I had an awkward moment at a restaurant recently. My colleague and I were grabbing lunch and discussing church stuff. When we got up to leave, a woman greeted us with a volunteer opportunity for a local organization. As she told us about the opportunity, she asked what we did for a living. We told her we were pastors at a local congregation. She seemed impressed and said it would be great to have us as volunteers. 

The conversation was going well until she asked what church we pastored. Upon hearing the name, she said, “Oh, you guys pastor the church that doesn’t believe in hell.” 

I asked her what she meant, and she repeated that she had heard we were the church that didn’t believe in hell. 

Apparently, according to the streets, we were the church where the doctrine of hell didn’t exist. 

What had been a pleasant conversation devolved until my colleague and I made an awkward exit. I felt confident we were no longer wanted as volunteers. 

As I reflected on this strange conversation, the question of what is most important rolled around in my head. What matters most when it comes to church? Is it our doctrine? Or is it how we show up — our actions — in the world?

Honestly, I do not know where my congregation stands on the doctrine of hell. It was not a question I asked during my job interview, nor did they ask me about it. 

What was more important to me was how the congregation — the people — interacted. 

How did they treat one another? How did they relate to the community beyond the church? How were they demonstrating Christ’s love for creation? Where did my gifts fit within this body? 

Those were the questions I asked, and those were the questions they asked me.

In seminary, I fell in love with theological discourse. Being the only Anabaptist student at a Presbyterian seminary gave me the opportunity and desire to learn more about my Anabaptist faith. I had to dig deeper, as I wanted to share Anabaptist perspectives on topics like pacifism and baptism. 

Though I enjoyed those conversations, they did not prepare me for what pastoring a church was actually like. I quickly found out that many people cared less about my theological preferences and more about how I participated in ministry with them.

Now, do not get me wrong. Theology is very important to me. I believe our theology dictates how we interact with others. What we believe about God correlates with how we show up in the world. 

Our actions are rarely separate from our theology. We love our neighbors because our faith tells us to. We as Anabaptists practice nonviolence because our faith tells us to. I do not want us to discount the importance of our theology.

But in moments of crisis, when people are going through their most difficult times, theological words leave us. Theology does not bring comfort to the oppressed. 

At some point, all of our theology and all of our doctrine have to move us to be present in the world. While we are talking, maybe even arguing, about atonement theories and sacraments, we must remember that people can’t eat theology. 

We must also feed the poor, give water to the thirsty and clothe the naked. We must bring comfort to those in need. 

Right theology — which sincere Christians will define differently — must go with right action. Otherwise, it is meaningless.

So, no, I do not know my church members’ thoughts on if hell exists. I suspect not all their beliefs are the same. One day I may ask, and we can have a discussion about it. 

For now, however, I am more ­concerned about how we show up f­or each other and for the world around us. 

No matter what our theology is, I hope and pray that we can be a peaceful presence in a world overcome with chaos.  

Jerrell Williams is pastor of Shalom Mennonite Church in Newton, Kan. A 2015 graduate of Bethel College, he has a master of divinity degree from Pittsburgh Theological Seminary.