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Hell is other people


Let’s meditate on us scattered sheep today, shall we? After all, if not scattered, then what are we? It has become a running gag in our household. I will be reading the New York Times, shaking my fist at whomever is responsible for the failed separation of Church and State. Or perhaps I’m mad at those who think their Christian inclination allows them to dictate what happens in other people’s bodies. My Jewish partner will do the eye roll of eye rolls and say: “funny how you all kind of do that, wouldn’t you agree?”

She’s right: we Christians have a peculiar propensity for thinking ourselves better than the rest. And I’m not talking communal, but rather individual superiority. It’s really quite basic. We all have our individual interpretation of what signifies the core and what is merely peripheral in God’s message to the people. I may very well believe that God’s love can triumph when we give queer people room to breathe (which is to say to live, love, and all that comes with it), but another equally Christian Christian may think this triumph of love requires the exact opposite response. Despite this reality, we deem ourselves the Good Follower, and the other one Not A Real Christian.

Hell is other people.

When I open my Bible to Ezekiel 34, I hear the echo of the Parable of the Lost Sheep:

“Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

There’s something so tender and kind in both these texts; no matter who or where or how lost, we are all equally important to God. Even when we sin, through repentance we can be found again. But who is a sinner and who needs repentance?

To many people in the flock, the entire Vine & Fig community is a sinner in need of repentance. Disguised as well-intended good Christian ministry, their anti-queer violence saturates our daily lives. And let’s be clear: when I say violence, I don’t just mean the 350 trans and gender diverse individuals who were murdered in the past twelve months. I mean your brother who didn’t come to your wedding, and your mother who keeps saying she “doesn’t believe in gender diversity”. I mean your employer who forces you to sign a document indicating that you condemn homosexuality while you try to hide your girlfriend from your Instagram timeline. I mean the godawful things your siblings parrot over Sunday supper, and your father reminding them all that he has no love in his heart for gay people.

Jesus Christ, it’s great that you have your flock, my man, but should we queer people even want to be a part of it?


I’d like to think ‘yes’.

Because hell is other people, and during our journey towards them we encounter God. When I dive deeper into Ezekiel 34 and the Parable of the Lost Sheep, the words take on a new meaning. To me, they are not a personal consolation, reminding me that I will be found if I’m lost. They tell me, above anything, that I am part of a single enormous flock, made up of everyone, filled with people whom I think are lost, and who, in turn, believe that I’ve gone astray. The passage tells me to love God above all else, and my neighbor as myself. Even if that neighbor is keeping their foot on my foot.

“What might that love look like?” we all rightfully ask, immediately. In my case, love may be a ‘yes’ and it may be a ‘no’.

A “yes, you are right, thank you for teaching me about yourself.”

Or a “no, what you are saying about me and my siblings is false, destructive, and traumatizing. Here, let me help you see things through a new lens so that we can coexist.”

Through God, I am granted the wisdom to know the difference.


This Scripture reflection originally appeared as part of the Sunday Reflections project on Vine & Fig.