As a child, I remember sitting intently as my teacher recounted tales of the Virgin Mary’s appearances in the Balkans, warning us that the end of the world was near and we would be judged. If we hoped for salvation, we were told we’d need to recite countless Rosaries each day. This was no ordinary sermon; it was a dire, fire-and-brimstone warning about a terrifying future. The stories included terrifying visions of three days of darkness, where stepping outside could lead to immediate death from sheer terror. The only light would be from holy candles. The threat of hell loomed large.
This was quite different from the assurances we received in Catholic school about the reality of demons and the existence of exorcists. We were told of personal encounters with exorcists who could not divulge specifics but certainly believed in the dark forces at play.
Let’s unpack this. On one hand, we learned that Jesus loves us unconditionally; on the other, He could cast us into a fiery abyss at any moment. “You choose hell,” our teachers would remind us. Hell was depicted as eternal separation from God, a consequence of our sinful choices. Imagine being twelve, just beginning to explore your identity, and being told that you could be condemned to a lake of flames for simply being who you are.
For a child like me, grappling with anxiety, this was particularly distressing. I spent countless nights awake, consumed by fear. Did we have enough holy candles? No child should be lying awake worrying about such things. Research shows that religious affiliation can often lead to guilt and anxiety, especially when individuals feel unable to meet the standards set by their community. And what middle schooler can truly adhere to the strict sexual ethics of the Catholic Church? While I can’t claim that the Church’s teachings on hell directly caused my anxiety, they certainly exacerbated it.
Teaching young children about hell teaches them that love is conditional. The Supreme Being who created them and loves them could just as easily condemn them for failing to meet divine expectations. This creates a confusing and frightening message: you are loved only if you follow the rules. Failure to do so results in being cast into hell, echoing the same conditional love I experienced from my parents.
These issues with the concept of hell lingered into my adulthood. Like many Catholic teens, I fell into a pattern of engaging in behaviors I was taught to fear, only to panic afterward, convinced that I’d face divine punishment. In college, my anxiety morphed into fears of unplanned pregnancy, leading me to believe that every instance of intimacy might lead to a dire consequence. Even my marriage was influenced by fear; I agreed to a Catholic wedding partly to avoid the wrath of my family and partly out of fear of eternal damnation.
Despite outward appearances, my journey through Catholicism felt more like a relentless race to appease rather than a source of joy. My relationship with God felt transactional—if I could keep God and the Church happy, I could avoid hell.
Contrary to any negative feelings toward Christianity itself, the use of hell as a threat against children is deeply troubling. While I acknowledge my own anxiety, instilling fear of hell in young minds contradicts principles of gentle parenting. We can’t espouse unconditional love while threatening young ones with eternal damnation for misbehavior.
If we want our children to grow into compassionate individuals who believe in love without conditions, we must reconsider how we communicate about hell. Teaching them that justice comes at the expense of mercy fosters a worldview where judgment overshadows understanding.
That’s not the kind of mindset I want to pass on.
For more insights on this topic, check out some of our other posts, including this one about home insemination.