Peter Li-Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Questions

Mom slides into the driver’s seat and slams the door as Dad skids into shotgun. She says, “Mark, no more oddly specific questions about the amount of gas needed to run over chickens, or you’re grounded for a month.”

“But what—”

“I said NO MORE QUESTIONS.” Her foot crashes onto the gas pedal. One hand on the steering wheel, Mom uses her free hand to crank up the volume of her favorite Christian radio station, each drum beat drowning out her frustration and her inquisitive son. The car veers out of the driveway, and its bumper hip-checks the mailbox.

From behind bejeweled sunglasses, Halmuni frowns at my mom disapprovingly. Still, Mom keeps her eyes on the road, daring Halmuni to speak out.I nudge Mark, offering him a pencil and a sketchpad with a tic-tac-toe grid printed on one page. He shoots me a sullen look.

“C’mon, bro. You know Mom didn’t mean anything. She’s always like this on Sunday mornings,” I say.

Grudgingly, he accepts my peace offering. “Thanks, hyung-a*.” He smirks. “You know winning tic-tac-toe always makes my day.”

I roll my eyes, lose to a vicious Mark, then let him preen as I breathe onto the glass and trace my fingers through the fog. Ever since I talked with Sam on Monday, I can’t seem to stop dredging up his doubts.

Why is God so cruel sometimes?

I sketch a city in ruins.

Why are Christians such hypocrites?

Beside the city, I draw a human waving a heart-shaped cleaver.

How do we know the Bible is real?

A book with a fissure tearing down the middle appears next to the knife-bearer.

My eyes watch undulating storm clouds above the treeline, but I see Sam’s frightened eyes in the foreboding gray. Apparently, the person I’m supposed to know best in the whole world has been tearing down his faith for a year. That’s thousands of hours I completely missed. What should I do? Sam hasn’t told his authoritarian dad, and I vowed not to break the news. Still, would spilling his secret possibly save Sam’s life? You don’t turn your back when your friend says he’s jumping off a cliff. Who would I even tell, though? Maybe I can find a way to heal him on my own? That leads me back to Sam’s questions— my questions, now. If Christianity isn’t real, what does that entail? For starters, it means dying. And what is death? Well, the end of life. But what does dying even feel like? Closing my eyes, I let darkness blanket my senses. What if my heart stopped beating? Then—

“Everybody out!” my mom shouts, jerking me out of my tailspin. “We’re here!”

Thunder booms on the horizon, and she curses the weather. Then we scuttle inside just as the praise team finishes their first song. Questions still pounding my skull, I try to internalize each hymn, but all of the songs lose me at “dancing with Jesus forever.”

Once service starts, I slip off to youth group. Sam’s there. My stomach churns as we register each other, and I swallow back my nausea as I offer him a small wave. After a moment, he returns my greeting with a smile that doesn’t crease his eyes. When Sam confessed his doubt, I wasn’t rude or anything, but I didn’t try to understand him. His eyes appealed to me for grace, yet I was too lost in my own thoughts to respond with more than aloof confusion. I should apologize and make it up to him.

Only when we split into small groups for discussion does my brain finally acknowledge the outside world. Our youth pastor preached on how Jesus is kind and wants us to be with Him forever or something like that, and I slog through the follow-up questions with variations on “because He loves us.” Finally, Elijah, our small group leader, asks if we have any last queries. If only I could ask him how to resolve spats with your best friend. Suddenly, inspiration dawns, and I raise my hand. “Um, I have a question.”

Qi Eun, another member of my small group, looks up in mild shock at my participation. I can see Elijah straining not to fist-pump. “Ask away!”

“Well,” I begin, “This isn’t super related, but, um…” For some reason, the question catches in my throat. “How, uh…” Just say it. “How do we know the Bible is real?” As soon as I blurt out my question, the tightness in my chest eases. I feel like I can breathe again.

Grinning, Elijah adjusts his sky blue glasses. “Fantastic question! Bro, I could discuss this for hours, but the biggies are archaeological and historical evidence.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Qi Eun’s gaze flick toward our youth group leader.

Elijah continues, “In terms of archaeological evidence, we basically dig stuff up that proves the Bible’s consistency. The Dead Sea Scrolls are probably the most famous example.”

“So, like, that proves the Bible is God’s actual word and hasn’t been corrupted by people?” I say.

“Exactly!” Elijah beams at me. “In terms of historical evidence, the events portrayed in the Bible match up with our history books. Another cool thing is that we have a bunch of eye-witness accounts of Jesus’s death and resurrection, including the Gospels. These were written when people who witnessed Jesus’s death and resurrection were still alive, so they could’ve easily refuted Matthew and company, but they didn’t. Cool, right?”

“Huh. Guess I never really thought about that before,” Qi Eun mumbles. Realization crashes into my heart like a cannonball. Of course I’m not alone.

Elijah checks his watch. “Looks like our time is up, but I’d love to discuss this next week!”

“Actually,” I begin, an idea sparking to life. “Could we meet before that?”

“Um, sure,” Elijah says.

“Actually, I was thinking about another small group? Like, uh… we could meet once a week to discuss topics that we don’t have time for on Sunday?” I say, trying to distill my cocktail of ideas into words. “So, um, are you available on Thursday? We can figure out the time later—”

“How about 7:30? Right after dinner?” Elijah interjects.

I shrug. “Think that works?”

“Actually, could I join too?” Qi Eun blurts, studying us curiously.

Elijah’s eyes shine a couple lumens brighter. “Yes, of course!” He swivels toward me. “If that’s alright with you…?”

I nod.

Qi Eun smiles wryly. “So, where’re we meeting?”

“Umm, you guys can come over to my place if you’d like?” I say. “I’ll text people my address later.”

They both nod. Then the three of us exchange hesitant looks, as if we can’t quite believe ourselves. Even on the car ride home, I feel light-headed, new worries stirred up in my chest. What the heck am I doing? I wonder if I’m building a bunker for a storm that will never come as I gaze out the rain-streaked car window. Outside, brilliant white lightning splinters the ashy sky.

*hyung-a is a Korean term meaning older brother of a boy

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/bible-open-book-pages-open-bible-1846174/