Homeless

"Where will you go when you die?" shouts the man at the corner of the street with flyers of a white Jesus. I chuckle. I wonder how much he believes the message he is broadcasting. But seriously, where will I go when I die? Will I go to some void where I shall supposedly rest in peace until the day of judgment when the all merciful judge shall descend down from the heavens and try me for my crimes of disbelief? It is a trial for not believing, is it not? Because by faith we are set free, so says the man at the corner of the street. Such bullshit! I wait for the traffic light to permit my passage across to the other side of the street. I am now very aware of my mortality. I look left, look right, and look left again before crossing. I am not ready to die yet. Hell sounds painful. But would I want to go to heaven? I am not sure how I feel about spending eternity with a self-centered, allegedly powerful being who allows the world to stay violent and full of suffering. Is it hot? I remember my Christian friend telling me that the world is violent because of man's sinful nature. But if man is created in the likeness of God, then it all makes sense. Is it not written that David defeated armies by the strength of God? Yes it is hot. No, I am angry!

Why is this person walking so close to me? She is not even wearing her mask. Do I have permission to speak to her about her reckless behavior? Or is she also using her divinely gifted free will, with a flavor of white privilege? She can do all things through Him who strengthens her. I am mad. God's chosen people get to walk around the earth defeating the rest of us with their God given strength and it is all in His glory. I remember how when I would accompany my mother to church in my childhood, the preacher would emphasize how the Philistines were demolished by the Israelites. How did the Philistines feel to have their empires wiped out by His almighty power? The very same power that wiped my history and robbed me of my heritage. If His strength had not reached my part of the world, I would have known without an ounce of doubt that when I died I was going to the ancestral plain. Where I would act as an intermediary between humans and the amoral God. I trust an amoral God than a moral and powerful God who permits violence because it is a part of His perfect plan. A plan to make me prosper? No silly, a plan to make His chosen ones prosper. He works for the good of those who believe in Him.

I nearly trip over a homeless man sleeping near the entrance of the supermarket. I suppose He is not one of the chosen ones, is He? I should be grateful. I live a blessed life. How do they say it again? Oh yes! My cup runneth over! No, I am still furious. How can I feel blessed to be relatively well off in a world I did not ask to be a part of? First they came to my land and disrupted my way of life. Then they planted in my heart the desire to lust after their world. So when I am doing relatively well in their world, I ought to be thankful? It is like creating me out of nothing with a perfect plan that involves me committing a fatal sin and then begging Him for salvation. Oh right, they were created in His likeness. Can someone tell me why I have to pay this much just for a tiny piece of meat? I always imagine that if they had never come to my land, I would probably have a couple hundred cows and small stock. I would probably not have Robertson's Spices, but I would definitely have salt and chillies. No, she did not send me to buy meat. I am here to buy some frozen berries. It is for dessert. I guess since we are on the topic, I also lament the fact that I am only married to one woman. If they had never come to my land, I would probably have at least two wives. 

The homeless man asks me if I have some spare change. It is all part of His perfect plan to eliminate cash, now I never even have any money left to give to the less privileged. I am probably going too far now by blaming our cashless society on His plan. Who am I kidding? Even if I had the money, I probably would not have given it. If an all powerful being can choose not to act, then why would I - in His image - act any different? As I walk away, I feel guilty for not helping out the homeless man. He and I are the same, we are both homeless. Yes, I have a spacious house with the mortgage fully paid off. But at the core of it, I will always be homeless. In this foreign land where I have chosen to plant my roots, I can never feel at home. Each time I walk these streets, I fear His strength and perfect plan will guide the police to shoot me dead for the mere fact that I am black. In the land of my fathers, I no longer feel at home because they treat me like I am better just because I have lived in the white man's land. I want a simple life, where I can just blend into the background and be left alone. Where will I go when I die? How about, where will I go as I live? 

I take a deep breath and let my rage fly away, just as the sun dipped over the horizon. Talk about perfect timing! Is it not said in these circles to never let the sun go down on your anger? I open the door and my youngest daughter comes running towards me. She loves my ice cream with berries dessert. My heart melts. I suppose I am not as homeless because I have such beautiful daughters. Their mother is raising us in the Christian way, but that aside, they are my world. The table is all set for dinner. I go and wash my hands because I am not trying to contract Covid-36. Then - and only then - do I lift young Bofelo up. She is at home when I carry her. But what will she do when I die? No, we are not going back to that rabbit hole. We all take our seats at the dinner table. It is my wife's turn to make dinner tonight and I can tell that she has outdone herself. "Will you lead us in prayer, my love?" she asks me with those dazzling eyes of hers. I swear she is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on. I guess I can see how I am married to one woman. But do I really have to pray to Him? I smile - my "rolling my eyes" smile. I guess given His strength, I was statistically more likely to get married to a Christian woman than not. We all hold hands. I clear my throat and begin, "Heavenly Father, all glory to you for another abundant day..."