A Sprawling Wall of Memories That Came Back While Reading Jason Kirk's Excellent Debut Novel, Hell is A World Without You

Okay. So, Jason Kirk wrote one of my favorite novels to come out in a long time. It’s called Hell is a World Without You. Reading this book allowed me to feel/remember/process a lot of personal stuff that I had either buried or forgotten.

Some (re: a lot) of which, I share below.

Now, Jason was kind enough to grant me an interview about his wonderful book, so if you’d like to just skip over to that and read it instead, I do not blame you there one bit. In fact, I actively encourage it. However, if you would like the full experience, here is the—

Sprawling Wall of Memories That Came Back to Me While Reading Jason Kirk’s Excellent Debut Novel, Hell is a World Without You:

9.2 years old, sitting in a pew with my mom, never going back when they call for Children’s Church, because she says I don’t have to. Reading X-Men comics throughout the grown-up service. The rip of the tape when I open a bagged/boarded comic always earns a glare from the women sitting in front of us. Then, 13.3 years old, riding in the back of a church bus listening to my Walkman, trying to learn all the verses to “Hit ‘Em Up,” on the way to the Junior High Connection weekend event where I will soon decide to get baptized. Calling my parents collect from a payphone on the way home telling them to meet us at the church for the impromptu baptism. Driving around southern Illinois afterwards, so my mom can get me an Allen Iverson jersey. Wondering if I’ll feel better now that I’m baptized. Then, wondering if I’ll be any better at basketball now. Being disappointed when neither happens. Feeling guilty for not getting rid of all my rap CDs. Nightmares about falling down a continual pit of fire, surrounded by screams of agony. Learning very few bible verses, but finally learning all the verses to “Hit ‘Em Up” and countless other rap songs. Wondering which of my deceased relatives are currently burning in hell. Getting an award for perfect attendance for Weds night Youth Group. Sneaking out of our cabin at church camp that following summer to steal the bell. Not being able to poop the whole week because there are no stall doors in any of the bathrooms. Playing carpet ball. Being excited for canteen time each afternoon. Learning the Greek alphabet for extra canteen time. Awkwardly flirting with out-of-town girls. Bleaching my hair orange with Sun-In even though it looks dumb. Watching a movie about dragons for some reason. Crying on cry night. Swearing that I’ll get rid of my rap CDs in favor of “Jesus Freak” and Christian equivalents as soon as I get home. Then, getting home, and definitely not doing that. Continuing this same cycle the following year and the year after that. Calling myself a Christian but not really feeling any different. Constantly hearing that I’ve not sold out enough, which seems to be true so I must be the problem. Playing paintball in Dix, Illinois. Not so discreetly making jokes about the town’s name in the back of the church van. Having classmates die and wondering if they’re in heaven. Mom getting diagnosed with cancer. Arguing over Goldeneye at an out-of-town church camp because those dudes have no rule against using Odd Job and thus no morals. My binder of rap CDs becoming so unwieldy it hurts your arm when you try to clear the front seat. Driving to shifts at McDonalds and imagining getting in a car wreck. No longer getting certificates for Youth Group perfect attendance. Getting kicked out of a church camp because we TP the girl’s cabin in an ongoing prank war. Trying a lot of things for the first time. Riding 4 Wheelers through the woods with my best friends, like three of us on one, barely hanging on, yet, miraculously, no one gets hurt. Straightening up (briefly). Graduating high school. Partying at college. Getting my heart broken. Still calling myself a Christian and never really questioning it until I learn in a history course about the origins of the bible, the Council of Nicaea, Constantine, and all that. Still only questioning it somewhat briefly. Becoming close friends with some older band dudes who are devout Christians. Going to bible studies all summer. Being freaked out when people talk in tongues, feeling like there’s something wrong with me since I never feel that. The peppermint-mildew smell of Josh’s Dad’s church with its green carpet and wood paneled walls. Playing mafia there. Playing Hide N Seek there. Telling ghost stories there. Watching band practices there. Feeling safe there. Discovering Pedro the Lion. Starting to attend local band shows that all happen at churches. Being so scared of demons I can’t sleep at night. Going to a Mission Fuge church camp in Denver. Climbing the mountains where it’s cold and snowy even in the summer. We all slide down the ice. Playing guitar and singing in front of people for the first time there. Really feeling something. My friend rap-battling someone by just singing Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler.” Crying on cry night. Swearing we’ll stop partying. Coming back and definitely not doing that. Going back to college. Living out current anxiety-nightmare scenarios where I skip class so much that I show up to class and there’s a test that day I haven’t studied for. Playing my first local show. Meeting Stacy and getting stuff straightened out. Discovering mewithoutyou. That next summer, at a bible study, a trusted friend says that God told him to heal my mom of her worsening cancer. I believe him because who would lie about that? He prays over her. We all do. Yes, there’s tongue talking, just not by me. Mom’s willing to try anything. She cries. I do too. He says God did his part to heal her, now it’s up to her to have the faith. Mom doesn’t get better. The same best friend I once got kicked out of Church Camp with, dies tragically. Graduating college. Discovering Manchester Orchestra. Going away to play Cornerstone music festival that summer with my indie band who isn’t really Christian at all, but it seems to be an umbrella term by that point. Sitting around the campfire there telling dirty jokes, (not so) discreetly drinking, and then sneaking off to the all-night prayer tent when everyone else goes to their tents. Praying for mom to get better. Believing that if I just believe/pray hard enough then she will be healed. Mom still doesn’t get better. Mom sitting up watching Carrie 2 on the night my friends and I go to that mewithoutyou show in STL. Getting pulled on stage for their finale of “In A Sweater Poorly Knit” and singing “I do not exist!” This one moment bringing me more peace than any bible verse I’ve ever read before or since. Another month later, Mom tells me she’ll send a blue bird when she makes it to heaven. Me, at 24.11 years old, refilling the bird feeders outside the kitchen window the night the hospice nurses tell us it won’t be much longer. Standing at the kitchen sink the following afternoon, sobbing, demanding to see a blue bird when a little one flutters down, landing on the clothesline. Getting married a couple weeks later in the church that Stacy and I grew up in. The preacher that has known me most my life calls me Dan. Coming home from the honeymoon and feeling devoid of purpose (like a real Dan). Rocky first year. Driving to work at Applebee’s and thinking about getting in car wrecks. Joining a Christian rock band started by my two best friends (they also work at Applebee’s). Driving to St. Louis to open for more popular secular acts. Opening for Mike Herrera’s other-band Tumbledown and not knowing why there are bloody footprints all over the mosh-pit area. Later, meeting Brady’s drunken friend who is very happy, except he lost a shoe in the pit and his foot is all cut up. Thus, the Tale of Cut Foot Guy. Becoming a part of the Christian music festival circuit. Not really ever going to church but feeling more connected to God than I ever have. (Just barely) being on the right side of a convo in the van concerning whether gay people can make it into heaven or not. Starting work at a youth shelter. Having our first child and buying a house. Driving to Nashville where the band relocates. Recording an album. Meeting with Tooth&Nail records. Getting an email three months later that they’re passing on us. Finding out at Life Light in South Dakota that Stacy’s pregnant again. Deciding to leave the band several months later. Them finally getting signed to an indie Christian label. Starting to attend church for real as an adult for the first time in forever despite calling myself a Christian almost the whole time. Not really feeling it. Stacy isn’t either. The problem must be us, so we double down. Start attending Weds night Bible Studies. I start playing in the Sunday morning band, so I won’t skip as much. Still not really feeling it. Lugging my amp through the crowd each Sunday morning with maybe five minutes to spare. Liking it when we play that one song “Oceans” because it drops down to that cool B-flat chord. Still relating far more to “Curse Your Branches” than anything in the Hillsong catalog though. Stacy stops taking communion long before I do. Continue going through the motions. A guy in the Bible Study knows I’m a STL Rams fan and boy, does he have some opinions on their drafting of Michael Sam that he wants to share with me. Realizing we do not share the same opinions, but not really saying much about it. The preacher talks about taking his family to the Creation Museum and I realize this guy thinks dinosaurs were here just a couple thousand years ago (because that’s exactly what he tells me), but I just say, “oh that’s cool.” Other parents in the Bible Study brag about all the the bible verses their very young children have memorized while Stacy and I haven’t really talked to our very young children about anything in the Bible at all (they do know all the verses to “Hit ‘Em Up” by age 4 though). “Foregone Conclusions.” Playing basketball in the church’s carpeted gym after Bible Study. The associate pastor likes to talk trash but then call the weakest fouls. I’m more vocal opposing that than I am anything that came up in the Bible Study. 2016. Trump stuff and all that comes along with it. I shouldn’t be but I’m still very surprised when the majority of the people in our church, including all of the leadership, actively support that guy. Feeling awful when that guy wins the election. Deciding to throw a benefit concert for a local LGBTQ+ non-profit Safe Space in southern Illinois. The event gets some local news coverage which is seen by someone in the church. They bring it to church leadership and advocate for me to be removed from the Praise Band. Preacher calls me to “have lunch.” Over chimichangas, I lay out why I feel there is nothing wrong with being a member of the LGBTQ community. I go on to lay out why I don’t really believe any more. I’m told I’m being emotional and not rational. I’m told there’s going to be a meeting of the elders where it will be determined if I can stay in the praise band. I go and stay for the whole two and a half hours to defend my position. I finish by saying that I haven’t believed in a long time, but that I kept playing in the praise band because I knew it would keep me going and that I hoped if I kept going long enough maybe something would click back in place for me, but it never did. The sobbing sound the worship pastor makes after I say this. The way that makes me sad because he’s a sweet person and none of this is his fault. Me telling them that regardless of what they decide, I won’t be coming back, because now that I know where they stand, I don’t want to be a part of it anymore (plus the whole not believing thing). Sleeping in on Sundays and making cinnamon rolls in my robe. People on Facebook telling Stacy they’re just worried about what will happen to our kids now even though our kids don’t even know their names. Still listening to mewithoutyou, which fills my spirit. Still playing random reunion shows with my friends and still feeling something when we play some of the more Christian songs. Still being good friends with all my old Christian band friends. Them respecting me and vice versa. Finding our own spirituality and truth in this mess. Feeling at peace with ourselves, still trying to help others and forgive those who know not what they do.

I’m sure it’s possible to read Hell is a World Without You and not think about your entire spiritual identity, but that was not my experience. I started reading this book expecting to be filled with all types of righteous indignation/validation and, yes, I got some of that stuff. But what I also got, and what ultimately meant more to be in the end, was remembering all the happy times too, the lasting friendships I made and the events that helped shape me into who I am. Through Isaac’s story, I was better able to understand my own, and for that, I’m truly grateful to author, Jason Kirk. 

The book is full of humor, heartbreak, grief, and joy. I wouldn’t expect it to be any other way.

In place of any other arbitrary rating system, I give it: Five Calebs (all equally the Best Caleb).