I really believe in the power of Story. I think that we stand witness to our lives and the lives of others through story. We connect with each other and build something new through story. I have decided to intersperse my blog with occasional stories (true stories) that have deeply impacted me. Stories that would be a shame to keep to myself.
That said, these stories are deeply personal to those who they involved. If I use names, I will not use real ones. I will do my best to honor those who are involved and to protect dignity. My biggest fear in sharing stories that involve others (all my best stories do), is the ease at which I could exploit them and their vulnerability. Hold me accountable if anything I write seems exploitative in any way.
__________________________________________
It was a late night. I had just finished watching the final Harry Potter movie at the midnight showing. I was home from college for the summer and was having a blast spending time with some friends of mine from church. A few of us talked in the parking lot for a bit as the group we came with whittled down. Before long, just three of us were left. We had decided that we were going to go to the beach, to talk all night long so that we could watch the sunrise together.
We stopped at a gas station and got snacks: Energy drinks to keep us going and donuts, because apparently our stomachs really wanted a toxic combination of snacks. We found our spot along the shore, down a-ways from a hopping nightclub. A few random couples and individuals showed up along the shore for brief moments, but we didn't think much of it until a man in his late 30's, who was quite drunk, plopped himself onto the sand right next to us. He talked to my friend for a few minutes, then went back to splashing and swimming in the waves.
I thought she knew him, but she didn't. We went back to our conversation, speaking a little more distractedly as we kept an eye on him from a distance. We were a little worried because each time the waves knocked him down, we weren't sure if he was sober enough to get back up. After a few minutes, he returned, asking us why we weren't in the water. My friend told him we weren't dressed for it. He said, "Live life. Just gotta live it."
My friend said, "I feel the most alive, in every molecule of my being, when I'm with Christ." He stopped for a second. I don't remember if he asked her another question or not, but they spoke a bit. Then he addresses all three of us saying, "I am a Christian, believe me. I am just so fucking mad at God." It was out of the blue. It seemed to come from nowhere, but it likely came from alcohol-induced vulnerability and honesty. Just as unexpectedly, tears began to fill his eyes until he could not hold them in.
Then he began to share his story. He told us that one of his friends had been murdered. A young woman, just 25 years old. He told us how beautiful of a person she was. She was a "good Catholic girl", he said, who'd been going to law school and had been studying to pass the bar. She was murdered in a most gruesome way. Her limbs had all been cut off and she had been decapitated.
He talked in circles, telling parts of the story between parts of his own life story, including his faith, and his anger with God resulting from this murder.
We found out that he was in his late 30's, that he literally was a rocket scientist and that earlier in his life had had planned to become a Lutheran pastor. He knew a good deal of Koine Greek and was familiar with a little Hebrew.
He told us those details of his life, told us about his friend's murder, and kept returning to the biblical story of Job, paraphrasing it, making it reflect his own experience more acutely. He talked about how Job went on and on, asking all these questions of God. He told us that when God showed up He told Job, "You're a fucking idiot. You don't know anything!" He continued, "Okay, I get that God has infinite wisdom and shit, and I'm just a fucking idiot, but I just don't get how God could let her get her fucking head chopped off. He could've stopped it. God already had me. He didn't have to do this to get me. He already had me. "
He paused and we waited silently, letting the gravity of that be felt fully. With desperation he finally said, "I don't even need to know the answers. I just need God to fucking show up. He may've called Job a fucking idiot, but at least he showed up to say it. ...I know he's here with us now. I know that. But..."
After a while, he turned back to the broader topic of faith. "You'd have to be a fucking idiot not to believe God exists. And once you believe he exists, you have to be stupid not to believe in Jesus."
He vacillated between clarity of faith and doubt of the very nature of God, between rage and tears, and between topics, all without warning.
He said to us, "This is the first time I've cried about any of this, and it's with strangers. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He continued, saying that he had had to be the rock for all of her friends. "I tell them 'God has a plan' and all that shit. And I know he does, but..."
He turned to look at the moonlight dancing on the surface of the ocean waters. Then he looked up at the sky with fierceness and tears and yelled, "You know what? Fuck you, Motherfucker! Fuck you for taking her!"
A few silent moments passed. "And I know I shouldn't be angry, 'cause I don't know what God knows. He took the heat 2,000 years ago on the cross. He's still sitting here taking it and I'm cussing him out. And in front of his sheep, apparently."
He returned to the story of Job and to his own longing for God to show up. Then he chuckled a sad, heavy chuckle and said, "I get it. I mean, you guys are here. I came out here on a business trip, it's my last night here, I had 7 shots of rum, and here you are. I tell you... That Asshole really knows what He's doing. Doesn't mean I'm happy about it - I'm still fuckin' pissed, but... He's here."
We talked longer and we each prayed for him with him. He kept saying how amazing it was that people prayed for him and that he had brothers and sisters there, in that random part of Florida. We chatted longer and shared our donuts with him. It was a communion more real than I had ever been served before. He invited us to the condo he rented so that we could get drunk with him and we declined. We didn't stay much longer on the beach, and we didn't see the sunrise, though we were up until the wee hours of the morning. No regrets.
__________________________________________
I'm not going to wrap this up with a pretty bow. I couldn't if I tried. I'm not going to try to explain why this held so much meaning. Not in this venue. If you want to ask me about it, I'd be glad to share, but I think there's no less value in just letting this story be what it is. It is true, it is life, it is struggle. It involves a lot of questions and few, incomplete answers.
I will say though, after the whole thing happened, it almost seemed like a dream. I wondered if he was for real or if he was a bored tourist who really just wanted to screw around with a couple of young adults who were way too gullible and impressionable. Immediately after this encounter, I went home and googled the story. Everything he said checked out. The name, age, and occupation of the girl, the city and state it occurred in (which is where he lived), the gruesome details of the murder... All confirmed.
I was shocked though to see that the news report I had found came out just a mere two weeks before this encounter. I assumed it was years prior. And here he was and there we were, right in the thick of a recent tragedy.
I even tried to look the man up on facebook, but his name was so generic that I was unable to find him. I guess sometimes brief encounters have incredible impact on their own.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment