The Price of Sin
To burn in hell for eternity is the sentencing; the price of sin is death.
At thirteen, I was in high school, halfway through my freshmen year. A private art school is not the place to espouse conservative Christian ideology, generally speaking, and socially, I paid a steep price — general derision and antagonism from my peers, and a distinct and notable lack of friends. It was also the first time I was surrounded by people with generally homogeneous views that were different from my own. I knew there were queer people there; I even knew a couple, though neither very closely nor very well. And while I didn’t interact with them much, this new facet of the world I had not thus far been exposed to, was at the forefront of my mind.
I was walking across campus to the parking lot, staring first at the aggregate, then at the beige wall of the administration building. Why was it a sin to love someone? I reasoned that while sex was a part of relationships, so was love, and that two people together were in love, regardless of their gender. Love was beautiful. We showed it to each other, and God showed it to us, and I could not understand why two people in love was a sin worthy of eternal punishment. There were nights that I would cry for everyone — the thought of anyone burning for eternity was a pain deeper than grief, and I could not hold it in.