The Problem with “Giving Your Life to Jesus” at Six Years Old

Why I No Longer Believe in Scaring People Into Heaven

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When I was six, I gave my life to Jesus. Or, more accurately, I was told that if I didn’t, I might end up in hell.

The sermon had been about sin. Not in the abstract, theological sense, but sin like it lived in your bones. The kind you couldn’t scrub off, no matter how many times you prayed. I remember the pastor telling a story — something about a fireman. A house was burning down, and a little boy was trapped inside. The fireman rushed in, carried the boy out, but got caught in the flames himself. He died saving the child.

Then the pastor looked straight at us — all of us kids squirming in the pews — and said, “That’s what Jesus did for you. He died in your place. He took the punishment you deserved.”

I didn’t really know what to do with that. I didn’t even know what I’d done wrong. But the message was clear: someone had died for me, and now I owed them everything. You don’t just walk away from a story like that. You respond. You say thank you. You do what you’re told.

And you’d better not take too long.

Then came the music.

“All to Jesus, I surrender…”