This weekend, I was reminded that when Christ died (before he rose again), he spent three days in hell. (I didn't really forget, I guess I just hadn't thought about it in a while.)
My view of hell is not necessarily one of fire and brimstone, but of total separation from God. It is a desolate and joyless place, with no hope, no second chances and none of the love that we so readily take for granted. Here, on Earth, we have the opportunity to be near God, even if we don't embrace him as our savior. We easily forget that he is always near, and in hell, he will not be in the wind, a song or in our neighbor's hearts.
Christ went from perfect and constant communion with God to partial communion with God when he was born as a human to absolute separation from God in the span of 30-odd short years.
When Jesus was 9 months old, he was learning to crawl, blowing raspberries, pulling off his socks, testing out his new teeth, doing face-plants on the kitchen floor and "helping" his mama with laundry.
Thirty years later, he hung on the cross.These are the things Mary thought about. She felt his kicks in her womb, and then watched him die for her own sins.
I'm just saying.
Today I am thinking about 2 Peter, Chapter 2.