“Miss, I don’t believe in God, but can I talk with you for a minute?” He held his red bandana in his hand with a sense of awe and reverence not typically observed in our simple, one-room chapel on the first floor of the shelter. Jon was a tall, muscular young man whose quiet confidence instantly commanded my respect. I may have been older, but I could tell he was much wiser than I.
“You don’t have to believe in God to sit in the Chapel and talk. Tell me what’s on your mind,” I offered him a chair and some chocolate to share while we talked.
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“Miss, I don’t really want to believe in God. I guess you could say that I got angry at God a while ago, and I can’t believe anymore.” Jon proceeded to tell me a story that I can’t forget.
“I was out at a club, hanging out with my boys, having a good time, dancing with girls. Then, I started dancing with this one girl. She had a boyfriend who was there, and he got mad and tried to start something.” When that boy started a fight with Jon, Jon broke a bottle over his head, and they were kicked out of the club. Jon and his brother got as far as their car before the other boys met them again.
“And, then, I told my brother, ‘Let’s just go. Let’s just get out of here.’” Trying to stand up for Jon, his brother got out of the car to confront the other young men.
“Then, he got into a fight. I got went to help him. Then they shot him.” As Jon was telling me this, his voice was flat. “I watched my brother die that night. He died while I was holding him.”
At this point, I was praying to myself, “God, what do I say? How am I supposed to help in this situation?” The Holy Spirit had to have been there, guiding both of us.
“So, after that happened, I started getting angry with God.” Jon continued. “If God was really there, I don’t think he would have let my brother die like that. I should have been able to do something, something to stop that from happening.”
“Sometimes, God lets things happen, and we don’t have any control over them,”
Jon put his head in his hands, and covered his eyes with his bandana. “I started that fight, and I don’t think my brother or God could ever forgive me.” I have never seen a dear friend die, but I have known that deepest feeling of regret and remorse – when your life seems worthless compared to the guilt you feel.
“Jon, whether or not you believe, God loves you. God forgave you for what happened with your brother a long time ago. And, God even forgives you for not believing in him. God can wait, and He will wait for you.”
Unconditional forgiveness is gift that’s hard for us to give, but even harder to accept. I don’t know where Jon is now, but I thank God for the chance to hear his story and the privilege of reminding him of the power of God’s love.
Spending a summer working with the young men and women at Covenant House taught me lessons I would never hear in a university lecture hall—lessons about life, love, and human nature. Though they come from widely diverse situations, all of the youth living at Covenant House feel rejected, used, hurt, and alone. When I joined Covenant House Faith Community that summer, I thought I was signing up for three months of helping kids—teaching them about prayer and hope and faith. But, as it turned out, they were teaching me about courage, persistence, and the incomparable joy of being loved unconditionally.