When I was 19, my mother gave me a trip to the Holy Land as a birthday gift.
I was amidst a religious crisis, struggling to believe. But I heard wonderful things about the people who had gone there. They spoke of being filled with the holy Presence as soon as they landed, of feeling overwhelmed when reaching the holy sights, as if the light of God filled their chest and they could barely contain it.
And so I went, along with my grandmother and her friends, hoping this was my chance at finally connecting with God and erasing my doubts.
I travelled from Cairo to Mount Sinai to the Red Sea, then to the Dead Sea and onto Jericho, Nazareth, Tel Aviv, Bethlehem, Jerusalem.
I was re-baptized at the Jordan River. I touched the spot Jesus was born in the Grotto of the Nativity. I walked down the underground cell Jesus was kept in while awaiting judgment.
I walked the Way of Sorrows.
And I felt absolutely fucking nothing.
The crowds around me cried with a mix of joy and grief, but I felt emptiness in my chest. I prayed harder, i begged to feel what they felt, i begged for some sort of proof for me to latch onto. For something. Anything.
But there was nothing. My chest was not filled with any Presence, I did not feel a jolt through my fingers when touching the walls of these holy places, nor did my feet feel the significance of the path I walked.
There was nothing and no one.
I could never believe after that, no matter how much I wanted to.
When I went back home, my mother asked, and I lied. I never told anyone the truth; they would say there was something wrong with me for being so close to God and yet unable to feel him. He was there, I just had to pray harder, believe harder.
I didnt believe for nearly 20 fucking years just to be made into the problem.
I can't believe in a god. And if there is a god, I'll never forgive him for being silent.
Content sources:
The Seventh Seal (1957) | Chinese Satellite by Phoebe Bridgers | Can I Exist? by Missio | via @naughtystiel | Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Silken | parrish h.
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