The Jerusalem Experiment

Fifteen passenger vans are a perfect example of false advertising. Unless one is content to travel on another’s lap down long stretches of highway, fifteen passengers vans are really only suitable for ten or twelve (max). But college students are famous for pushing the boundaries of quantum mechanics; therefore, I found myself pressed between fourteen other twenty-somethings en route to Sherman, Texas for a conference. The reality of a rather late start collided with the inevitability of bladders filling following the consumption of 32-ounce bottles of Gatorade to create the perfect storm.

Mike had to go to the bathroom. Jeff refused to stop, which made sense considering we had just left a Southeastern Nebraska gas station a half hour eariley (and given our location, stopping meant providing an unsuspecting farmer’s crop with a little extra “rainfall”). But Mike really had to go. Naturally, things progressed and the empty Gatorade bottle in front of his appeared more and more inviting.

Mike gave in. And everyone in the car witnessed a symphony of liquid filling a hollow bottle. I had the honor of a front row seat (since I was sitting right next to Mike–a.k.a right on top of him) during his performance.

Unfortunately (for me, as you’ll soon see) filling the formerly empty bottle was only half the battle. Since Jeff wasn’t impressed with Mike’s antics and still refused to stop (even for disposal purposes), Mike was faced with the pressing question, “Now what do I do with my half full bottle of ‘apple juice’? For some reason, it made sense to toss (and I emphasize the word toss) the bottle into the back of the van—where our luggage was piled from floor to roof.

A few hours later we pulled into an Eastern Kansas church. I quickly jumped out of the van, made my way to the vehicle’s back door, and began unloading luggage Mike’s stuff: check. Tony’s bag: check. Jeff’s luggage: safely out of the vehicle. My sleeping bag was at the bottom of the pile, next to an empty bottle of Gatorade. Hmm, interesting. I gripped my sleeping bag with both hands, eager to slip into it soon and get some sleep.

It was wet; a warm sort of wet, the kind of wet that water cannot account for. I made the mistake of pulling the squishy sleeping bag to my nose.

I’m convinced that urine is one of the only substances on earth which universally elicits a gag-reflex. Nobody is immune to its powers. I am no exception.

I remember immediately thinking two things:

1. Mike, you ___________, _________, moron. You didn’t screw the cap tight on your Gatorade bottle, and now my sleeping bag is supersaturated with urine.
2. As a Christian, I’m certain this is the closest I’ll ever come to Hell.

I was wrong.

The Hinnom Valley

I walked through Hell yesterday. I was careful. Generally I try to avoid sulfuric flames and hackling mustached men holding pitchforks. But the sun broke through the fiery red clouds, the demons were hidden and all I saw were a few Arab boys riding horseback, a shepherd tending his flock, and spring poised to erupt across the Jerusalem landscape.

Perhaps I should explain:

Woe to the world for temptations to sin! For it is necessary that temptations come, but woe to the one by whom the temptation comes! And if you hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life crippled or lame than with two hands or two feet to be thrown into the eternal fire. And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into the hell of fire. (Mt. 18:7-9).

The Greek word for “hell” in this passage is Gehenna. About 100 feet straight down from where I’m now writing is the Hinnom Valley. The valley runs North and South and turns East just outside my window before colliding with the Kidron Valley. The single valley then journeys further East, all the way to the Dead Sea. Hinnom was the name of a family who apparently owned land near the valley. Usually it’s a good thing when people name stuff after you. Not so in this case. As Jerusalem became the religious center of the world and people—vendors, residents, pilgrims—began to crowd city streets, trash began to pile up. A closely related fact is that the gate which overlooks the Hinnom Valley on the southwest side of the Old City is called the Dung Gate. Gates were named according to either what came out of them or where one would arrive if they followed the gate out of the city. So…um…use your imagination. Keep walking out Dung Gate and you will reach the Hinnom Valley. Gehenna: (Ge) being Hebrew for “valley” and (henna) being a derivation of “Hinnom.” Thankfully, 2,000 years later, they now have a thriving sewer system in Jerusalem.

Why did Jesus liken The Hinnom Valley to Hell? There are a number of reasons. The first has to do with gravity. Jerusalem is a city set on a number of hills (i.e. “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.”), when the rains come (as they are supposed to do during this time of the year), they naturally fall on high ground and race toward the valleys. By the time the water reaches the valley, it inevitably carries with it pieces (or massive chunks) of whatever it races through to get to the valley. Since it was “strategically” situated beneath the Dung Gate, the Hinnom Valley became The Jerusalem Landfill Cooperative, Inc. In ancient times (as Jeremiah recounts) this area was used for the ritualistic to pagan gods (i.e. Molech and Baal). Jesus turns the imagery around and, thus, we have “The Gehenna of fire” and Jesus’ constant use of the verb “to throw (away)” in the passage mentioned above.

But I think there’s another important reason Jesus uses The Hinnom Valley as a metaphor for Hell. The Jews believed that within the inner sanctum of the Temple, which rose high above both the Kidron and the Hinnom Valleys (there’s a mosque there today), dwelt the presence of God. Once a year (and only once a year) the High Priest would enter this most holy space and offer the blood of a spotless lamb as a means of atoning for the sins of the people. Topography was important in Ancient Near Eastern (ANE) spirituality. It made sense that God’s Temple was on a hill. Pagan spiritualities also worshiped gods on hilltops (i.e. Num. 22:41-23:4).  The basic understanding in the ANE world was that the god(s) were up, and we were down. Reconciliation had everything to do with us working our way (through sacrifices as means of coaxing the gods into liking us—or at least not smiting us) up to God.

Jesus understood his audience. He knew that, while false, this was his disciples’ presupposition about how God worked. And while through Christ, God had already blown the whole paradigm apart (because through the incarnation, God comes down!) Jesus was cool with humoring them for awhile.

You can see the Temple Mount (where the Temple was) from the southeastern edge of the Hinnom Valley. What an incredible object lesson! You can’t get any further down than the Hinnom Valley, any further (topographically speaking) from the presence of God than where the fires burned night and day during the summer months.

Hell isn’t primarily a trash dump, but a reality where Hell’s inhabitants live in utter separation from the God who made them. Beyond flames, beyond perpetual suffering, beyond eternal separation from the ones we know and love in this life, Hell’s greatest threat is its promise to rip our hearts from the palm of the hand of the One who pieced us together in our mother’s womb.

Thanks be to God, Christ is our remedy, our hope, and our peace.