The Long Silence:Anon (written before Summer 1982)

At the end of time, billions of people were scattered on the vast plain before God's throne. Some shrank back from the brilliant light before them — but many other groups talked heatedly, not cringing with shame, but with belligerence.

"Can God judge us? How can He know about suffering?” snapped a pert brunette. She ripped open a sleeve to reveal a tattooed number from a Nazi concentration camp. "We endured terror ... beating ... torture ... death!"

In another group a Negro boy lowered his collar. "What about this?" he demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. "Lynched, for no crime but being black."

In another crowd there was a pregnant schoolgirl with sullen eyes. "Why should I suffer?" she murmured. "It wasn't my fault."

Far out across the plain were thousands of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for all the evil end suffering He had permitted in His world. How lucky God was to live in heaven, where all was sweetness and light, where there was no weeping and fear, no hunger or hatred, no sickness or sorrow. What did God know of all that humankind had been forced to endure in this world? After all, God leads a rather sheltered sort of life, they said.

So each of these groups sent forth a leader, especially chosen because they had suffered the most. A Jew, a Negro, a person from Hiroshima, a horribly deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child, an AIDS victim. In the centre of the vast plain, these leaders consulted with each other. At last they were ready to present their case, item-by-item, leader-by-leader, to God. It was rather pertinent.


Before God could be qualified to be their Judge, He must endure what they had endured. Their decision was that God should be sentenced to live on earth as a human being, as a man. Let him be born of the most despised race, a Jew, in poverty-stricken conditions. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted. As a child, let him be forced to flee as a refugee, and live several years in a foreign country. Then give him a work to do, and an ideal to uphold that is so difficult that even his own family will think him out of his mind when he tries to do it. Let him be betrayed by his closest colleague, into the hands of those who hate him. Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced jury, and convicted by a cowardly judge.

At the last, let him see what it means to be terribly, terribly alone — forsaken of all his friends. Let him be tortured. Then let him die. Let him die the most excruciating, end humiliating death possible, before a taunting, reviling crowd that not only verified his death but also contributed to it.

As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of approval went up from the whole assembled throng. When the last leader had finished pronouncing his part of God's sentence, there was a long silence. No one uttered another word. Nobody moved.


For suddenly, everybody knew that God had already served His sentence.