A young Christian boy thinks he’s damned to hell after joking about a Hitler ’stache in church

Wherefore I say unto you, all manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men. And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come. – Matthew 12:31-32

I was told point blank at seven-years-old that if I ever spoke against a member of God’s kingdom, I would suffer eternally in hell’s fiery pit. I was told, when I was barely coming to the age of understanding, that I only got one shot at this—there’s no redemption for this unforgivable sin. God forgives and God forgets, and whatever evil you may have caused in your life can be wiped away so long as you repent. But not this. You’re damned forever if this thought so much as grazes across your mind—you’re castigated from paradise for thought crime.

But I was a child and didn’t pay it any attention. None of us did. We just went about filling out our worksheets and waiting for the Sunday school bell to ring, and then we shuffled off to the big church and sat in the pews to hear the sermon. My friends and I sat about three rows from the front. The children filled the first five rows in ascending order according to age, and the rest of the congregation sat behind us.

One Sunday, the guest speaker looked a little like Hitler—he had the little ‘stache and everything. So me and my friends cracked a joke, and quietly giggled to ourselves. But I laughed the loudest, and the pastor looked me right in the eyes. He didn’t stop his sermon but he glared right at all of us as he expounded his words, and instantly I felt my soul shatter. The whole lesson about the “unforgivable sin” came rushing back and I was filled with remorse and shame. I’d spoken against a vessel of the Holy Spirit, and I would never make it to Heaven. I believed wholeheartedly at the age of seven that I was damned. There was no way around it.

That’s the point when I never felt God’s grace again. It started with that moment, and it took the better part of a decade to finally shake off all the fear and guilt placed on me after years of attending services. I always felt the pastor’s glare when he scanned a crowd, and I knew I didn’t belong anymore. Every time there was a “prophet” visiting and he’d proclaim there was evil in the room, I always felt he was singling me out for what I had done. He knew I had done the unforgivable. – Rex Rivers