Eli lay in his bed in the prison infirmary, eyes closed tight, as though by so doing he could miraculously shut out the pain along with the light. Lying there, with a half-dozen needles jabbed into veins in his arms and the back of both hands, extremities now black and blue from the relentless torture, he felt like a pin cushion. No human should experience such indignity.
He wanted to curse God, to rail against a Maker who would allow such misery, such affliction, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare, never, regardless of the circumstances, however grim and horrible they might be. Eli knew better, knew that despite the intense and bitter feelings he now felt, nothing could erase his awe for the Almighty. Awe… and fear. To love God is required; to fear him is the true beginning of wisdom.
The pages of history are replete with cautionary tales about men and women who voiced angry displeasure at God and the consequences they suffered. Eli often told his parishioners-and his own children-the story of Kierkegaard’s father, Michael, who, while still a young boy, cursed God. That single moment of anger, only a split-second in the space of a full lifetime, placed such a heavy burden on young Michael that he never cast it away. He remained throughout his life a sad, broken, and remorseful man.
Never, Eli warned, admonish the Almighty, no matter how bad or tragic or dire the circumstances that fire your anger. His ways are not our ways, and no matter how hard we try, we can never comprehend them. His plan for each of us is his alone. We are merely his instruments, his humble servants.
And yet… at this moment, it took all of Eli’s will and strength to contain the angry feelings that roiled inside him. The pain he felt now was unbearable. His lungs burned like they were in flames. It felt like a mad wolverine was in his chest, chewing relentlessly at his insides, consuming his very being inch by inch. The cancer was, Eli knew, eating him alive.
The morphine available to him could ease the pain, but Eli wasn’t ready to go that route. Yes, the pain was unbearable, yet at this point he preferred suffering to being doped up and out of it. Once you choose to bury the pain behind a cloud of drugs, you also choose to abandon life as you know it. That option wasn’t acceptable… yet. Eli did not want to be dead while still alive.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why God had placed such a heavy burden on him. He had always been God’s faithful servant, a true believer. Yes, he had sinned, fallen victim to temptation, to lust, but he was cleansed through God’s love and mercy. He had tried to obey the Commandments, to live a pious life, to be a loving husband and devoted father. A protective father. He had taken the blame for sins he didn’t commit. Spent three decades in prison for a sentence that wasn’t rightfully his to serve.
Eli wondered if perhaps this was the sin that caused God’s wrath. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the blame. Maybe he should have pointed fingers at the real perpetrator. Maybe, by allowing a murderer to go free, he was, in God’s eyes, as guilty as the killer.
Maybe-
But he had taken the only path available to him at the time. He had but a single option then and he had taken it. Any loving father would have made the same decision. Eli simply did not believe God would elect to punish him for following his conscience in a matter involving the safety of his wife and children. God could not be that cruel and uncaring.
God had to understand.
God must understand.
Tears rolled down Eli’s cheeks as he drifted off to sleep.