A friend texted me this week to ask about hell. It seemed a bit dark given the holiday season, but he had been looking at different Jewish, Christian and Muslim perspectives on it. I told him that while the history of interpretation is endlessly interesting and can be useful, I always start from the Bible, the scriptures themselves. We say, “The Word of the Lord,” because we hold them as coming from the highest authority.

Like heaven, the scriptural picture of hell is a mix of ideas and images. It’s not clear what is to be taken literally, symbolically and metaphorically. But it’s clearly the opposite of heaven and impassably distant from it. It’s clearly the opposite of Jesus, of God, of good.

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Times were hard for the prophet Elijah. For much of his ministry, he had to deal with King Ahab, who scripture describes this way, “And Ahab the son of Omri did evil in the sight of the Lord, more than all who were before him.” (1 Kings 16:30) “He did more to provoke the Lord, the God of Israel, than all the kings before him.” He married Jezebel, a Phoenician princess from Sidon who was really bad too, and built altars to the false god Baal.

It’s a fascinating story which you can read in 1 Kings, but to summarize, Elijah bravely and resolutely confronted Ahab and Jezebel and their awful blasphemy of encouraging false prophets and false gods in Israel. That’s a big no-no, by the way. Those confrontations are alongside demonstrations of God’s extraordinary provision and mercy, sending rain and feeding, even raising the dead.

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When I was in seminary, a good chunk of the curriculum seemed designed to scare us. They were constantly warning us about how hard parish ministry is on clergy and their families. They pointed out different ways conflict could arise in churches. They’d bring in priests to talk to us who had been in some manner of trouble. Some had crumbled under stress and gotten into addictions or affairs and were disciplined. Others had taken the wrong call and been crushed by the experience. Some had burned out.

Meanwhile, we had a lot of conflict in the seminary itself. Our dean had been accused of sexual harassment, exonerated then disciplined anyway and eventually forced out. The students were divided in several ways. But worse, the faculty who were all ordained were as well.

Then one day during my third year, at the start of my last semester, a guy who had graduated at the end of my first year came back for a visit. I’ll call him Ken, because that’s his name. Ken Weldon, or as I like to call him, Ken “Good Servant” Weldon.

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