Silent Answer

    “Tell me, please” there was no doubt in his mind she wouldn’t let the subject go. He gave a weighted sigh.

    “Alright,” what she asked of him truly wasn’t hard to do. In usual circumstances, particularly on Sundays, he made it a mission to express such beliefs to all who diligently listened. “Moriah, to me it means my salvation, my welcome pass to freedom.”

    “Why?” She pressed on.

    “Why?” He repeated, her question was childish, “I don’t understand.”

    “Neither do I, father. It is the reason I asked,” came her solemn reply. Jacob ran an inked hand through his dark hair, setting his pen down to rest and removed his glasses. A second later he wiped a hand over his face and pulled at his lips before resting his long chin in its grasp.

    “Ok, I’ll make this as basically possible for your eager ears to understand, after which I must not be disturbed. Do we have a deal?”

    The corners of her lips brushed up faintly, too quickly for her father to consider whether the expression was a smile or not, “Well, do we?”

    “Deal,” Moriah whispered in defeat.

    “Good.” Putting his notes and preparation for next Sunday aside, Jacob opened the Book. He knew she would hear the shuffle of the papers as he turned the page, but he didn’t mind. He had found the chapter he needed.

    …“Now do you understand?”

    “So the cross, it’s like a memorial in memory of the crucifixion, or the memory of”

    “Both, Moriah, both my darling,” Jacob closed his trusted Bible and picked up his pen, resuming his work.

    “But…” she began with a hushed sound. It took a moment before he glanced up at her, somewhat surprised she hadn’t left him in peace after his closing in the discussion. “Father, I…never mind,” Jacob sighed once again.

    “What is it, come on speak?”

    “I understand I do, father. But isn’t there more?

    “More?”

    “Yes…more. I’ve never seen the cross, but I feel there is more.” Jacob said nothing. His youngest child had his complete attention, his wood brown eyes resting on the absent colours of her own. “I don’t know how it looks like. But you do…and, when you see it father, well you’ve already told me it’s meaning to you. I hear the words my salvation, joy, freedom, be thankful and praise Him every Sunday. Though I will probably never see it the way you do, I guess then I can’t really get what it means to you and others like you…not you, you, forgive me I mean, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have.” She quickly interjected, meaning no disrespect.

    He rested back on his cushioned chair, his eyes stuck on her hesitant character, he could tell she had a lot more to say but the fear of the tongue held her back. Moriah had utterly thrown his mind off the course of next Sunday’s sermon and down a foggy lane. He didn’t know where it was leading to but Jacob was willing to walk down its unknown path. “Tell me, I’m charmed with what, you, see.” He took the first step down her cloudy road, spinning her initial question around he asked “I want to know, the cross what does it mean to you, my dear.”

    Moriah took in a deep breath, certain his eyes were fixated on her. She could feel it, the gaze of an all knowing preacher readying to set her alight at the first divergent turn she took away from time-taught beliefs. Moriah exhaled and began.

    “Sadness…sorrow…unfairness, I get it I get why we choose joy over sadness. But father, I don’t get why we don’t morn first then praise. Even for a minute. When I, see the cross…I see a man, kind, generous and loving, his arms stretched wide, white hands frozen wide open soaked with blood, hammered to a tree. And His face of light broken by pain and hurt…what I see doesn’t make me jump with joy, it makes me sad father. I want to cry, I want to cry like all His followers who also cried. Is it wrong? I want to remember his suffering just as much as the salvation part, because…well, in the happiness of salvation I don’t want to forget the price He paid. The sacrifice he made for someone like me.”

    She heard the sound of his pen at work, scribbling across crinkled paper. He wrote fast. She wanted to see, she wanted to watch as he put word to paper. Moriah then heard the subtle sound of sheets shuffling, brushing against each other after every page turn. Keen, she leaned forward, as if such a thing would permit her to see exactly what her father was up to.

    Jacob leaned in too, “You really are the most peculiar little twelve year old I know. Truly you are.” He ruffled her frizzy ball of black hair. Moriah playfully drew back. Jacob chuckled, a sound she rarely heard and then he asked “Will you help me?”

    “You want me, to help you?” She asked confounded, and with doubt.

    “Yes. As amazed as you may be I’ve been racking my brain with that which I’m to preach next, but everything I’ve done so far doesn’t feel as spirit-sent as what you’ve just expressed, my dear. Doctors may think you blind my child but I know God gives you sight.”

    “Can you read it to me?” For a short moment confusion held Jacob silent and then realisation set. He looked down at the words, birthed by spirit filled thoughts, on the wrinkled papers in front of him. Her line of sight didn’t cease to surprise him, a honey sweet smile dripped on his face. “Of course,

    John 3:16, we know it, we quote it but do we honestly understand it? Many fail to grasp the weight of His love. The obsessive love He has for us. A love that is so free it slips right through our fingers. We believe love to be something that can be contained between two it is a human thought, love between two people, siblings, a family, but we forget that love knows no bounds. What we believe to be love…Love, it is not rushes of rainbows and butterflies. Love is kind…but Love suffers long, Love is poor…but Love endures all things, Love is meek…but Love offers sacrifice. You can accept or reject it makes no difference, for Love is sacrifice. To deny yourself, your being utterly, for the sake of another friend, foe or stranger, that is Love eternally, no that is Eternal Love.

    He waited for her reply. “Are you father? Honestly I’m not sure I am.” Jacob was ready to give a reply when she continued. “That part makes me sad even more. To Love His way, is anyone out there, believer or not, ready to deny himself, pick up their sacrificial cross and follow the same path of Love, given to all?”

    To this Jacob said nothing. Silence, like many others out there, was his answer.