The Forb Discovers Hell

I’ve been ordering coffee at the End of Time long enough that Mirna knows how I like it. My habits are predictable enough that sometimes the steaming mug is waiting for me when I walk in exactly at 7:30 in the morning. Mirna has things under control.

As usual, The Forb was already there, reading TIME Magazine and sipping his Earl Grey. He had that look in his eye so I knew the morning topic was ready to burst.

“You know I like you, Max, and I think you’re smart, but these religious cousins of yours are idiots.” Graham Forbish never wasted time on a conversational warm-up.

“Have you read this guy’s book?” He held up the cover, which queried in bold, letters: WHAT IF THERE’S NO HELL? I was familiar with the story and book it was profiling. I could hardly wait to hear my agnostic friend’s assessment of the apparent controversy.

“Yes, I did read it,” I said. “It’s short.”

“Well, I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” said The Forb. “I like this Rob Bell guy. He’s asking all the questions I’ve been asking for years. Why are people mad at him?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “So could he convince you to quit being an agnostic?”

“I’m not really an agnostic, Max. I’m just ambivalent.” He opened the magazine and searched for a page in the cover story. When he found it, he shoved it toward me. “And what is this Fuller Seminary place that they talk about? Why is it an ‘electric’ place?”

I took the magazine and scanned the page he kept poking his finger against. “It’s not ‘electric,’ Forb. It says it’s eclectic.”

“Whatever,” said The Forb. “So what is it? Is it full of screwballs?”

“It’s a theological school,” I said. “Lot’s of smart people teach there. Probably no more screwballs than the average institution. I have some friends who went there.”

Forb took back his magazine and turned to the page that had Rob Bell’s picture on it. “Bell looks pretty wiry. They should put him in the ring with one of those evangelical crybabies and let them punch it out. I think Bell could do some pounding. I’ll be he moves fast.”

“He’s probably a peaceful man,” I said. “He might prefer words over punches.”

“He should reconsider.” Forb flipped back and found a picture of a high-profile celebrity. “And who does this guy think he is? He’s uglier than a bucket of noses.”

I recognized that the religious side of our conversation was over. The Forb has a short attention span.