Heaven and Hell – Places, States, or Something More?

By Pastor Scott


Hello, friends. Welcome to Pastor’s Ponderings, this is a quiet space where we can sit together, hearts open, and wrestle with the big questions—the ones that possibly stir our souls and keep us up at night. Today, we’re diving into something that’s both familiar and mysterious, something we’ve heard about since we were kids, something that’s been painted in vivid colors and whispered in hushed tones: heaven and hell. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been interested in this particular topic. Like, where do we go when we die? What happens next? So, today we’re exploring Heaven and Hell.

Yeah, those two.

We grow up with these ideas, don’t we? Heaven, this perfect place—clouds and angels, streets of gold, a celestial city where everything is right. And hell, the opposite—fire, brimstone, eternal torment. Good people go up, bad people go down. It’s clear, right? Like a cosmic sorting system, neatly dividing the saved from the damned.

Except… is it? (is it really that straightforward? Is it really that simple?)

Because when you start digging into Scripture, it gets kinda messy. It gets complicated. It’s not always so black-and-white, up-or-down. Let’s start with hell. The word itself carries so much weight, scares people, but what does it actually mean? In the Old Testament, we find Sheol. And Sheol isn’t always this fiery pit of torment we imagine. It’s more like… the grave. The place of the dead. A shadowy, murky realm where everyone goes—righteous or not. Psalm 139:8 says, “If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.” God is there, in the depths. That’s not exactly the hell we picture, is it?

Then we get to the New Testament, and things get even more layered. There’s Gehenna, a word Jesus uses. Interestingly, Gehenna was a real place—a garbage dump outside Jerusalem where fires burned constantly, a place of decay and destruction. When Jesus talks about Gehenna in places like Matthew 5:29, it’s vivid, visceral. But is He describing a literal place of eternal punishment? Or is He using this image to point to something deeper—maybe the consequences of living a life turned away from God?

And then there’s Hades, which feels more like the Greek underworld, and Tartarus, mentioned in 2 Peter 2:4 as a place for fallen angels. So, we’ve got all these different words—Sheol, Gehenna, Hades, Tartarus—all translated as “hell” in our English Bibles. Each carries its own nuance, its own imagery. It’s like Scripture is less interested in giving us a clear map of the afterlife and more interested in inviting us to ponder the weight of our choices.

Now, let’s talk about heaven. We often imagine it as a place way up there, far from the mess of this world. But Scripture doesn’t always describe it that way. Jesus talks about the “kingdom of God” or the “kingdom of heaven,” and in Luke 17:21, He says it’s “within you” or “among you.” Not a distant destination, but something breaking into the present, something you can taste now. In Revelation 21, we get this breathtaking vision of a new heaven and a new earth, where God dwells with humanity, wiping away every tear. It’s not about escaping to some ethereal realm—it’s about heaven coming down, transforming this world.

And then there’s Paul, who in 2 Corinthians 12:2 talks about being “caught up to the third heaven.” The third heaven? What does that even mean? Is it a literal place? A spiritual experience? A metaphor for closeness to God? The early Jewish worldview often spoke of multiple heavens—layers of divine reality. It’s like Scripture is saying, “This is bigger than you can grasp. Lean into the mystery.”

You see what I’m getting at? Heaven and hell aren’t as simple as we often make them out to be. They’re not just places on a cosmic map, neatly labeled “reward” and “punishment.” And that brings us to the deeper question: What’s it all about?

We often frame heaven and hell as God’s cosmic courtroom—follow the rules, get the golden ticket; break them, face eternal consequences. But is God really just a judge, handing out eternal sentences based on our performance? Or is there something more going on? Because Jesus talks a lot about judgment, yes. But He also talks about forgiveness. About grace. About a love that never gives up. In Luke 15, the father in the parable of the prodigal son doesn’t wait for his wayward child to grovel—he runs to him, arms wide open. That’s the heart of God.

What if heaven and hell aren’t so much about where we go, but about how we are? What if they’re about the state of our hearts, the direction of our lives, the choices we make in this very moment?

Let’s ponder this. What if hell is separation? Separation from God, from others, from our true selves. What if it’s the natural consequence of choosing a life disconnected from love, compassion, and life itself? In Matthew 25, Jesus describes those who ignore the hungry, the stranger, the prisoner as being sent to “eternal punishment.” But the word there for punishment, kolasis, can also mean correction or pruning. What if even God’s judgment is about restoration, not destruction? What if hell is less about eternal torment and more about the pain of living apart from the Source of all life?

And heaven—what if it’s connection? Connection with God, with others, with the fullness of who we were created to be. In John 10:10, Jesus says, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” That’s heaven—not just a future hope, but a present reality. A life saturated with love, overflowing with grace, radiating hope. Revelation 22 paints a picture of a river of life, a tree of healing for the nations. That’s not a far-off dream—it’s something we’re invited to participate in now.

Maybe, just maybe, heaven and hell aren’t only places we go after we die. Maybe they’re realities we experience here and now. Maybe we’re creating heaven or hell with every breath we take, with every choice we make, with every relationship we cultivate or neglect. When we choose love, when we forgive, when we seek justice, we’re bringing heaven to earth. When we choose selfishness, apathy, or hatred, we’re building walls of separation—our own little hells.

This isn’t to say there’s no afterlife, no ultimate fulfillment of God’s promises. Scripture points to a future where God makes all things new. But it’s also saying that eternity starts now. The choices we make today ripple into forever.

It’s a mystery, of course. We’re talking about things beyond our full comprehension. And that’s okay. Maybe instead of obsessing over the fire and brimstone or the clouds and harps, we can focus on this: God is love (1 John 4:8). And God is always, always, always reaching out to us, inviting us into a life of love, a life of connection, a life that is… truly life.

So, what’s stirring in you? How do you imagine heaven and hell? Where do you see glimpses of connection or separation in your own life? Drop a comment or send me a message—I’d love to hear your ponderings. We’re in this together, wrestling, wondering, trusting.

Let’s close with a prayer: God, you are love, and you are always calling us closer. Help us choose connection over separation, love over indifference, life over death. Guide us into your kingdom, here and now, and forever. Amen.

Thanks for pondering with me, friends. Until next time, keep questioning, keep seeking, keep trusting.
Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott.

Seeking Dead-Jesus… (a reflection of Mary at the tomb)

I keep thinking about Mary encountering Jesus in the garden post-death.
Imagine it with me if you can:

She is going there to properly take care of his dead body.
She is going there to shed a few more tears in private.
She is going there to say goodbye.
Her heart is as heavy as a led balloon.
She just can’t wake up from this nightmare.
Rising early that morning, a night wrought with bad dreams and sleeplessness, she heads directly to the grave.
Call it a moment to convince herself that He’s really gone.
Call it a part of the mourning process.

Rounding the last turn in the overgrown garden she comes upon a sight that she cannot quite explain.
Reason fails her and she is pauses a step to take in the scene attempting to comprehend it all – His grave is open.   Picking up the pace, she closes in on the tomb and enters all in one quick motion.  The place where they had laid Jesus is empty,  it is vacant.  Had the authorities changed their minds?  What happened to the body of her teacher, her rabbi?

Mary runs back and gets the disciples who, upon hearing this troubling news, run to the tomb to check it out for themselves.

Fresh tears begin to well up in her eyes as a lump forms in her throat as this all takes place.
Where is Jesus?
Why had they done this?
Could they not have left Him be, allowing this one ounce of dignity?

griefStepping back out of the tomb, the early sun begins to crest the horizon and spills effortlessly out upon the garden igniting it in hues of orange and red.  Mary doesn’t know what to do.  She is dumb-founded.  Mary peers again into the tomb to make sure she has seen it correctly, as grief can often cloud the ruffled edges of judgment and understanding.   Then…something catches her eye – two angelic forms standing beside the place where dead-Jesus had been laid.  They speak to her.  “Woman, why are you crying?” they ask…as if the meaning of death and loss meant nothing.  But Mary swallows back tears and replies “They have taken away my Lord and I don’t know where they have put Him.”    Uttering this very statement is like releasing the floodgates in a dam and her resolve breaks and so does her heart.

Suddenly, a shadow passes between her and the fire branded sunrise.  It is the silhouette of a man.  It MUST be the gardener coming to tend to the property before the hot sun engulfs and wilts the plants.  It must be someone who knows something about where Jesus has be taken.  Once again, the question is asked of her, this time by the man standing silhouetted in front of her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for?”  Again Mary sniffles and forces out a tired, bitter response amidst her flowing tears “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

She is at the end of her strength.
She is beyond heart-sick.
At the very least this can be done – recovering Jesus’ body.

Then, something remarkable happens – the dead speaks.
The man before her says one word that brings water to a desert.
This one word means more than the content of thousands of words meticulously strewn together in a book.
He speaks this one word and the storms of mourning cease.
He speaks this one word and shattered pieces of her heart become whole again.  mary
MARY.
In her weakest state she recognizes just who He is.
In her tear-blurred eyes and flood of grieving heart, she finds renewed strength in His presence.
She calls out to Him by His respected title – ““Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”).

Mary is overwhelmed with joy.
She is filled with relief.
The sun, now in its fuller light shines upon the son of God in all of His resurrected glory.
He is alive!
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I keep coming back to this story because often we too keep going to back to the empty tombs in our lives.
We keep coming up with the wrong conclusions.
Doubt casts its shadow upon our faith and it weighs heavily on us.
Doubt blurs our resolve and shakes our foundations of belief.
We stoop down into that tomb time and time again and we forget that we do not serve a dead-savior, but a risen one.
We need to look up and see Him.
We need to recognize our teacher.
We need to find Him once more for ourselves.
He wipes away our tears and longs for us to cry out to Him.

Will you?
Something more to ponder today.
To God be the glory!

Summer dreams (A poem)

Image

In the bliss of winter’s frozen kiss
as Ice is formed, abrasive and painful
an Angel with wings unfurled
left her mark in the mounds of silky snow.

I do not know what transpired there
as some walk by and some don’t care
But I’m almost sure I glimpsed heaven’s door
looking out from my frosted window.

With rooftops coated white and wisps of smoke
dancing or escaping elegantly into the crisp atmosphere
I remain here, tightly bundled, blanketed train behind me
perfectly content to let the days of winter kiss another
but not my cheek, nor these feeble hands
I am a child of summer weighted down by this
absence of her soft warming embrace.

And for now…I bide my time.

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