Reverend Kepler winced as his colleague raged about the brimstones of hell. Either the parishioners were immune to it though overexposure or they were crippled with anxiety, scared witless that every and any bad thought would expel them from God's love. He wanted to jump in, to reassure them that Jesus had died for their sins already, that they were safe. But it wasn't his place to do so publicly. In private was a different matter, then he could soothe them, soften the more brutal messages that was constructed thousands of years ago to scare a less enlightened people into behaving themselves. Hell was not for ordinary people who tried their best, and of course failed, as all people do. To be imperfect was just part of being human and God's love was for all, saints and sinners alike.
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