The Question
By Forrest Landry
It was 3 a.m., again. He’d been shaken from his sleep, as had happened so many mornings recently, by The Question. He was getting tired of this constant hammering by God.
Yet he was afraid to complain, since he’d asked for an answer. There was bound to be a revelation somewhere.
His girlfriend was adamant that her belief was the way. She held that God was The Father and He could be talked to. Her vision of Him was human-like.
He wasn’t sure that was how he wanted to believe. Especially since he was reading so many books. Those authors all pointed to a God within himself. Somehow that was more correct than a God without, especially after the teachings of his childhood. Then, God had been a condemning, vengeful Deity that said he was born a sinner, and he had no way out except by baptism. Even then he was guilty of sinning.
He’d rejected that view as being too hopeless to be from a loving Father. Now, at 60, he was trying to get another view – a different God – under his belt.
Sighing, he turned on the computer, then began to write.
“God, I need to know if You are a person out there who I can talk to, as she does, who will answer my prayers, and who will give me love.
“Or whether You are the impersonal God within me, responding to Law and giving me relief from my questioning.
“Which is it, God? I need an answer, a sign, something I can understand. I need You to tell me how to worship You.
“Thank You. Amen.”
Again he sighed. Somehow that didn’t seem like the right Question to be asking, since he’d asked it of a God out there, instead of within. But he didn’t know how to address a God within. Was it going to be a “Hey, You,” or was it going to be “God,” or what?
According to the latest book, the author said that God was located in the pineal gland, between the eyes. That was why the Hindus painted a red dot on their foreheads. He wasn’t sure about that, but felt intuitively that it was better than what his religion was saying.
Still, he wondered. And The Question wasn’t answered. In frustration, he turned and wrote the query again.
“God, tell me what to call You, tell me where You are. If, as they say, You are within, then show me by a sign where inside, and what to say when I pray.
“Or are You the God of meditation? If so, help me get to a point where I can meditate. Right now all I get is noise and static. That’s not being able to listen to You.
“Help me, God, help me. I’ve had enough of this banging my head against the old brick wall.
“Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.
“Amen.”
He shut down the computer and went back to bed, temporarily soothed.
It was 3 a.m., again. He’d been shaken from his sleep, as had happened so many mornings recently, by The Question. He was getting tired of this constant hammering by God.
Yet he was afraid to complain, since he’d asked for an answer. There was bound to be a revelation somewhere.
His girlfriend was adamant that her belief was the way. She held that God was The Father and He could be talked to. Her vision of Him was human-like.
He wasn’t sure that was how he wanted to believe. Especially since he was reading so many books. Those authors all pointed to a God within himself. Somehow that was more correct than a God without, especially after the teachings of his childhood. Then, God had been a condemning, vengeful Deity that said he was born a sinner, and he had no way out except by baptism. Even then he was guilty of sinning.
He’d rejected that view as being too hopeless to be from a loving Father. Now, at 60, he was trying to get another view – a different God – under his belt.
Sighing, he turned on the computer, then began to write.
“God, I need to know if You are a person out there who I can talk to, as she does, who will answer my prayers, and who will give me love.
“Or whether You are the impersonal God within me, responding to Law and giving me relief from my questioning.
“Which is it, God? I need an answer, a sign, something I can understand. I need You to tell me how to worship You.
“Thank You. Amen.”
Again he sighed. Somehow that didn’t seem like the right Question to be asking, since he’d asked it of a God out there, instead of within. But he didn’t know how to address a God within. Was it going to be a “Hey, You,” or was it going to be “God,” or what?
According to the latest book, the author said that God was located in the pineal gland, between the eyes. That was why the Hindus painted a red dot on their foreheads. He wasn’t sure about that, but felt intuitively that it was better than what his religion was saying.
Still, he wondered. And The Question wasn’t answered. In frustration, he turned and wrote the query again.
“God, tell me what to call You, tell me where You are. If, as they say, You are within, then show me by a sign where inside, and what to say when I pray.
“Or are You the God of meditation? If so, help me get to a point where I can meditate. Right now all I get is noise and static. That’s not being able to listen to You.
“Help me, God, help me. I’ve had enough of this banging my head against the old brick wall.
“Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.
“Amen.”
He shut down the computer and went back to bed, temporarily soothed.
posted by For The Trees | 3:16 AM
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