(Originally written in 2012.)
More than twenty years ago,
my father lay on a hospital bed,
unconscious, unable to recognize anyone around him.
And yet, in that condition,
his final words were:
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures…”
Before those words,
a strange sense of awe and mystery arose within me.
“How could he say such words in that state?”
But at the very same moment,
another emotion exploded inside me—
a fierce resistance.
“Father… are you really searching for God?
Then at least curse Him instead.
Condemn Him.
Was that His guidance?
Was that His providence?
Was the hand that brought your life to this state
truly the hand of mercy and guidance?
…And yet you still cling to Him,
still pleading for salvation?
…I will not live like you!!!…”
Those final words of my father
left me with questions and burdens
that would follow me for years.
For generations,
my family had taken pride
in carrying on the faith through four successive generations.
And in response to those questions,
on one hand,
I answered with a loyalty
far beyond what most would call ordinary.
And on the other hand,
I answered with a fierce and violent resistance
equally beyond the ordinary.
Today, once again,
I find myself expressing
a resistance just as extraordinary.
Without hesitation, I call Him a tyrant.
A cruel ruler.
I say that the One I once knew and trusted is dead.
I laugh at heaven,
mock it,
condemn it,
curse it.
My ancestors,
who lost everything because of their faith.
My father and mother,
who lived lives too brutal, too merciless,
to be called “divine guidance.”
And now me,
standing at the end of that long line.
Was He truly a shepherd?
Yesterday,
I answered with loyalty.
Today,
I ask the question
through fierce resistance.