The Long Silence
At the end of time, billions of people were scattered on a great plain
before God's throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before
them. But some groups near the throne talked heatedly. Not with crying
shame, but with belligerence.
"Can God judge us? What can he know about suffering?” snapped a pert
young brunette. She ripped open her sleeve to reveal a tattooed number
from a Nazi concentration camp. " We endured terror...beatings....
torture.... death"
In another group a Negro boy lowered his collar. "What about this?" he
demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. "Lynched for no crime but being
black".
In another crowd, a pregnant schoolgirl with sullen eyes." Why should
I suffer?" she murmured. "It wasn't my fault." Far across the plain
were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for the
suffering and evil he had permitted in his world.
How lucky God was to live in heaven where all was sweetness and light;
where there was no weeping or fear, or hunger or hatred. What did God
know of all that man had been forced to endure in this world?" For God
leads a pretty sheltered life", they said.
So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because he had
suffered the most. A Jew, a Negro, a person from Hiroshima, a horribly
deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child. At last they were ready to
present their case. It was rather clever.
Before God could be qualified to be their judge, he must endure what
they had endured. The decision was that God should be sentenced to
live on earth - as a man.
Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted.
Give him a work so difficult that even his own family will think him
out of his mind when he tries to do it. Let him be betrayed by his
closest friends. Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced
jury and convicted by a cowardly judge. Let him be tortured.
At the last let him see what it means to be terribly alone. Then let
him die! Let him die so that can be no doubt that he died. Let there
be a great host of witnesses to verify it.
As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of
approval went up from the throng of people assembled.
When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long
silence. No one uttered another word... no one moved.
For suddenly all knew that God had already served his sentence.
At the end of time, billions of people were scattered on a great plain
before God's throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before
them. But some groups near the throne talked heatedly. Not with crying
shame, but with belligerence.
"Can God judge us? What can he know about suffering?” snapped a pert
young brunette. She ripped open her sleeve to reveal a tattooed number
from a Nazi concentration camp. " We endured terror...beatings....
torture.... death"
In another group a Negro boy lowered his collar. "What about this?" he
demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. "Lynched for no crime but being
black".
In another crowd, a pregnant schoolgirl with sullen eyes." Why should
I suffer?" she murmured. "It wasn't my fault." Far across the plain
were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for the
suffering and evil he had permitted in his world.
How lucky God was to live in heaven where all was sweetness and light;
where there was no weeping or fear, or hunger or hatred. What did God
know of all that man had been forced to endure in this world?" For God
leads a pretty sheltered life", they said.
So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because he had
suffered the most. A Jew, a Negro, a person from Hiroshima, a horribly
deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child. At last they were ready to
present their case. It was rather clever.
Before God could be qualified to be their judge, he must endure what
they had endured. The decision was that God should be sentenced to
live on earth - as a man.
Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted.
Give him a work so difficult that even his own family will think him
out of his mind when he tries to do it. Let him be betrayed by his
closest friends. Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced
jury and convicted by a cowardly judge. Let him be tortured.
At the last let him see what it means to be terribly alone. Then let
him die! Let him die so that can be no doubt that he died. Let there
be a great host of witnesses to verify it.
As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of
approval went up from the throng of people assembled.
When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long
silence. No one uttered another word... no one moved.
For suddenly all knew that God had already served his sentence.
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