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wesleyhill · 3 years

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The Voice from the Whirlwind

A homily on Job 38:1-11, preached at Trinity Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost 2021

Our Old Testament reading today is taken from the book of Job. Many scholars consider Job to be a literary masterpiece and its poetry the most beautiful in the entire Hebrew Bible. In light of that, I’m going to read our text again from the King James Version, which does better than most any other version at capturing the grandeur of the language.

Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, 2 Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? 3 Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me. 4 Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding. 5 Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it? 6 Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the corner stone thereof; 7 When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy? 8 Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb? 9 When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddlingband for it, 10 And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors, 11 And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?

This portion of Job comes from the very end of the book. In the thirty-seven long chapters that precede it, we have heard the story and the voice of Job, as well as the rebukes of some friends of his that have come to visit him.

Let’s recall that story so that we have the context for the portion we just heard. Job is a kind of Everyman character, a timeless figure. He does not seem to be descended from Abraham; he is not an Israelite. He is from Uz, some faraway city, and he is described as “the greatest of all the people of the east” (1:3). We might picture a wealthy sheikh with a palace and a retinue. His city and his lifestyle are meant to transport us into a sort of fairy tale setting (and remember — as C. S. Lewis and the Inklings remind us — that doesn’t mean the story is any less true! To be swept up in a good fairy tale is to be forced to grapple with something true about us).

One day, according to the story, an accusing, adversarial angelic figure makes a proposal to God in his heavenly court. He claims that Job only worships God and lives a virtuous life because it’s easy for him to do so. “But stretch out your hand now,” the adversary tells God, “and touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face.” And God gives the adversary permission to take away Job’s family (his ten children are all killed), his wealth, and his health. And Job’s response is to continue, through it all, to worship God: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD” (1:21).

At this point in the story, three friends of Job travel from far away to see this greatest of all men reduced to sitting in an ash heap scraping his inflamed skin with a shard of pottery. For seven days they simply sit in silence with Job (as Jews to this day practice sitting shiva with the bereaved), “for they saw that his suffering was very great” (2:13).

But then, for the next thirty-five chapters of the book, Job howls out his innocence in poem after poem, speech after poetic speech, and his three friends remonstrate with him. They rebuke him for his arrogantly supposing that he can call God to account, and he retorts, “Miserable comforters are you all” (16:2). Back and forth it goes. So many words. So many “vain,” “windy words,” as the poet calls them at one point (16:3, KJV; NRSV).

And then, out of a storm that overwhelms all the words, the LORD finally speaks. Job had earlier wished that the day of his birth had been shrouded in darkness, but God turns that wish around and asks Job why he has shrouded everything with ignorant speech: “Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge?” Then the LORD declares that He intends to question Job: “Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me.”

And then comes some of the most memorable imagery in the entire book. I encourage you to open your Bible at home and read the passage again later, slowly, and pay attention to the striking imagery and metaphors. The LORD asks of Job:

You who are so full of opinions and recriminations, where were you when I was hoisting the rafters of the universe? Where were you when I was taking a plumbline to the Milky Way? Were you there, Job, when the roar of exploding galaxies sounded like a thundering choir of praise? Were you there when the ocean’s water broke, and I wrapped the sea with clouds like a mother wraps an infant in a warm blanket? If you know so much, Job, tell me, were you there? Because I was!

The LORD goes on like this for four whole chapters, giving Job a tour of all the wonders and terrors of creation.

And it’s at this point many readers have felt that the book of Job is at its least convincing. Here is Job, in psychological and bodily agony, crying out from the depths, “Why me?” And God’s answer is… to talk about oceans and stars and ostriches and crocodiles, as if merely asserting His power as the Creator were enough to put an end to honest, gut-wrenching questions, as if God were saying, “Shut up and just look at how much bigger and stronger than you I am.”

That’s a common interpretation that people have of our reading for today, but I don’t think it does justice to the text. Because God isn’t silencing Job so much as He is inviting Job to see in a new way. The LORD is not simply cataloguing His creatures for Job, as if He were curating a nature exhibit. Job has been trying to relate to the LORD as if He were a contractor; the LORD is trying to tell Job that, from the very beginning of creation, He is a covenant-maker. The LORD is reminding Job that back behind and underneath Job’s calculus of guilt and innocence; deeper than tit-for-tat human schemes that would supposedly sort out all the rational, moral reasons for why things happen in the world the way they do; beyond all this, at the heart of everything there is an unending, un-endable generosity, a light that can never be extinguished, an unfathomable source of life and goodness and wisdom. This isn’t merely some impersonal source of inspiration or fortitude that will get you safely through grief and out the other side; this ceaseless gift comes from the presence of the LORD Himself, the God who addresses Job, who speaks with Job, who seeks Job out precisely in his pain and loneliness. Beyond all deserving or undeserving, the LORD comes to Job. The LORD reveals Himself. Job is not given a platitude; he encounters a Person. The LORD is there — in majesty and mercy. And ultimately, in repentance and trust and hope, Job says to God, “I had heard You with my ear, but now my eye perceives You. Therefore, I recant and relent, being but dust and ashes” (42:5-6, NJPS). Job has not had his questions answered, but he has met the One who made him — the One who will open a future for him beyond all deserving or comprehending, the One who asks not for comprehension but for humility and trust.

Some of you may have seen Terrence Malick’s film The Tree of Life from ten years ago. It was nominated for multiple Oscars and struck a chord with many Christian viewers in particular. It opens with a blank screen and the words from our reading, the words that the LORD speaks to Job: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth… When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?” The movie follows the story of a family with young children in Waco, Texas in the 1950s. I don’t want to spoil it for you (if you haven’t seen it, I encourage you to), but I will say that tragedy of the most awful kind strikes this family, and throughout the film, the characters return to that haunting question God asks of Job, “Where were you?” — except, in the film, it is the people who say it to God, rather than God who says it to them. Where were you?

Astonishingly, the movie tries to visually depict God’s speech to Job by taking a full 18 minutes — roughly an eighth of the entire film — to show the unfolding of creation, from the big bang to the emergence of dinosaurs. It sounds bizarre, but it’s extraordinary to see. One minute you’re watching one ordinary family in Waco in the 1950s navigate ordinary human sorrow, anger, remorse, and longing, and the next minute you’re watching nebulae and planetary rings and cell divisions. At the same time that you’re seeing one particular family’s life play out in all of its quotidian drama, you’re seeing the dazzling, awe-evoking origin of all life.

Where were you? the characters ask God.

The answer to that question that the LORD gives to Job is, in essence, “I am here, and I was here before you, and I will be here ahead of you. I am here, speaking to you, addressing you, seeing you, knowing you, redeeming you. I, the Maker of heaven and earth, am the same God who draws near.”

One scene in the movie takes place at a funeral, in a church. The text for the sermon is the same one we have heard this morning. And you can hear the priest say (and by the way, in real life, the priest in the film is an Episcopal priest who helped write the words he would perform!), “Is there some fraud in the scheme of the universe? Is there nothing which is deathless? Nothing which does not pass away?”

And at that point the camera slowly pans away from the character sitting in the pew listening, who has endured and will endure so much grief in the course of the story — the camera pans up to a stained glass window where we see the LORD of Israel who spoke to Job — the LORD as a human being, the man Jesus, bound with ropes, crowned with thorns, looking out from the glass with eyes of grief and unceasing love, ready to give His life for the world He had made.

It is He whom Job meets. It is He who is alive and here with us today, who speaks to us, who feeds us with His own Body and Blood.

Amen.

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vagabondphilosopher · 3 years

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Daniel Berrigan S.J. – Priest, Poet, Prophet

Kevin O’Higgins S.J.

I first became aware of Daniel Berrigan in the late 1960s, when I was in my final years of secondary school. At the time, ‘Dan’ and his brother Philip, together with a like-minded group of friends collectively known as the ‘Catonsville Nine’, were in the news for their non-violent opposition to the war in Vietnam. Their activities included burning U.S. Army draft cards and invading military bases. The Berrigans even adorned the front cover of Time Magazine, which described them as ‘Rebel Priests’. When Dan was sentenced to prison following the Catonsville protest, he decided to symbolically defy the authorities by evading arrest and going ‘on the run’. Consequently, he became the first priest ever to appear on the FBI’s ‘most wanted’ list.

Back then, as a typical hard-to-impress teenager, what really struck me was the fact that I had never encountered Catholic priests like these. I associated priests with altars, pulpits and confession boxes. It came as something of a shock, albeit a pleasant one, to see Catholic priests engaged in anti-war protests and being pursued by the FBI! But Dan, especially, was very emphatic that his anti-war activities were simply an inescapable expression of his Christian commitment and priestly ministry. For me, as for many others, his anti-war, pro-peace ministry was a powerful contemporary affirmation that Christian faith was not just concerned with subscribing to a certain set of beliefs. When he was asked, aged 88, what he was most grateful for in his long life, he replied without hesitation: “My Jesuit vocation”. His only regret was that it had taken him too long to grasp what his Jesuit vocation implied in terms of tirelessly working for peace and defending victims of violence and injustice of all kinds.

Shortly before Dan’s decision to engage in public acts of civil disobedience, the great Fr. Pedro Arrupe had become General of the Jesuits. Arrupe actually visited Dan in prison. Some months later, an Irish diocesan priest happened to encounter Pedro Arrupe while strolling in Rome. In the course of their brief conversation, the priest mentioned that he admired Dan Berrigan. Father Arrupe responded: “Daniel Berrigan is the most faithful Jesuit of his generation!”.

The seeds of faith and concern for justice, planted in the Berrigan home, were nourished and brought to full fruition by Dan’s Jesuit formation, especially through the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. It is not difficult to imagine how his poetic soul would have been moved by the moment in St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises when the person praying is asked to imagine the Three Divine Persons observing the state of the world:

... men and women being born and being laid to rest, some getting married and others getting divorced, the old and the young, the rich and the poor, the happy and the sad ... so many undernourished, sick, and dying, so many struggling with life and blind to any meaning.

Many decades before Pope Francis urged members of the clergy to move from the sacristy to the street in order to acquire “the smell of the sheep” and address the needs of ordinary people in the real world, worker priests were pioneering a pastoral approach that saw them exchange elegant clerical garb for factory overalls. Shortly after his ordination as a priest in 1952, Dan Berrigan was sent to France, for a year of Jesuit formation known as ‘tertianship’. While there, he made contact with French ‘worker priests’, and their influence on him proved to be decisive.

In the early 1960s, hunger for change both informed and was given new impetus by the Second Vatican Council. It is not difficult to imagine how Dan Berrigan would have been impacted by a document like the Council’s ‘Gaudium et spes’ and its declaration that: “The joys and hopes, the grief and anguish of the people of our time, especially of those who are poor or afflicted, are the joys and hopes, the grief and anguish of the followers of Christ as well”.

What makes Dan’s long life as a Jesuit, a priest and a committed Christian so exemplary is the fact that his determination to always translate his faith into concrete action never wavered. Right into advanced old age, until frailty and illness obliged him to take a step back from frontline activism, he continued to participate in acts of civil disobedience on behalf of peace. He also continued his involvement with the Catholic Worker movement, founded by his great friend and mentor, Dorothy Day. In his final years, particular concerns of his were people suffering from homelessness and Aids.

In all of his concerns and activities, Dan Berrigan was guided by the specific perspective of Christian faith. This latter point is important. As Pope Francis has frequently pointed out, the Church is not simply a benevolent society or a non-governmental organisation. Observing the world through the eyes of faith is a matter of trying to see it as God does, with all of its light and shadow. Then, it is a matter of striving to ensure that the light triumphs over the darkness. That, in a nutshell, is what is exemplified in the long, extraordinary life of Daniel Berrigan.

#Daniel Berrigan #Jesuit #Catholic

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loyolahcmass · 6 years

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Homily on Never Enough from The Greatest Showman

Here is the preview of Fr. Rossi’s homily on the song Never Enough from the movie The Greatest Showman:

“Never Enough” Homily

"Take my hand. Will you share this with me?"

"Never Enough"

No one was surprised this past Christmas when the latest Star Wars movie was a huge international box office hit.

There were millions of fans around the world who had waited impatiently for two years for the latest episode of the sci-fi epic.

But the surprise hit of the New Year is turning out to be a film that nobody thought would make a dime.

After all, who was clamoring for a musical about P.T. Barnum, the impresario of “The Greatest Show on Earth,” the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus, that closed last year because of poor attendance?

__________

P.T. Barnum was the first American entertainer/entrepreneur to make a success of bringing the extraordinary and the unusual before the public.

In many ways, he is the true founder of American “show business,” which has dazzled the world with Hollywood/Broadway and everything else in between.

He created the greatest circus ever and is the real Father of the American Entertainment Industry.

__________

Most critics trashed the movie and, at first, moviegoers pretty much ignored the film, favoring Jedi, Jumanji, and the Justice League.

Purists insisted that it wasn’t historically accurate and others complained that the characters weren’t fully developed and their motivation was sketchy.

But, word of mouth has triumphed and friends are telling friends that you have to see this movie, even if you don’t like musicals and have never been inside a circus tent.

__________

Ultimately, with regard to “The Greatest Showman,” biographical details aren’t its forte or, for that matter, its goal.

This is a movie that is more P.T. Barnum myth than reality, but it achieves something at which Barnum was a master: delight.

It catches you up in a whirlwind of emotion, exhilaration, and entertainment and never lets go.

__________

Barnum would love it!

He was all about spectacle and wonder, not rational arguments.

And “The Greatest Showman’s” spectacularly impassioned songs are finally what win you over.

They are stirring and inspiring tunes by Oscar and Tony winners Justin Paul and Benj Pasek that snub the intellect and go right for the heart.

__________

This is certainly true of the most popular song from the movie, “This is Me.”

N.B., that if the lyricists were sticklers for accuracy, the title would be the grammatically correct, “This is I.”

But, in their book that just would not scan emotionally or dramatically.

“This is Me” is a stirring anthem about being proud of who you are, no matter what other people, especially bigots, think.

"Look out 'cause here I come,

And I'm marching on to the beat I drum."

You must loudly proclaim to everybody that you are going to take the hand you’ve been dealt in life and make the most of it.

__________

I really like this hymn to self-respect-against-all-odds, and agree with its message, which is essentially the theme of the film.

It’s not my favorite number in the film, however, nor is it performed during my favorite scene.

There’s a “power ballad” that’s sung during a starkly simple, but theatrically brilliant, scene set precisely in the middle of the movie that is one of the most forceful and compelling songs I’ve ever heard.

Its titled “Never Enough,” and it speaks of a romantic affection that is so genuine that the lover will never give it up for anything in this world.

__________

“Never Enough” starts off quietly, but builds to a jaw-dropping crescendo that leaves you and Hugh Jackman (P.T. Barnum in the movie) stunned.

All the power, riches, and fame imaginable are together not the equal of a loving, heartfelt relationship that is shared by a faithful and sincere couple.

"All the shine of a thousand spotlights

All the stars we steal from the night sky

Will never be enough.

Never be enough!

Towers of gold are still too little

These hands could hold the world but it'll

Never be enough!

Never be enough for me."

__________

This gorgeous melody with its poetic lyrics echoes amorously the central spiritual theme of Jesus’ gospel.

Remember, Christ cautioned us: “What does it profit you to gain the whole world, but suffer the loss of your soul.”

__________

With this in mind, we recall that our relationship with Christ is a “never enough” one.

It is never enough for Jesus to stop loving us, no matter how much we sin.

He can’t do it!

After all, he died on the cross for us even while we were still in sin.

And he will be there every moment of our life giving us all the love he has.

__________

The same is true for us.

There is never enough proffered by any false “god” in this life that can replace the Christ-like, unselfish strength and integrity that the real God compassionately gives us.

We shouldn’t be fooled: as Saint Paul tells us, “time is running out” for the idols of this world.

That’s why as Christians we make our daily prayer the words from another song, Psalm 25:

Teach me your ways, Lord.

#the greatest showman #never enough the greatest showman #the greatest showman never enough #this is me the greatest showman #the greatest showman this is me #the greatest showman movie #homily #homilies #catholic homily #mass #Catholic Mass #hcm homilies #loyolahcmass

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withoutbounds-fr · 6 years

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A creature of action rather than thought, the Guardian’s first impulse upon discovering the affair was to rip the door off its hinges and storm the coupled dragons with a hellish screech.

In a flurry of wings, noise shattered against her ears, and the world shook. Violence called after Devi’s paws as they thundered against the dirt floor like cannon fire. Transmutation, ever the quick thinker, leapt for the window. Scrambling out of it, the flurried sound of flapping wings filled the room. And Beachcomber attempted to follow it. A fast placed paw on his tail put a halt to that delusion. He hit the floor and lunged at the door - a desperate animal. But in the small space, Devi was able to block him with her size. Snarling, she reared and roared something wild, fury blinding rational thought. Trapped, the smaller dragon scampered to a breathless stop and gazed in shocked horror at the beast above him. The Skydancer panted, winded. Devi held his gaze, still raised above the ground, heaving herself. Beachcomber pawed the ground under him where he crouched in the dirt, feet dusty and darkened. For a moment, the world paused, and nothing existed but this damp room and their dust-soaked breathing and the air hanging heavy around their heads. Then, gently, Devi eased her front legs to the ground. Puffs of dust greeted her feet as they came to rest on the ground. “Just who the hell do you think you are,” she hissed, stopping for a moment to let a ragged breath pass through her teeth. Sliding up to the mage, she began again, “You have a husband at home who loves you more than the air he breathes, who would die for you and puts up with your arrogance and raised two children for you! You didn’t help. He- I’d know! You were in your precious coliseum all day. Too damn busy to care what your kids were doing -” “Like you have ground to stand on! Like you wouldn’t jump straight back into the thick of the coli if given half a chance!” leaping up to look Devi properly in the eyes, bringing to light the vindictive rage flashing in them. He was so upset. She wanted to laugh. The Skydancer thought he was the victim here. Not his husband, who was blissfully unaware of the whole affair. Not Transmutation, whom Beachcomber clearly didn’t love enough to commit to. Not Devi, now tasked with telling her friend the truth. But the fury in the Guardian had passed, the enemy had blinked first, and her charge’s need for battle had been appeased. Only a pitiful sorrow remained. And she was so exhausted from previous paranoia, and from the hunt here, and from her charge which had sapped her strength to pull this stunt. She wanted to cry. Her closest friend - who had raised two children for this dog - was married to this pathetic excuse for a dragon. The betrayal ran deep in her bones and she felt it as sharply as if it had been her own mate. Now fighting off tears, she half begged “Alphonse is the best thing to happen to me in years. To either of us. Why would you...” “Why? That’s what you want to know? Why do you think!?” something almost like pity passed over the drake’s features, “Alphonse... is a ball and chain to himself. I’d die before he takes me down with him. He’s stuck down there in those - in those rat tunnels. Judge all you like, I see it in your eyes - you’re disgusted with me. Ha! I don’t blame you. But I’m not sharing his fate. It’s claustrophobic. The same house. The same rooms. The same yard. The same view. There’s nothing different! Nothing to do! It’s solitary confinement. There’s a whole world up here - people up here. I need people and air. I need a life” the drake ran shaking claws through his crest, “I’d go crazy down there, trust me! I did try. I loved him, once. I swear I did...” it was Devi’s turn to feel pity. Of course she pitied this weak creature. A sneer crossed her features, “I’m sure you did.” She laughed. It was a humourless, quiet thing, pressed close to her chest where she hung her head, eyes drifting away. “Just like you love Zip, hmm?” Uncharacteristically, the mage growled in response. “Come on. Come on! You - you don’t get to act all high and mighty! You know what it’s like, don’t you? To feel trapped? And you. You were a pet to that mongrel, same as Platinum-Barachiel!” “This isn’t about me or BloodMagic, and definitely not that two-faced son of a-” the Guardian was quick to defend her former leader, and Beachcomber had some nerve in mentioning the Imperial. “Isn’t it!?” a wide, sweeping gesture followed the expression. “Look me dead in my eyes and tell me you were happy working under the necromancer. Tell me you didn’t want more! I’m not spending my life moping around in those tunnels with that Spiral,” he snarled, “Just like Barachiel couldn’t spend his acting as an attack dog!” Her temper snapped. A claw came down hard on Beachcomber’s pretty little face, “YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT BARACHIEL AND NOTHING ABOUT BLOODMAGIC!” Clutching his bleeding head the smaller dragon shot back, “I know enough! How good could he have been if the Platinum was willing to kill him!” “Barachiel and I loved him.” “Oh, yes, that’s why BloodMagic’s dead. Our patriarch ‘loved’ him so much he killed him.” “You don’t know anything.” She refused to meet his eye. “Barachiel was seduced by that beast - by Salem - she promised him every dream he’d never dared to hope for. He scoffed, “And why was that? Why couldn’t he hope to rule alongside the great and powerful BloodMagic?” A low growl rumbled out of Devi’s chest, “Oh don’t start that! The history books -” “Propaganda.” “The history books tell all. He was a ruler with an iron fist. He didn’t share and you know it. You and the Platinum were nothing but conveniences to him; things he could use. It’s hilarious, really, that you’re in the slums while he’s living it up in the palace. Poetic justice, I guess. Don’t get me wrong I hate Salem as much as the next guy, but you gotta admit, he was the only one smart enough to realize what a scam the pre-Salem era was.” Her posture wavered, but Devi clung to the door nonetheless, refusing to let the mage pass, “You never loved Al, did you. That’s why you dumped Gemini and Satyr on him. You were too busy slipping between Transmutation’s thighs. They’re her kids, aren’t they? I wouldn’t be surprised” “I’m going to pretend you’re not trying to change the subject and invite you to mull over something for me. I just want you - and this is just a,” he paused, leaning into the Guardian’s space, “personal little favour. Ask yourself this, why is it that it was only after he died that you thought of BloodMagic as a friend? I’ve heard you tell Alphonse about him. But did you ever bother to question it? It’s not like you didn’t know what a friend was,” his smile was a jagged thing sitting high on his face. “So,” he put a hand on her shoulder, “I’m going to leave you with that and you,” he hissed, “are going to move.” And she did.

7/?

FR Thread

The Lore That Inspired This

Devi | Beachcomber

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#TNOTG #fr #flightrising #flight rising #fr lore #fr art #fr guardian #fr skydancer #flightrising lore #flight rising lore #lore #clan lore #fr clan lore #dragontag10

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mixseungwoo · 4 years

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✗ — asleep

( tw: bass boosted suicide, severe depression, gore? heed this warning and don’t read this if suicide triggers you like, at all, fr trust me writing this made me shake )

december 3rd

he takes the xanax to try to survive december.

he gets it from a dealer in hydrus, known for his ability to get his hands on anything in the business, and known to not ask questions.

his intentions are good. with december comes the looming date of jeongwoo’s death, and seungwoo’s subsequent birthday and christmas without him-- without anyone. he has been alone for too long now, and he will spend december empty or with his nerves buzzing with anxiety and discomfort, no real in between even though his usual smiles won’t falter.

he wants to live just a little while longer. he has a weapon with wonwoo’s name on it and he wants to make another death anniversary. he knows where he is now, running into him at jeongwoo’s grave putting more wind in his sails, leading him to finally track him down with success. he’s just been scheming-- planning out the best poetic justice.

part of it was seungwoo trying to decide if he could do worse than kill him. there are many things worse than death. maybe he’ll torture him-- make his death long and drawn out as retribution. seungwoo wants to kill everyone close to him so he can finally be matched in the grief he’s carried with him for years. he wants to isolate wonwoo even more than he’s isolated himself-- to be able to find someone on this cursed earth lower than he is, and wonwoo deserves it more than anyone.

he doesn’t need to make another death anniversary. he decides one is enough. now, it’ll just have to be for two people.

december 5th

he takes one every day, and it keeps his thoughts from racing. it makes it easier to breathe.

he decides he’ll do it with a knife, and he’ll leave the rest up to fate. maybe he’ll cut one of wonwoo’s fingers off, or maybe, when he sees it, he’ll be so overcome by rage that he just slits his throat. maybe he’ll stab him 15 times. maybe this time, too much evidence will be there; the police will be able to track down his family members and easily pin motive on him.

he’s not worried. hydrus will clean up after him or the mpd will take him away, and his goal will be complete; what more is there to do? he could go to jail knowing he served justice where the mpd didn’t.

( what more is there to do? after wonwoo dies, what’s left? )

he takes another xanax to keep his thoughts from racing.

december 6th

after wonwoo dies, what’s left? his entire life has led up to wonwoo’s murder. after, there will be nothing. that’s the answer: nothing, his one thing to live for gone, and with revenge will come peace.

he can die without fear of his spirit lurking on earth, unsatisfied. he will pass into the next life or into nothingness knowing he did everything he needed to.

maybe he should thank wonwoo, for giving him more drive than he ever had before jeongwoo died. he always knew, deep down, despite his striving for more, that he would never amount to anything. maybe it was some kind of premonition: no bright future in sight because he was never meant to have one, never meant to live for long.

he doesn’t even need to survive all of december. he just needs to outlive wonwoo, and that much he’s sure he can do. surely. surely.

december 7th

his insides don’t tremble anymore. he doesn’t feel so much like he’s going to crawl out of his skin; the medication serves its purpose, but leaves him desolate, bleakness settling into his bones. it paints his already dark thoughts black, and makes his mind fuzzy, like he’s a ghost no longer inhabiting his body. a ghost isn’t good enough. he needs more than that. he’s simultaneously too attached and not attached enough, and it’s excruciating. it’s a build up of months of avoiding the inevitability of his own premature death, of choking down misery and pretending it’s gone, of fighting monsters that will never go away, and he is so exhausted.

he’s not going to make it through this month, and he doesn’t know why he even thought to try. no, he doesn’t need to make it through this month, he reminds himself, he just needs to outlive wonwoo, but that begins feeling like too much.

just breathing feels difficult again, like it did when he nearly accepted wonwoo was out of his reach, unable to be found, somewhere off the island where seungwoo would never find him-- when he stopped trying to fulfill his self-appointed mission and fell into his aimlessness.

his purpose is supposed to be back. he’s supposed to be reinvigorated; why does he feel worse than ever?

his mind reminds him of his guilt. wonwoo was the knife that did jeongwoo in, but his blood has always been on seungwoo’s hands too. seungwoo didn’t protect him, seungwoo didn’t do a good enough job warning him, seungwoo wasn’t there to stop it, blood, blood, blood. it’s my fault too. jeongwoo is dead because of me.

maybe seungwoo’s death would be justice too. it’s my fault.

to survive until the 20th, seungwoo will have to live through a war, and he is so tired of fighting. he’s tired of everything.

for jeongwoo’s death anniversary, seungwoo will find him and tell him he’s sorry.

december 8th

he decides he’ll do it with the pills. he counts out how many he has left: enough to make it to the 20th with only a few to spare. he buys another bottle and puts it in the drawer of his bedside table, a reward for making it through 11 unbearable days. it’ll be easier, knowing he has something to look forward to. it’s a relief.

december 9th

he doesn’t joke about death anymore. he needs them to believe he’s better, and in some ways, he is. with a plan in place comes a certain euphoria of knowing soon, it will all be over-- release. it’s not unlike the way he anticipated his death after he paid wooseok to kill him, except this time, he doesn’t need to rely on anyone but himself.

there will be no mistakes-- no backing out. it will be painless, and it’ll be over.

december 11th - 15th

he doesn’t have anything important to give away. someone will clear out his apartment when he’s gone anyway, and donate everything he owned. besides, if he gets rid of anything early, wooseok, even for as oblivious as he is, may catch on to something being out of the ordinary, and seungwoo’s lack of life would depend on him lying. even now, he’d still rather avoid it.

instead, he buys christmas presents early. when he gives them out, he says he was too excited to wait, and if they pry more, says he doesn’t like christmas and wouldn’t feel as joyful if he gave them out on the day of. most don’t dig deeper, knowing that’s more than seungwoo shares with most.

he gives a large sum of his money to a charity to benefit orphans in china, and he feels satisfied.

he feels more and more ready to go as the days pass by. there are only a few more things he wants to do: a bucket list of sorts, and that’s what he sets out for next.

december 18th

“hey wooseok, have you ever kissed a boy before?”

it’s with seungwoo lazily half-laying half-sitting on the couch beside wooseok, in the middle of an episode of pohroro that seungwoo asks, so nonchalantly. it’s a new addition to the bucket list, one he didn’t plan for ahead of time like some of the others.

it’s spur of the moment. he cycles through his memories of wooseok, and settles on that first time he beat wooseok in a fight, pinning him down, and the overwhelming, fought back urge to kiss him. he wants to try it-- to see what it’s like to kiss wooseok in all of his likely inexperience. he wants to try it, if this is the last time he’ll ever see him-- their last day together, last couple of hours. he��ll go to work, he’ll get home in the early hours of the morning on the 19th, and take the pills when he’s already drowsy, falling into a sleep he’ll never wake up from.

for now: wooseok beside him, question hanging in the air, seungwoo’s quiet, comfortable anticipation.

“i haven’t kissed anybody before,” he replies, casual, but seungwoo sees the slightest glimpse of confusion. understandable.

“oh,” he says, and seungwoo feels sad for him at first-- wooseok’s entire life robbed of any experiences of a normal human being. then, he’s a little pleased that wooseok’s first kiss will be him, if he lets him be.

“do you want to?” he almost smirks, too self-satisfied.

wooseok catches on, and looks hesitant, but in the end, he plays along. “i mean...probably.”

seungwoo could tease wooseok about how he knew he wanted to kiss him from the start-- how he really didn’t kill him because he had a crush on him, how all of his blushing and blubbering every time he flirted with him only further indicated it. really, he did know. it could just be an objective decision; seungwoo is attractive, there are far worse people to kiss, but it’s enough evidence for him. it’s a privilege, regardless.

he turns on the sofa, crossing his legs, and smiles as he leans in, grabs wooseok’s face, and kisses him.

it’s not just a peck; it’s a real kiss, as wooseok’s first one should be. wooseok is rigid at first, then clumsy and clueless, but seungwoo finds it kind of endearing, and he pushes until he reaches the boundary of overwhelming him, then pulls away. he grins, and wooseok is all starry-eyed deer in headlights.

he stays there for a few moments, wooseok’s face in his hands, and takes in that familiar bewilderment and a certain type of nervousness in his eyes. if seungwoo felt anything after he died, maybe he would miss him.

it’s only after seungwoo turns to face the tv again that wooseok asks, “what was that for?” and the answer is an easy one.

“because i wanted to. i had to make sure your first kiss was with a good kisser,” and he’s a very good kisser. it’s not a lie at all, even if there’s more to it than meets the eye, and more to it than he says. he’s glad he did it-- a good late addition to the bucket list.

“oh. okay. thank you?”

seungwoo laughs lightly at a stunned wooseok. it’s cute. “you’re very welcome.”

time ticks on, closer and closer to when he needs to leave for work, and closer and closer to the last time he’ll ever see him. he’s known he wanted to thank wooseok at the end as soon as he knew when the end would be.

“hey, wooseok. thanks for taking such good care of me. i know i get mad at you for it sometimes, but i do appreciate it,” he says, and it’s painfully sincere; he could be nothing else.

wooseok smiles, so big and tender, and seungwoo can’t help but return it with one more subdued. “thanks for being my friend,” wooseok says, and seungwoo laughs. silence envelops them for a beat too long, like seungwoo is mulling over whether they’re friends or not, but that’s not it. he’s just thinking, the past few months with wooseok filtering through his mind, memories, a buildup of his gratitude. wooseok made it easier to survive until now. “you’re welcome.”

i’ll be out of your hair soon. i won’t burden you anymore. thank you.

december 19th

“hey, shifu. thank you.” it’s at the end of his shift, after the grotto has closed, all of their slimy clients gone, just the boys and girls and weijun and yuyan left behind.

(he already thanked yuyan-- for protecting them, for being such a badass, for making him a better fighter.

she didn’t ask questions, even though he could see them in her eyes. she gave him a look, then half-smiled-- told him to take care of himself. he told her he would. he was going to do the best thing he’s done for himself in a long time.)

“what for?” weijun asks, stiffly, as usual.

“you and yuyan take such good care of us.”

“i’m your pimp,” weijun replies, all the explanation heh finds fit, tone flat, and yet it sounds like he might’ve struck a nerve. seungwoo understands its double meaning-- that it’s weijun’s job, and that it’s an unsavory one. he is seungwoo’s boss in a profession that he should hate; he should hate weijun by extension, and how he enables it to continue, but he doesn’t.

“yeah, well, i’ve definitely had worse and you know it,” he counters easily, matter-of-factly. “there are even regular bosses worse than you.” he’s had them, too, at some of the jobs he couldn’t keep once he returned to the island. they were people with such little empathy or total lack of regard, or impossible standards, or countless other intolerable things that weijun isn’t.

“i would pick you to be my pimp every time.” normally something like this would be paired with a teasing smile that might make weijun roll his eyes, mostly a joke, but this time is different. it’s heartfelt, said too quiet.

he wonders what would happen if he kissed him-- if he made his last kiss one he didn’t hate, that didn’t leave him feeling dirty. he hangs on the edge of that thought, but decides against it. he doesn’t want their last memories of one another to be disappoint and disapproval. he doesn’t want weijun’s wrath to see him out.

“are you quitting?” weijun questions, after a moment of silence that stretches out between them.

“no!” seungwoo answers quickly, even though he is, in a way. he’s quitting everything. “i’m just feeling appreciative. must be the holiday season.”

weijun hesitates. seungwoo wishes he could read his mind to know why-- if it’s doubting seungwoo, or it’s inability to properly accept his gratitude. “...okay,” he says at last, and seungwoo grins.

it’s a good last memory of him.

he knows he never meant anything to weijun; it’s all more for seungwoo than anyone else. maybe yuyan would miss him. he hopes so. it would be nice for someone to remember him fondly; it would be nice to be mourned. it’s more likely he will simply disappear like he never existed, wiped away with only a slight impact before they all move on. he is nothing but a blip in everyone’s life, and maybe it’s better like this.

it’ll be nice to be fiction.

————

it’s strange: getting home, knowing there’s nothing left to do. the world around him is void and too quiet, like death already leaks into it, a preview of what awaits him. he already feels cold, but it’s not unwelcome. he’d prefer a warm embrace, but he’ll take anything over living with the constant weight he carries with him on his chest-- with his heavy cloud of mourning and insatiable sadness. he’ll take it over a birthday in mere days reminding him of how much he wishes he was never born, or a christmas reminding him of what he’ll never get back and never have.

fred greets him at the door, and seungwoo sighs, kneeling down beside him. “hey,” he says, voice soft. he pets the cat’s head. “wooseok is going to take good care of you, and if he can’t, someone will find you a new home where people will love you a lot,” he promises, scratching fred’s chin.

why is saying goodbye to the cat the hardest part? “and i’m sorry,” he adds, and he rights himself, making his way to his room.

he holds the bottle tight in his hand, then sets it on the kitchen counter, and he stares at it. he never had the courage to do this before, but he never had a plan-- always thought he would have to pull a trigger or jump from a rooftop or drown himself. it has never been so easy, and yet for a moment, he wonders if there’s another way.

he knows he tried everything. nothing helped; there is no saving him now, and it’s a disservice to himself and everyone else that would attempt it to keep trying. it’s the last resort, but the only remaining option.

he takes out a bottle of vodka and pours himself a generous amount that he knows he won’t finish in a glass. he needs liquid courage, and he heard alcohol makes an overdose more likely.

he takes four sips. he pours himself a glass of water as a companion. he takes the cap off the medication, and tries to judge how many he can fit in his mouth at once. he gives up counting, takes a handful, and drinks vodka to was it down, chasing it with water. repeat and repeat and repeat.

his walk back to his bedroom is robotic and dazed, and he flops down onto his bed.

he wonders what jeongwoo will say, or if he’ll even see him at all. maybe he’ll be angry with him, and call him a coward. seungwoo was never brave. he will die weak despite all of his efforts to grow stronger, ultimately fruitless like the rest of his existence. maybe it’ll just end. he’ll take that too.

his fingers already tingle, and the cold is gone now, replaced with warmth he always craved-- slow heat that overcomes him and makes him feel a pleasant type of heavy. it’s bliss, no room for worry, mind finally set free. he closes his eyes, and he drifts, to laughing with jeongwoo, to landing his first back handspring, to the blood of the man that killed his teacher slowly spreading across the floor, his father saying i’m proud of you, his teacher saying focus on your breathing. clear your mind.

he does. it’s difficult-- breathing, shallow, mind sluggish, prone to wander.

it settles on wooseok grabbing his arm. don’t do that. wooseok’s laugh. wooseok finding him like this. his breath catches in his throat, and his eyes shut tighter. he gets just a little bit of fight in him-- a little bit of regret and remorse, but it’s not enough to change his course. he’s too far gone, no feeling in his fingers, but he moves. he heaves himself off of his bed, slides to the floor, but he doesn’t know where he’s trying to go. his mind empties, and he falls forward, cheek on carpet, eyelids fluttering closed again.

he hopes they all know he tried. he tried so hard.

i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.

#xx solo #xx asleep #tw: suicide #tw: depression #tw: attempted suicide #...#x // think this was the most excruciatingg thing i've ever written #i'm so so sorry #everything will work out everything will be fine no sarcasm

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englishchinesetranslations · 4 years

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In his classic Holocaust text, The Sunflower, Simon Wiesenthal recounts the following experience. As a concentration camp prisoner, the monotony of his work detail is suddenly broken when he is brought to the bedside of a dying Nazi. The German delineates the gruesome details of his career, describing how he participated in the murder and torture of hundreds of Jews. Exhibiting, or perhaps feigning, regret and remorse, he explains that he sought a Jew—any Jew—to whom to confess, and from whom to beseech forgiveness. Wiesenthal silently contemplates the wretched creature lying before him, and then, unable to comply but unable to condemn, walks out of the room. Tortured by his experience, wondering whether he did the right thing, Wiesenthal submitted this story as the subject of a symposium, including respondents of every religious stripe. An examination of the respective replies of Christians and Jews reveals a remarkable contrast. “When the first edition of The Sunflower was published,” writes Dennis Prager, “I was intrigued by the fact that all the Jewish respondents thought Simon Wiesenthal was right in not forgiving the repentant Nazi mass murderer, and that the Christians thought he was wrong.”Indeed, the Christian symposiasts did sound a more sympathetic note. “I can well understand Simon’s refusal [to forgive],” reflects Fr. Edward Flannery, “but I find it impossible to defend it.” Archbishop Desmond Tutu cites the crucifixion as his source. Arguing that the newly empowered South African blacks readily forgave their white tormentors, Tutu explains that they followed “the Jewish rabbi who, when he was crucified, said, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” If we look only to retributive justice, argues Tutu, “then we could just as well close up shop. Forgiveness is not some nebulous thing. It is practical politics. Without forgiveness, there is no future.”And yet, many Jews would respond to Tutu’s scriptural source by citing another verse, one that also describes a Jew strung up by his enemies, yet who responds to his enemies in a very different, perhaps less Christian, way:So the Philistines seized [Samson] and gouged out his eyes. They brought him down to Gaza and bound him with bronze shackles. . . . They made him stand between the pillars. . . . Then Samson called to the Lord and said, “Lord God, remember me and strengthen me only this once, O God, so that with this one act of revenge I may pay back the Philistines for my two eyes.” And Samson grasped the two middle pillars on which the house rested, . . . [and] then Samson said, “Let me die with the Philistines.” He strained with all his might; and the house fell on the lords and all the people who were in it. So those he killed at his death were more than those he had killed during his life.The symposiasts’ varying theological responses, Prager suggests, reflect “the nature of the Jewish and Christian responses to evil, which are related to their differing understandings of forgiveness.” Indeed, the contrast between the two Testaments indicates that this is the case: Jesus’ words could not be more different than Samson’s.Some might respond that the raging, vengeful Samson is the Bible’s sinful exception, rather than its rule; or, perhaps, that Samson acted in self-defense. Yet a further perusal indicates that the Hebrew prophets not only hated their enemies, but rather reveled in their suffering, finding in it a fitting justice. The great Samuel, having come upon the Amalekite king Agag, after Agag was already captured and the Amalekites exterminated, responds in righteous anger:Then Samuel said, “Bring Agag king of the Amalekites here to me.” And Agag came to him haltingly. Agag said, “Surely the bitterness of death is past.” But Samuel said, “As your sword has made women childless, so your mother shall be childless among women.” And Samuel hewed Agag in pieces before the Lord in Gilgal.And lest one dismiss Samuel’s and Samson’s anger as exhibitions of male machismo, it bears mentioning that the prophetess Deborah appears to relish the gruesome death of her enemy, the Philistine Sisera, who had, fittingly, been executed by another woman. Every bloody detail is recounted in Deborah’s ebullient song:Most blessed of women be Jael, the wife of Heber the KeniteOf tent-dwelling women most blessed.She put her hand to the tent peg and her right hand to the workmen’s mallet.She struck Sisera a blow, she crushed his head, she shattered and pierced his temple. He sank, he fell, he lay still at her feet; At her feet he sank, he fell; there he sank, there he fell dead. . . . So perish all your enemies, O Lord!In his At the Entrance to the Garden of Eden , journalist Yossi Klein Halevi speaks with Johanna, a Catholic nun who is struck by the hatred Israelis bear for their enemies. Johanna tells of an Israeli Hebrew teacher “who was very close to us. She told us how her young son hates Saddam. . . . She said it with such enthusiasm. She was so proud of her son.” “I realized,” Johanna concluded, “that hatred is in the Jewish religion.” She was right. The Hebrew prophets spoke in the name of a God who, in Exodus’ articulation, may “forgive iniquity and transgression and sin,” but Who also “by no means exonerates [the guilty].” Likewise, in refusing to forgive their enemies, Jewish leaders sought not merely their defeat, but their disgrace. When Queen Esther had already visited defeat upon Haman—the Hitler of his time, attempted exterminator of the Jewish people—and had killed Haman’s supporters and sons, King Ahasuerus asks what more she could possible want:The king said to Queen Esther, “In the capital of Susa the Jews have killed also the ten sons of Haman. . . . Now what is your petition? It shall be granted you. And what further is your request? It shall be fulfilled.” Esther said, “If it pleases the king . . . let the ten sons of Haman be hanged on the gallows.”Interestingly, the most vivid response in Wiesenthal’s symposium was also written by a woman. The Jewish writer Cynthia Ozick, reflecting on how Wiesenthal, in a moment of mercy, brushed a fly away from the Nazi’s broken body, concludes her essay in Deborah’s blunt but poetic manner:Let the SS man die unshriven. Let him go to hell. Sooner the fly to God than he.During my regular weekly coffees with my friend Fr. Jim White, an Episcopal priest, there was one issue to which our conversation would incessantly turn, and one on which we could never agree: Is an utterly evil man—Hitler, Stalin, Osama bin Laden—deserving of a theist’s love? I could never stomach such a notion, while Fr. Jim would argue passionately in favor of the proposition. Judaism, I would argue, does demand love for our fellow human beings, but only to an extent. “Hate” is not always synonymous with the terribly sinful. While Moses commanded us “not to hate our brother in our hearts,” a man’s immoral actions can serve to sever the bonds of brotherhood between himself and humanity. Regarding a rasha, a Hebrew term for the hopelessly wicked, the Talmud clearly states: mitzvah lisnoso—one is obligated to hate him.Some would seek to minimize this difference between our faiths. Eva Fleischner, a Catholic interfaith specialist and another Sunflower symposiast, argues that “Christians—and non-Christians in their wake—have misread, and continue to misread, [Christian texts] interpreting Jesus’ teaching to mean that we are to forgive anyone and everyone. . . . The element that is lost sight of is that Jesus challenges me to forgive evil done to me. . . . Nowhere does he tell us to forgive the wrong done to another.” Perhaps. But even so, a theological chasm remains between the Jewish and Christian viewpoints on the matter. As we can see from Samson’s rage, Judaism believes that while forgiveness is often a virtue, hate can be virtuous when one is dealing with the frightfully wicked. Rather than forgive, we can wish ill; rather than hope for repentance, we can instead hope that our enemies experience the wrath of God.There is, in fact, no minimizing the difference between Judaism and Christianity on whether hate can be virtuous. Indeed, Christianity’s founder acknowledged his break with Jewish tradition on this matter from the very outset: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. . . . Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” God, Jesus argues, loves the wicked, and so must we. In disagreeing, Judaism does not deny the importance of imitating God; Jews hate the wicked because they believe that God despises the wicked as well.Among Orthodox Jews, there is an oft-used Hebrew phrase whose equivalent I have not found among Christians. The phrase is yemach shemo, which means, may his name be erased. It is used whenever a great enemy of the Jewish nation, of the past or present, is mentioned. For instance, one might very well say casually, in the course of conversation, “Thank God, my grandparents left Germany before Hitler, yemach shemo, came to power.” Or: “My parents were murdered by the Nazis, yemach shemam.” Can one imagine a Christian version of such a statement? Would anyone speak of the massacres wrought by “Pol Pot, may his name be erased”? Do any Christians speak in such a way? Has any seminary student ever attached a Latin equivalent of yemach shemo to the names “Pontius Pilate” or “Judas”? Surely not. Christians, I sense, would find the very notion repugnant, just as many Jews would gag upon reading the Catholic rosary: “O my Jesus . . . lead all souls to heaven, especially those most in need of thy mercy.”Why, then, this remarkable disagreement between faiths? Why do Jews and Christians respond so differently to wickedness? Why do Jews refuse at times to forgive? And if the Hebrew prophets and judges believed ardently in the “virtue of hate,” what about Christianity caused it to break with its Old Testament roots?“More than a decade of weekly dialogue with Christians and intimate conversation with Christian friends,” writes Prager, “has convinced me that, aside from the divinity of Jesus, the greatest—and even more important—difference between Judaism and Christianity, or perhaps only between most Christians and Jews, is their different understanding of forgiveness and, ultimately, how to react to evil.” Here Prager takes one theological step too many and commits, in this single statement, two errors. The first is to deem the issue of forgiveness more important than that of Jesus’s identity. Such a statement, to my mind, sullies the memory of thousands of Jews who died rather than proclaim Jesus Lord. Yet Prager also misses the fact that these two issues, that of approaching Jesus and that of approaching our enemies, are essentially one and the same: that the very question of how to approach our enemies depends on whether one believes that Jesus was merely a misguided mortal, or the Son of God. Let us examine how each faith’s outlook on Jesus provides the theological underpinnings for its respective approach to hate.The essence of a religion can be discovered by asking its adherents one question: What, to your mind, was the seminal moment in the history of the world? For Christians, the answer is easy: the passion of Jesus Christ, the sacrifice of the Lamb of God for the sins of the world. Or: “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son” so that through his death the world would find salvation. Jews, on the other hand, see history’s focal moment as the Sinai revelation, the day the Decalogue was delivered. On this day, we believe, God formed an eternal covenant with the Jewish people and began to communicate to them His Torah, the Almighty’s moral and religious commandments. The most fascinating element of this event is that before forming this Covenant with the Hebrews, God first asked their permission to do so. England’s Chief Rabbi, Jonathan Sacks, describes the episode:Before stating the terms of the covenant, God told Moses to speak to the people and determine whether or not they agreed to become a nation under the sovereignty of God. Only when “all the people responded together, ‘We will do everything the Lord has said’” did the revelation proceed. . . . The first-ever democratic mandate takes place, the idea that there can be no valid rule without the agreement of all those who are affected by it.There is a wonderful bit of Jewish lore concerning the giving of God’s Torah, in which God is depicted as a merchant, proffering His Law to every nation on the planet. Each one considers God’s wares, and each then finds a flaw. One refuses to refrain from theft; another, from murder. Finally, God chances upon the Jewish people, who gravely agree to shoulder the responsibility of a moral life. The message of this midrash is that God’s covenant is one that anyone can join; God leaves it up to us.Consider for a moment the extraordinary contrast. For Christians, God acted on humanity’s behalf, without its knowledge and without its consent. The crucifixion is a story of a loving God seeking humanity’s salvation, though it never requested it, though it scarcely deserved it. Jews, on the other hand, believe that God’s covenant was formed by the free consent of His people. The giving of the Torah is a story of God seeking to provide humanity with the opportunity to make moral decisions. To my knowledge, not a single Jewish source asserts that God deeply desires to save all humanity, nor that He loves every member of the human race. Rather, many a Jewish source maintains that God affords every human being the opportunity to choose his or her moral fate, and will then judge him or her, and choose whether to love him or her, on the basis of that decision. Christianity’s focus is on love and salvation; Judaism’s on decision and action.The difference runs deeper. Both the Talmud and the New Testament have a great deal to say about the afterlife. Both ardently assert that it exists, and both assure the righteous that they will receive eternal reward and warn the wicked of the reality of damnation. Yet one striking distinction exists between these two affirmations of eternal life: only the Christian Testament deliberately and constantly links the promise of heaven with ethical exhortation, appealing to the hope of eternity as the incentive for righteous action. For Christians, every believer’s ultimate desire and goal must be to experience eternal salvation. Leading a righteous earthly existence is understood as a means towards attaining this goal. Jews, on the other hand, insist that performing sacred acts while alive on earth is our ultimate objective; heaven is merely where we receive our reward after our goal has been attained. The Talmud, in this regard, makes a statement that any Christian would find mind-boggling: “One hour obeying God’s commandments in this world is more glorious than an eternity in the World to Come.”This difference in emphasis can be seen most clearly by contrasting the central New Testament statement on ethics, the Sermon on the Mount, with Rabbinic writings. Here are some of Jesus’s ethical exhortations:Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.A traditional Jew studying Jesus’s style in delivering the Sermon on the Mount is instantly reminded of the Mishnaic tractate Ethics of the Fathers, a collection of rabbinical sayings that Jesus’s words appear to echo. Consider these parallel passages from the tractate:Fortunate is man, for he was created in the image of God. Fortunate are the Israelites, for they are called the children of God. Be bold as a leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer, and strong as a lion in pursuit of the will of your Father in heaven.While the common phrases used by Jesus—“fortunate are,” “Father in heaven”—are standard rabbinic utterances, Jesus’s repeated support for his statements—“for they will inherit the kingdom of heaven”—is his own. Such a phrase appears nowhere in the rabbinic ethical writings. Their focus is more on action than on salvation.The contrast extends to differing ways of celebrating holidays. In speaking to Fr. Jim about our respective faiths, I told him about the phenomenon of “Yom Kippur Jews.” Many of my nonobservant coreligionists, I said, show up in synagogue only on the Day of Atonement and so experience a Judaism that focuses only on judgment and repentance. They never experience Judaism at its most joyous moments: Passover, Hanukkah, Purim. “I have the opposite problem,” said Jim. “Some people show up in church for Easter only—Christianity at its most joyous. And so they never think about judgment and repentance.”Both rabbis and priests would appreciate regularly packed houses of worship; but the contrast between the central days of the Jewish and Christian calendars is instructive. Christians celebrate a day when, they believe, Jesus was given his place in heaven and so, at least potentially, was every member of humanity. Yom Kippur, in contrast, is not a day for celebration but for solemnity, a day for focusing not on salvation but on action. Jews recite, again and again, a long litany of sins that they might have committed; they pray for forgiveness, and conclude, time and again, with the sentence: “May it be Thy will, Lord our God, that I not sin again.” While the entire day is devoted to prayer, and to evaluation of past deeds, the concept of reward and punishment in the afterlife is not mentioned once. The only question of concern is whether, at the end of the day, God will consider us sufficiently repentant. Yom Kippur’s climax comes at sunset, during the neilah, or “closing” prayer. After begging once again for forgiveness, Jews the world over end the day with the recitation of “Our Father, Our King,” named thusly because of the first phrase in every sentence:Our Father, our King, we have sinned before You. Our Father, our King, we have no king but You. Our Father, our King, return us in wholehearted repentance before You.We ask God for mercy and for forgiveness, attributes of God that Judaism holds dear. But then our thoughts turn to the utterly evil and unrepentant. Towards the end of this prayer, one anguished, pain-filled sentence stands out: “Our Father, our King, avenge, before our eyes, the spilled blood of your servants.” After a day devoted to prayer, synagogues everywhere are filled with the cry of fasting, weary, exhausted Jews. They have spent the past twenty-five hours meditating upon their sins and asking for forgiveness. Now, they suddenly turn their attention to those who gave no thought to forgiveness, no thought to God, no thought to the dignity of the Jewish people. After focusing on their own actions, Jews turn to those of others, and their parched throats mouth this message: “Father, do not forgive them, for they know well what they do.”The essence of each religion is reflected in its attitude toward the sinner. The existence of hell should be a painful proposition for Christians, who profess to believe that Christ died to redeem the world. C. S. Lewis, in his The Problem of Pain, mournfully admits as much. Yet the doctrines of free will and divine justice compel him to admit that some will not be redeemed.There is no doctrine which I would more willingly remove from Christianity than this, if it lay in my power. But it has the full support of Scripture and, specifically, of Our Lord’s own words; it has always been held by Christendom; and it has the support of reason.The notion that someone may be eternally damned, Lewis writes, is one that he “detests” with all his heart; yet anyone who refuses to submit to salvation cannot ultimately be saved. Despite this, Lewis adds that even these wretches must be in our prayers. “Christian charity,” he stresses, “counsels us to make every effort for the conversion of such a man: to prefer his conversion, at the peril of our own lives, perhaps of our own souls, to his punishment; to prefer it infinitely.”Here Judaism strongly disagrees. For Jews deny that there ever was a “divine labor” to redeem the world; rather, God gave humanity the means for its own redemption, and its members will be judged by the choices they make. Christians may maintain that no human being is unloved by the God who died on his or her behalf, but Jews insist that while no human being is denied the chance to become worthy of God’s love, not every human being engages in actions so as to be worthy of that love, and those unworthy of divine love do not deserve our love either.This distinction between salvation and decision is evident in the fact that some Christians hold out hope for something that traditional Jews never even consider: that every human being will ultimately be saved. As Fr. Richard John Neuhaus notes, some verses in the New Testament have been said to assert this explicitly (“Will All Be Saved?” FT, Public Square, August/September 2001). Take, for example, 1 Corinthians: “For as all die in Adam, so will all be made alive in Jesus Christ.” Romans states it even more strongly: “For just as one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man’s act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all.” Pope John Paul II has suggested that we cannot say with certainty that even Judas is in hell.Forget Judas, a Jew might respond. What about Hitler? Even here, Fr. Neuhaus refuses to relent: “Hitler may have repented, turning to the mercy of God, even as his finger pressed the trigger.” Maybe, Neuhaus suggests, Hitler and Mao spend thousands of years in purgatory. Or perhaps, he whimsically says, “Hitler in heaven will be forever a little dog to whom we will benignly condescend. But he will be grateful for being there, and for not having received what he deserved,” just as “we will all be grateful for being there and for not having received what we deserve.”The Mishnah’s view, set down approximately at the time Paul wrote his Letter to the Romans, could not be more different, explicitly singling out specific wicked men in biblical history who will never by saved. And unlike Lewis, the rabbis seem utterly unperturbed that some are eternally damned; for, unlike Neuhaus, the rabbis quite strongly believed that we go to heaven precisely because we deserve to be there. One of the most fascinating differences between Judaism and Christianity is that while both faiths believe in heaven, only Judaism speaks of one’s eternal reward as a chelek, a portion. For instance: “Jeroboam has no portion in the World to Come.” The rabbis saw the afterlife as a function of one’s spiritual savings account, in which the extent of one’s experience of the divine presence is determined by the value of the good deeds that he or she has accumulated in life.This does not mean that the rabbis believed that those with few virtues were eternally damned. The sages believed in a form of purgatory, where those with more sins than good deeds were sent. Damnation was reserved for the frightfully wicked.Jewish intolerance for the wicked is made most manifest in Maimonides’ interpretation of damnation. In his view souls are never eternally punished in hell: the presence of the truly wicked is so intolerable to the Almighty that they never even experience an afterlife. Rather, they are, in the words of the Bible, “cut off”: after death, they just . . . disappear.The Protestant theologian Harvey Cox, who is married to a Jew, wrote a book on his impressions of Jewish ritual. Cox describes the Jewish holiday of Purim, on which the defeat of Haman is celebrated by the reading of the book of Esther. Enamored with the biblical story, Cox enjoys the tale until the end, where, as noted above, Esther wreaks vengeance upon her enemies. Like Sr. Johanna, he is disturbed by Jewish hatred. It cannot be a coincidence, he argues, that precisely on Purim a Jew by the name of Baruch Goldstein murdered twenty innocent Muslims engaged in prayer in Hebron.There is something to Cox’s remarks. The danger inherent in hatred is that it must be very limited, directed only at the most evil and unrepentant. According to the Talmud, the angels began singing a song of triumph upon the deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt until God interrupted them: “My creatures are drowning, and you wish to sing a song?” Yet the rabbis also state that God wreaked further vengeance upon Pharoah himself, ordering the sea to spit him out, so that he could return to Egypt alone, without his army. Apparently one must cross some terrible moral boundary in order to be a justified target of God’s hatred—and of ours. An Israeli mother is right to raise her child to hate Saddam Hussein, but she would fail as a parent if she taught him to despise every Arab. We who hate must be wary lest we, like Goldstein, become like those we are taught to despise.Another danger inherent in hate is that we may misdirect our odium at institutions in the present because of their past misdeeds. For instance, some of my coreligionists reserve special abhorrence for anything German, even though Germany is currently one of the most pro-Israel countries in Europe. Similarly, after centuries of suffering, many Jews have, in my own experience, continued to despise religious Christians, even though it is secularists and Islamists who threaten them today, and Christians should really be seen as their natural allies. Many Jewish intellectuals and others of influence still take every assertion of the truth of Christianity as an anti-Semitic attack. After the Catholic Church beatified Edith Stein, a Jewish convert to Christianity, some prominent Jews asserted that the Church was attempting to cover up its role in causing the Holocaust. And then there is the historian Daniel Jonah Goldhagen, who essentially has asserted that any attempt by the Catholic Church to maintain that Christianity is the one true faith marks a continuation of the crimes of the Church in the past.Burning hatred, once kindled, is difficult to extinguish; but that is precisely what Jews must do when reassessing our relationship with contemporary Christianity. The crimes of popes of the past do not negate the fact that John Paul II is one of the righteous men of our generation. If Christians no longer hold us accountable for the crime of deicide, we cannot remain indifferent to such changes. Christians have every right to assert the truth of their beliefs. Modern anti-Christianity is no more excusable than ancient anti-Semitism.Yet neither does this mean that hate is always wrong, nor that Esther’s actions were unnecessary. The rabbis of the Talmud were bothered by a contradiction: the book of Kings describes Saul as killing every Amalekite, and yet Haman, according to his pedigree in the book of Esther, was an Agagite, a descendant of the Amalekite king. The Talmud offers an instructive solution: after Saul had killed every Amalekite, he experienced a moment of mercy, and wrongly refrained from killing King Agag. This allowed Agag a window of opportunity; he had several minutes before he was killed by the angry Samuel. In those precious moments, Agag engaged in relations with a random woman, and his progeny lived on to threaten the Jews in the future. The message is that hate allows us to keep our guard up, to protect us. When we are facing those who seek nothing but our destruction, our hate reminds us who we are dealing with. When hate is appropriate, then it is not only virtuous, but essential for Jewish well-being.Archbishop Tutu, who, as indicated above, preaches the importance of forgiveness towards Nazis, has, of late, become one of Israel’s most vocal critics, demanding that other countries enact sanctions against the Jewish state. Perhaps he would have Israelis adopt an attitude of forgiveness towards those who have sworn to destroy the only democracy in the Middle East. Yet forgiveness is precisely what the Israeli government attempted ten years ago, when it argued that the time had come to forget the unspeakable actions of a particular individual, and to recognize him as the future leader of a Palestinian state. Many Jews, however, seething with hatred for this man, felt that it was the Israeli leaders who “knew not what they were doing.”At the time, my grandfather, a rabbi, joined those on the Israeli right in condemning the Oslo process, arguing that it would produce a terrorist state responsible for hundreds of Israeli deaths. As a rabbinical student, I could not understand my grandfather’s unremitting opposition. He was, I thought, so blinded by his hate that he was unable to comprehend the powerful potential of the peace process. Now, many hundreds of Jewish victims of suicide bombings later, and fifty years after the Holocaust, the importance and the necessity of Jewish hate has once again been demonstrated. Perhaps there will soon be peace in the Middle East, perhaps not. But one thing is certain: we will not soon forgive the actions of a man who, as he sent children to kill children, knew—all too well—just what he was doing. We will not—we cannot—ask God to have mercy upon him. Those Israeli parents whose boys and girls did not come home will pray for the destiny of his soul at the conclusion of their holiest day, but their prayer will be rather different from the rosary:Let the terrorist die unshriven. Let him go to hell. Sooner a fly to God than he.Rabbi Meir Y. Soloveichik is Resident Scholar at the Jewish Center in Manhattan and a Beren Fellow at Yeshiva University. He is currently studying philosophy of religion at Yale Divinity School.

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