Hell Starts Here
A few thoughts on living in limbo after watching Andrew Schulz and Wesley Huff on the Flagrant podcast
A few weeks ago, I stumbled onto this episode of Flagrant—Andrew Schulz’s bold, brash, and usually hilarious podcast—where he and a group of non-Christian thinkers sat down with Wesley Huff, a Christian apologist. Wesley fielded sharp, sincere questions from people who weren’t mocking the faith but genuinely trying to understand it. It was one of the most open, searching conversations about Jesus I’ve seen in a long time. As of this writing the video had amassed close to 2-million views.
Wesley responded with clarity, humility, and grace. He spoke not at them, but with them. And he represented Jesus beautifully.
But there was one moment that stood out to me more than any other—a question that Andrew asked nonchalantly.
At one point, Andrew turned to Wesley and said something like:
“If I already feel good about myself and my life—if things are going well and I’m not walking around burdened by guilt—why would I need Christianity? Why would I accept a belief system that makes me feel bad first, just so I can feel good again?”
That moment stopped me. Because it’s not just a good question—it’s the question so many people are quietly asking today.
It reveals a widespread assumption:
That Christianity begins by making you feel bad about yourself.
That the gospel only works for people who are miserable, guilty, or desperate.
That if you’re doing well—successful, self-assured, content—you don’t need God.
Over the last few days, I’ve thought about how I would've responded.
This article is my attempt at clarifying my thoughts around that very good question.
In The Inferno, Dante paints hell not as a single space but as a series of descending circles—each one darker, more twisted, and more spiritually suffocating than the one before.
But what’s fascinating is that the first circle of hell is not a place of torment.
It’s Limbo—a peaceful, pleasant, almost noble place. It’s filled with virtuous pagans: Homer, Socrates, and others who lived lives of intellect and integrity, but who never knew the living God.
They aren’t tortured. They’re not in agony.
They simply live apart—separated from God. In darkness, without despair. In longing, without hope.
“Without hope, we live in desire.”
—Inferno, Canto IV, line 42
That’s where Andrew’s question lives.
Because it’s entirely possible to feel good, live well, and be admired—while still being profoundly lost.
You might be thriving. But if you are cut off from the presence of God, you are in Limbo.
And Limbo, however peaceful it feels, is still the outer ring of hell.
The Christian story doesn’t say hell starts after death.
It says it begins here—on earth.
And like Dante’s vision, there are deeper layers.
The Columbine shooters—two teenagers so consumed by nihilism, isolation, and hatred that they murdered classmates in cold blood—weren’t born in that darkness. They descended into it.
Their story is an example of what happens when souls go untethered. When pain festers. When meaning evaporates. When hell opens up on earth.
But that wasn’t even the darkest moment in history.
The deepest layer of hell was entered by God Himself.
The cross was not just Roman cruelty. It was cosmic collision.
Jesus—the sinless one, the Son of God—was:
Betrayed by a close friend
Denied by His most devoted disciple
Abandoned by His followers
Condemned unjustly
Stripped and shamed
Beaten bloody
And nailed to wood while His mother watched
And He chose it.
He walked into the heart of hell—our hell—to rescue us from it.
Jordan Peterson has called the crucifixion the archetype of tragic suffering. It’s the story where everything goes wrong for the one who deserves it least.
But this is not just tragedy.
This is triumph through tragedy.
This is how love wages war on hell.
Here’s what I want to say to Andrew’s question:
Christianity is not about making people feel bad so they can feel better later.
It’s about waking people up to the fact that this world—even at its best—is still a shadowland. And that without God, even our brightest moments are borrowed light.
You might feel good. You might feel fine.
But you are building a mansion in Limbo.
And one day, the roof will cave in.
Christianity is not about guilt.
It’s about grace.
It’s about a God who enters suffering—who bleeds—so that you will never suffer alone.
God forbid anything tragic ever happens to Andrew’s wife or baby or family. But life doesn’t hand out guarantees.
When that moment comes—and it will—he’ll need more than success.
He’ll need more than cleverness or calm or cash.
He’ll need more than distraction.
He’ll need presence.
A God who has been there.
A Savior who doesn’t just save—but suffers.
And unless he’s found that Savior, the descent will begin.
Sometimes slowly.
Sometimes suddenly.
But inevitably.
Jesus didn’t just suffer.
He overcame suffering.
He didn’t just die.
He rose.
And the invitation He offers isn’t to feel bad so you can eventually feel good.
It’s to be set free—to walk out of Limbo and into life with God.
Right now.
Right here.
Not just in eternity.
In your ordinary Monday morning.
In your fear.
In your laughter.
In your doubt.
In your good times and in the not so good times.
You may be doing great in the first circle of hell.
But there is more.
More beauty.
More depth.
More presence.
More God.
Don’t wait for your suffering to introduce you to the Savior.
Find Him now.
He’s already near.
Reflection Question:
If your life feels good right now, are you sure it’s because you’re whole—or have you just grown comfortable in Limbo?
Not only does Hell start here, Heaven and Purgatory start here, as well. Purgatory is the ascending ordered loves, what Augustine called the Ordo Amoris. This life is the journey to salvation and the task before us is to rightly order our loves. The Great Divorce is so good at illustrating disordered love even at the threshold of Heaven. It is incredible how CS Lewis incorporated The Divine Comedy into the Great Divorce. Heaven is the satisfaction of knowing God (loving God) face to face. His Grace gives us glimpses of what Heaven will be.