urgency.

At the funeral, my Mom told me that my step-dad was concerned about his Dad's salvation. "The rest of his family doesn't care, but Ken knows," she whispered to me. "Maybe you could talk to him."

My parents come to me for spiritual answers sometimes. They confuse my reading in religion for wisdom in faith, and so I find myself trying to give my Mom tips on explaining relativism to her friends, and helping my Dad through problems with his church board's vision, and talking to my step-dad about what will happen to my grandpa's soul. It's a hot mess. I don't have that kind of wisdom.

All the more so on that last one. What am I supposed to say to my step-dad about this? How can I try to provide answers, or comfort, or guidance when I am so completely lost?

The idea of my grandfather in Hell makes me sick to my stomach. I can't think about it. I literally start to gag. I'm afraid sometimes that if I hold on to the thought for another moment, I will throw up all over. Yet, I'm afraid not to think about it. I'm afraid of what happens when we push those hard thoughts out of our minds. When we stop contemplating reality, do we then begin to live in our own version of reality, desensitized to the urgency of truth?

Because there is urgency.

I like to think that God gives Himself to everyone at the end in a massively-irrefutable display of power and love, such that no one could say no. Basically, that He makes an offer you can't refuse. I don't know that that's true. It's my first line of protection against discomfort with Hell.

My second line is like this: No matter how heart-broken, how sick, I might be at the prospect of a soul in hell, God is more sick. He's more heart-broken. Because He loves that person more than I could ever dream of loving him. In that, I feel a calm. I'm not sure that I entirely understand why.

Either way, I've got no answers.

I think I'll still call my step-dad.