Out of the Depths: From Hades to the Kingdom

You cannot escape His Love.

The darkness was not just around Eric—it was inside him. It clung to his soul like old wounds that had never healed, whispering the same bitter words over and over.

“You were right to reject Him.”

“Where was God when they hurt you?”

“If He cared, He would have stopped it.”

“You’re forgotten now. Just another lost soul.”

Eric sat in the shadows of Hades, arms wrapped around his knees, trapped in the weight of his past. He had not always been this way. There was a time he had believed—before the betrayals, before the pain, before the lies.

He had grown up in the Church. A dutiful boy. An obedient son. He sang the hymns, recited the prayers, memorized the verses. But behind the pious words and stained-glass sermons, there was something darker—a truth no one spoke of.

A trusted leader, hands that should have guided him toward love instead left invisible scars. People in the pews had turned away, ignoring the signs, whispering that he should “forgive” without ever asking what had happened to him. They told him to trust God while covering for those who broke him.

And so he had walked away.

Not just from the Church.

Not just from religion.

From Jesus Himself.

If that was the God they preached, He was no God at all.

Eric lived his life hard—built walls, rejected faith, clenched his wounds like weapons. He searched for meaning in success, relationships, rebellion. He vowed never to bow to anyone, especially not to a God who had failed him.

And then—he died.

A car crash. A heartbeat stopping. A moment of impact, and then…this.

Endless shadow. Endless nothing.

Time didn’t move here. He didn’t feel hunger, thirst—only regret, festering like an open wound.

Until He came.

At first, Eric thought the light was a hallucination—a trick his mind had conjured out of desperation. But then the voice came.

“Eric.”

A voice filled with power and sorrow, holiness and love.

He looked up.

There He stood.

Jesus.

Not the Jesus from his childhood paintings—the serene, untouchable figure in a perfect white robe. No, this Jesus was real. There was strength in His frame, fire in His eyes. His robe was glorious, but His hands bore scars—deep, raw, eternal.

Eric scrambled back. Not Him. Not here.

“No,” Eric whispered, shaking his head. “You don’t get to show up now. You don’t get to act like You care.”

Jesus knelt, His gaze piercing yet filled with sorrow.

“I was always there, Eric.”

Anger flared in Eric’s chest. “No, You weren’t! Where were You when they hurt me? Where were You when I cried out and no one listened? Where were You when they twisted Your words to cover their sins?”

Jesus did not flinch. He nodded, as if He already knew the pain before Eric spoke it.

“I was there.”

“Watching?” Eric spat. “Doing nothing?”

Tears filled Jesus’ eyes.

“No.” He reached out, and suddenly—Eric saw.

A vision flooded his mind—the Cross.

Bloodied wood. A broken body. A cry of anguish that shook the heavens.

Eric saw the nails, the thorns, the agony in Jesus’ face. But it was more than that—it was his pain too.

Every wound, every betrayal, every tear he had shed—Jesus carried it.

He saw the sins committed against him—the cruelty, the abuse, the hypocrisy of those who had used God’s name to harm him. Jesus took it all.

“I bore it, Eric.” Jesus’ voice trembled with unspeakable grief. “Every sin, every wound, every injustice—you were never alone. I carried it to the Cross. And I wept for you.”

Eric’s breath hitched. Tears burned his eyes.

“I don’t—” His voice broke. “I don’t understand.”

Jesus cupped his face, like a Father who had never stopped loving His child.

“You were hurt in My name, but that was never My heart. Those who used My name for evil do not speak for Me.” He wiped a tear from Eric’s cheek. “But I have come for you. Even here.”

Eric’s body shook. The years of pain, anger, and fear crumbled under the weight of the love pouring from Jesus.

“Why?”

Jesus smiled, full of tenderness and triumph.

“Because I love you. And I will not leave you in this place.”

The ground beneath them trembled. The walls of darkness cracked. Light poured in, like the first dawn after a long night.

Jesus stood and extended His hand.

“Come with Me.”

Eric hesitated.

“But I rejected You.”

“I never rejected you.”

“I wasted my life.”

“I can redeem it.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

“No one does.” Jesus’ eyes softened. “That is grace.”

Eric stared at the hand stretched toward him—the same hand that had been pierced, the same hand that had held him through every painful moment, even when he didn’t know it.

The voices in the darkness screamed—warning him, accusing him, begging him to stay.

But another voice called louder.

A voice of love.

Eric reached out.

The moment their hands touched, light exploded around them. The chains that had bound him shattered. The weight that had crushed him lifted.

He stepped forward—out of the grave, out of the shadows—following the One who had never given up on him.

The gates of Hades trembled and broke apart. A host of souls followed, stepping into the light as the King of Glory led them home.

And as Eric walked into the Kingdom, tears fell down his face—tears of healing, of hope, of a love he never thought possible.

He had been lost.

But now—he was found.

Forever.