Monday, January 20, 2003
Do I love God?
Lately I've had to ask myself that question numerous times. Rather than struggle with my belief in Him, I have a hard time understanding His ways. Yah yah, I know the whole "His ways can be mysterious" thing and that sometimes things just don't make much sense to us mortals not being privy to the whole divine plan and all. I also know the whole "Problem of Pain" as C.S. Lewis refers to it and I've got to admit that to me, the impossibility of death and suffering in a material universe is a logical impossibility, the two seem to go hand in hand.
Sometimes though, I've just got to question though why God bothered at all if this was what was in-store for us from the get-go? Good people die, they suffer and often-times waste away from diseases that suck every ounce of dignity away before finally, mercifully (yah right) end their lives. This is what happened to my grandfather. A man who loved to work, who thought the word "retirement" meant "the day I die". He was the embodiement of the sheep found in Matthew 25:32-46. He gave and never asked in return... quite often he never got anything back in return and it never bothered him one iota. What got him? 11 years of cancer, finally invading his spine and forcing him to be hopsital bed-ridden. He dies while the doctors, long knowing that his cancer was incurable (though not telling anyone of this fact), forced him to undergo radiation and chemo treatments during a harsh winter, live. Not only that, they live richer now thanks to the money my grandfather had to pay for his treatments. Yes, justice was served.
I know that the Bible predicts hard times for us, especially (it seems) for those of us who try to obey. Whether this was some sort of perverse gift God bestowed to my grandfather (someone mentioned that perhaps my grandfather went right to heaven because of his suffering here on earth, making any further purgation unnecessary), I'm not sure. I can hardly follow His logic and frankly right now I don't really want to.
To sit and reflect on the fact that my grandfather will no longer be a part of my life, except for what pictures, memories and memento's I have of/from him is a hard thing to accept. To know what he meant to other people, as well of how he molded me as a person, and know that that influence is now diminished because his presence can be no longer, is an extremely frustrating thing. Not a day goes by when I don't think of him and when I do I cannot help but cry about my loss.
For this I think God is a bastard. I can honestly say that if God came back to earth today, rather than drop to my knees in homage I'd walk up to Him and punch Him in the face. Oddly enough, even with these feelings, I have found a strange consolation during the Mass. Not so that I may bask in the glow of His gracious goodness, but because I can see Him on that altar and converse with Him, letting Him know how much I currently hate Him.
Oh, I suppose people will say that I'll eventually get over this, and perhaps I will. Perhaps it's just the fact that I was *ahem* lucky enough to not experience any deaths in my immediate family for the past two decades and I'm taking this harder than I should. Who the f*** knows, who the f*** really cares?
Lately I've had to ask myself that question numerous times. Rather than struggle with my belief in Him, I have a hard time understanding His ways. Yah yah, I know the whole "His ways can be mysterious" thing and that sometimes things just don't make much sense to us mortals not being privy to the whole divine plan and all. I also know the whole "Problem of Pain" as C.S. Lewis refers to it and I've got to admit that to me, the impossibility of death and suffering in a material universe is a logical impossibility, the two seem to go hand in hand.
Sometimes though, I've just got to question though why God bothered at all if this was what was in-store for us from the get-go? Good people die, they suffer and often-times waste away from diseases that suck every ounce of dignity away before finally, mercifully (yah right) end their lives. This is what happened to my grandfather. A man who loved to work, who thought the word "retirement" meant "the day I die". He was the embodiement of the sheep found in Matthew 25:32-46. He gave and never asked in return... quite often he never got anything back in return and it never bothered him one iota. What got him? 11 years of cancer, finally invading his spine and forcing him to be hopsital bed-ridden. He dies while the doctors, long knowing that his cancer was incurable (though not telling anyone of this fact), forced him to undergo radiation and chemo treatments during a harsh winter, live. Not only that, they live richer now thanks to the money my grandfather had to pay for his treatments. Yes, justice was served.
I know that the Bible predicts hard times for us, especially (it seems) for those of us who try to obey. Whether this was some sort of perverse gift God bestowed to my grandfather (someone mentioned that perhaps my grandfather went right to heaven because of his suffering here on earth, making any further purgation unnecessary), I'm not sure. I can hardly follow His logic and frankly right now I don't really want to.
To sit and reflect on the fact that my grandfather will no longer be a part of my life, except for what pictures, memories and memento's I have of/from him is a hard thing to accept. To know what he meant to other people, as well of how he molded me as a person, and know that that influence is now diminished because his presence can be no longer, is an extremely frustrating thing. Not a day goes by when I don't think of him and when I do I cannot help but cry about my loss.
For this I think God is a bastard. I can honestly say that if God came back to earth today, rather than drop to my knees in homage I'd walk up to Him and punch Him in the face. Oddly enough, even with these feelings, I have found a strange consolation during the Mass. Not so that I may bask in the glow of His gracious goodness, but because I can see Him on that altar and converse with Him, letting Him know how much I currently hate Him.
Oh, I suppose people will say that I'll eventually get over this, and perhaps I will. Perhaps it's just the fact that I was *ahem* lucky enough to not experience any deaths in my immediate family for the past two decades and I'm taking this harder than I should. Who the f*** knows, who the f*** really cares?
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