An Innocent question - a short story

Reverend Jonathan Hale stood at the pulpit of Pinewood Baptist Church, his voice booming through the small sanctuary. His sermons were legendary in the sleepy town of Cloverfield, filled with fire and brimstone, urging the congregation to cling to the Word of God. His Bible, worn and dog-eared, was his shield, and his unwavering certainty was his sword. Every Sunday, he preached with a conviction that left no room for doubt, at least, not in his mind.

This particular Sunday, the pews were packed with familiar faces, farmers, shopkeepers, and families with squirming children. The summer heat pressed against the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the wooden floor. Reverend Hale was in the middle of a sermon about obedience to God’s will when a small hand shot up from the front row.

It was Lily, a seven-year-old with pigtails and a curious glint in her eyes. She wasn’t one to interrupt, but her question had been brewing all morning, sparked by something she’d overheard her parents whispering about. The congregation stirred, and Hale paused, adjusting his glasses.

“Yes, Lily?” he said, his tone warm but carrying the weight of authority.

Lily stood, clutching her Sunday school workbook. “Reverend, if God loves everybody, why does He send some people to hell?”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the church. Hale smiled, though it was tighter than usual. He was used to tough questions from adults, but children? They were supposed to accept, not challenge.

“Well, Lily,” he began, resting his hands on the pulpit, “God does love everyone, but He’s also just. Those who reject His Word and live in sin choose their own path away from Him. Hell is the consequence of that choice.”

Lily tilted her head, undeterred. “But what about people who never heard of God? Like, people in other countries who don’t have Bibles? Do they go to hell too?”

The murmurs grew louder. Hale cleared his throat, feeling the eyes of the congregation on him. He flipped open his Bible, though he didn’t look at the pages. “God’s mercy is vast, child. He reveals Himself to all in some way, through creation, through conscience. Romans 1:20 says, ‘For since the creation of the world, God’s invisible qualities have been clearly seen.’ No one has an excuse.”

Lily frowned, her small brow furrowing. “But what if they’re good people? Like, really, really good? My friend Aisha’s family doesn’t go to church, but they’re super nice. They give us cookies and help my mom when she’s sick. Does God still send them to hell?”

The sanctuary fell silent. Mrs. Thompson, Lily’s mother, shifted uncomfortably in her seat, whispering, “Lily, hush now.” But Lily stood firm, her wide eyes fixed on the preacher.

Hale’s fingers tightened around his Bible. He’d faced skeptics before, atheists in town halls, even a Unitarian once but this was different. The simplicity of Lily’s question cut through his rehearsed answers like a knife. He opened his mouth to respond, citing John 14:6, “I am the way, the truth, and the life” but the words caught in his throat. The verse felt hollow in the face of a child’s earnest concern for her friend.

“Lily,” he said, his voice softer now, “God’s ways are… mysterious. We can’t always understand His plan, but we trust it’s fair. He judges each heart individually.”

“But how’s that fair?” Lily pressed, her voice small but relentless. “If Aisha’s family doesn’t know they’re supposed to believe in Jesus, how can God be mad at them? That’s like me getting in trouble for not doing homework I didn’t know I had.”

A few stifled chuckles broke the tension, but Hale felt his collar tighten. He glanced at the congregation, their faces a mix of curiosity and unease. He’d built his ministry on certainty, on the black-and-white truth of scripture. Yet here was a child, unraveling it with questions as innocent as they were piercing.

“Lily,” he said, forcing a smile, “these are big questions, and I’m proud of you for asking. Let’s talk more after service, alright? For now, let’s focus on praising God together.”

Lily sat down, but her frown lingered. The congregation sang the closing hymn, but Hale’s heart wasn’t in it. As the final notes faded, he stepped down from the pulpit, his Bible heavier than usual. Lily’s questions echoed in his mind, simple yet profound, exposing cracks in the theology he’d preached without doubt for decades.

That night, alone in his study, Reverend Hale opened his Bible, not to prepare a sermon, but to search. For the first time in years, he wasn’t looking for answers to give others, he was looking for himself.