God for Nothing

"God did not now nor would in any furthest future prevail. Once he had come and died. If he came again, again he would die, and again and so forever, by his own will, rendered powerless against the free and evil wills of men. Then Aske met the full assault of darkness without reprieve of hoped for light, for God ultimately vanquished was no God at all. But yet, though God was not God, as the head of the dung worm turns, so his spirit turned blindly, gropingly, hopelessly loyal, towards that good, that holy, that merciful - which though not God, though vanquished - was still the last dear love of a vanquished and tortured man."

— H.F.M. Prescott, The Man on a Donkey

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Dear Kate,

How far would you go to fight for justice?

Not very far, not me, not you, not any of us.  We are old enough to have our cynicism seasoned with a healthy grain of salt.

Let me ask differently then: How far would you go to fight against injustice done against you?

We can only begin to ask ourselves this question, let alone hazarding an answer, when we are begging for a mercy we know will never be granted, a miracle that will never come.  "Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me..."

Your Father does not answer one way or another.  The Unmoved Mover moves everything around the cup, turning the whole world in your head, but moves not the cup itself.  You look around: there's no one but you.  You look ahead: there's nothing else on the menu.  "God for nothing"; good for nothing.

 

Religious speculation talks a great deal about meeting God, walking with Jesus, whirling in the wind of the Spirit, not unlike the military parade of freedom fighters, justice warriors.  "If there's nothing to gain from this God, none of us will show up here!  None of us!" an angry church lady once chastised me, when I suggested to her maybe love is not a victory march, maybe it is a cold, a broken Hallelujah.

If such maybe becomes the only possibility, the only cup left to drink, then I must ask myself: How far would I go to remove its bitterness before I remove too from its rim the kiss of Jesus?  How deep would I stab at the heart of injustice before I kill an enemy and kill Jesus too?

Again, a mere mental exercise for religious pastime.  These questions mean nothing to us now, when there is so much meaning to life elsewhere to be found, everything and everyone we love safe and sound.

Have I ever met Jesus?  I can't say for sure.  Last week for a moment I thought I did, close enough to Him, closer than ever I would say, when I met in the eyes of a terror so relentless, so merciless, so artless, that I knew the propitiation to make to satisfy its wrath is nothing short of everything that is me.

How far would you go to fight against injustice done against you?  I am asking you this for the second time today.  I hope you can hear the ugly music of a repeated preposition.

Yours, Alex