explain the character and will of God, or whether you simply go by a hunch on how you believe this all works, it's always good to remember that you are still capable of being less than fully right.
Whatever your spiritual convictions, as you continue to read and pray and study and reflect and serve and seek and rest and move, may you hold both certainty and pride loosely, and cling ever more tightly to hope and humility.
Through all of your searching, may you be mindful that everyone you meet is on the very same partially lit road that you are, regardless of whether or not their current methods or conclusions match your own.
The answer to the question where will we go when when you die is going to be elusive while we’re alive.
Whether you suspect it’s heaven, hell, or the dirt—have some humility and be gentle toward people and realize they know as much as you do.Admitting we’re all just agnostics with suspicions.
Now that takes… balls.
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