He Went Where?

Then Peter began to speak to them: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him. You know the message he sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ–he is Lord of all [Acts 10:34-36].

I remember vividly the first time I worshipped in a Methodist church. It was July 1968—the summer of Simon & Garfunkel, of Vietnam war protests, of the riots that rocked the 1968 Democratic Party Convention in Chicago. It was the summer Bobby Kennedy was assassinated. Truly a liminal moment for me, it was also the summer during which I first spent a prolonged period of time away from home.

Todd and I had each won the proverbial lottery, having been appointed to the N.C. Governor’s School. Each summer, 400 rising high school seniors were chosen from all across the Old North State—200 in academics and 200 in the arts (orchestra, dance, choir, and drama). They housed and fed us on the Salem College campus. Todd was chosen to study higher mathematics. I studied History. In addition to our core subject, for 10 special weeks, we were exposed to literature, philosophy, critical thinking, classical music, drama, dance, and fun. For two boys from rural Gaston County, it was a drastic change. During that summer, I heard my first live orchestra performance. I saw my first ballet. Oh, I almost forgot to mention this: In those days, no one worried about church and state issues; so, unless you had a note from your parents, worship attendance was required each Sunday.

One had some worship choices. The easiest was to attend Home Moravian Church, on the Salem College campus. Alternatively, one could board one of the several buses that took students to either a Catholic Church or one of the large downtown Winston-Salem Protestant churches. Todd had begun courting a very bright young lady from Snow Hill, so they went to Home Moravian. Spencer Clark—a friend I’d made from Lumberton—and I tended to gravitate toward whichever downtown church had advertised the best free lunch. And so, on one fateful Sunday in early July, Spencer and I climbed onto a bus that took us to Centenary UMC, one of the largest and richest churches in town. Like me, Spencer was a Presbyterian. Like me, he’d never worshiped on “the dark side” of Methodism.

We found seats in the front row of the large balcony area. There was a good crowd, in spite of it being Summer. Scanning the bulletin, we whispered to each other that things didn’t seem too different from that to which we were accustomed. Then, however, our worship moved to the Apostles’ Creed. At the appointed time, we all stood and began to repeat the familiar words:

I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son our Lord, who was …

As Spencer and I heard the crowd of Methodists around us match our every word with their own, we felt as if any denominational differences had melted away, that indeed, we were part of “One Lord, one faith, one baptism” [Ephesians 4:5-6].

As the Creed continued:

suffered under Pontias Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried,

Spencer and I confidently raised our Presbyterian voices and proudly proclaimed the next phrase in the Creed:

He descended into hell.

I heard a gasp from a lady standing to our left. I realized that our verbal cadence no longer matched that of the other worshippers because, as we had discovered, Methodists don’t include the “descended into hell” portion in their version of the Creed.

Descended into hell—it’s one of those sticky little issues that has fascinated theologians for more than fifteen hundred years. After the crucifixion, did Christ actually descend into hell? And if so, what did He do when He got there? As a Methodist preacher friend said to me once in a conversation on the subject, “Christ of all people, in hell of all places!” It’s enough to make one wonder if the credal assertion that He did descend is rooted in Holy Scripture or in tradition? The answer, as most of you have learned by now, is “Yes.”

It’s based, at least in part, in Scripture. In Peter’s first epistle, the “rock” of the church writes—somewhat obscurely—that after the crucifixion (i.e., before the resurrection), Christ “went and preached unto the spirits in prison, who formerly did not obey” [1 Peter 3:19-20, KJV]. Later in the same epistle, Peter is much more explicit:

For this reason the gospel was preached also to those who are dead, that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit [1 Peter 4:6].

Four centuries later, St. Augustine (b. 354, d. 430), in a letter to Evodius, noted that he had some uncertainty about the First Peter passage, suggesting that, when Peter said “prison,” he meant “hell.” And yet Augustine also wondered why, if Peter had really meant “hell,” why had he said “prison?”

Continuing in his correspondence to Evodius, Augustine asked who, if anyone, did Christ save with his preaching in hell? After all, one wouldn’t visit hell to preach to the righteous. That filtering process had already been completed, as Jesus illustrated in his parable of rich Lazarus and the beggar [Luke 16]. No, Christ would have gone to preach to the desperate, to the lost! In the end, Augustine concludes that, indeed, the not-yet-risen Christ went to hell to speak to the lost.

Descended into hell: And so, the dominant version of the Apostles’ Creed (i.e., not the version used by the UMC) states that between the time of His crucifixion and resurrection, Christ traveled to hell. But again, why did He do so?

I think He did so for two reasons. He did so first, because, as indicated in the New Testament reading for this upcoming Sunday, the First Sunday after Epiphany [Acts 10:34-43, RCL, Year A], Christ is Lord of all—not just Lord of the living. Nothing and no one is outside His realm. Believer, non-believer, living or dead, rich or poor, male or female, young or old, we all are His. He is Lord—no exceptions. His Lordship does not require our consent or approval. Our acceptance adds nothing to it.

Second, the Light of the World descended into the darkest part of darkness because that is His nature. We saw it in the last hours of His earthly life. When the world seemed to fall apart around Him, He was steadfast, believing and trusting in God the Father. When others mocked and struck Him, He struck not at them, but at Death itself. When one of his own had betrayed Him, when others in his band of followers had abandoned Him, and while still others killed Him, He prayed for them, and forgave them. Would Christ descend into hell? Of course, He would. Where there is suffering, Christ will always venture.

To be sure, most in hell are there through their own choice, but His desire is not only to turn the cheek, but to turn over every stone. Some in hell might not be beyond redemption. And so, He descended into that darkness. He invaded Satan’s lair. Like the Good Shepherd who leaves the 99 to go after the one, Christ descended into hell with the thought and hope of redeeming someone. There is no limit to what He will do to save you. There are, of course, many kinds of hell.

Their 40-year marriage was circling the drain. He’d promised and promised never to wander again, but alas, his word was not his deed. He “couldn’t help himself,” he’d confessed. His wife was embarrassed, afraid, angry, deflated, and a host of other adjectives that she could not name. She was in hell. What could she do? Look around; Christ is present within that hell.

The young mother sees the alarm on the oncologist’s face before the doctor opens her mouth. Their little girl has a tumor inside her head. The news is overwhelming. Tears flow for days. There’s so much to be done—so little that can be done. How could this have happened to someone so young and innocent? The young parents, indeed their entire family, find themselves in a horrible kind of hell. How will they ever endure? Look around, Christ is present within that hell.

Do you know someone who is living in hell? Alternatively, do you sometimes feel that you’re a perennial resident in that place of darkness? Well, if so, hear the good and glorious news, dear friends: There is no hell that Christ will not enter. There is no darkness into which He will not proceed. He’ll come after you no matter where you are. As St. Peter taught us, Christ is the Lord of all. Look around; He’s there. Open your arms and embrace Him.