STORY: A Father, Despite the Justice System

Zayn Mohammed folded up his prayer mat and tucked it between his bed and sidetable. He saw his laptop and froze. He bit his lip as scowled. Extra prayer never seemed to neuter these dirty impulses. He turned and slowly closed the window through which he could see the spire of the mosque. The echoing evening prayers had ended 30 minutes ago. He tucked his slippers underneath the bed and climbed under the covers. He looked back at the laptop and chewed on his lips.

An hour and a half later he finally shut his laptop and turned off his lamp. "Maybe I should shower," he thought. He felt so dirty. "I'll sleep it off. New start tomorrow." He glanced at his watch and scowled again before he let his exhausted head land in the pillow.

Suddenly he was in his father's arms, being rocked like he was a child again. He turned around to see his dad, and realized it wasn't his father's face, but it was still his father somehow.

"How ya doing, buddy?" The large man said.

Zayn turned and stood up, he was a full grown man in his dream but still fit comfortable in this father's arms. Zayn shook his head and looked at his hands. Man, I'm still struggling a little bit." He had seen his dad's own brokenness and they were able to talk about these things so it seemed natural with this father figure as well.

"The same struggle. I know, big guy. It's really difficult."

"I think I'm addicted. It's horrible. I hate the West and the evil door they've opened up."

"Yes, for all their beautiful freedom, this is the price."

His dad never gave even a splinter of grace to the West. "Who are you?" Zayn asked the big man.

"I'm Allah."

Zayn discerned if he could believe him. "If that were true, I--I could not be near you, and especially not be touching you. I am so so unclean."

"Actually that is one thing the West has gotten right. That stuff no longer separates us."

"No, no. Allah is perfect. I know Allah is merciful but I am unclean. I cannot stand here." Zayne shuffled backwards and bowed at the waste. He seemed to not be making any distance. As far as he shuffled it still seemed like Allah was as just as close. Finally Zayn tripped and fell to his hands and knees and simply turned away. "I cannot show my face."

"Yes you can. Turn to my face and let me embrace you again. I am your father. I always want you back."

Just then another voice could be heard, a whisper. "God is a God of Justice. I call you to the grand court so that I might try you for your Haram and condemn you."

Zayn stood and walked toward the whisper, away from God's face.

"No, my son. He cannot bring you to trial. I am your father, not your judge. And I am more powerful"

"But you must be judged," the whisper said again.

"Silence," Allah's deep voice ground the whisper into shreds, like a heavy heel on a snake. As the large hand pulled Zayne closer to himself, Zayn saw the big man's other great hand point to the distance on a high hill with a glowing tip. It was a throne. Zayne looked closer and saw the cross like the Christians use rising directly from the throne. Then he realized the hill was a great multi-tiered building of pillars and outer courtyards: a justice court of the worlds. Thick limitless red blood poured from the cross, over the shining throne, over the building and drained into a vast moat at the building's base. At the base of the moat wrapped a dragon insatiably lapping up the liquid. Groups of arguing men stood and debated at all levels of the building, refusing to recognize the blood wetting their feet.

"The Serpent built that blasphemous court and convinced men to believed in it, but so that his cry for justice can be claimed, I have paid for all sins, all haram."

Zayn remembered when his father had paid a vast sum to the police to bail him out of jail. Zayne had been caught with a sexually explicit homosexual magazine.

"No, but you are holy, Allah."

"Yes, but your Haram cannot make me unholy. Am I not the infinite well that washes? From me comes all good things. Can you make Allah impure?"

"But... how? You must see all my rights and my wrongs and weigh them on the scale of your infinite justice." Zayne recited the words that had been engrained in him.

"No, my son. I am your father. Would a father send his son away for something even the son regrets doing? I only punish to restore, to help you to be your best self."

"No, but how... How?"

"You have believed the serpent who says I am a court. But I am your father; I have taken part of myself, a part of my nature, an embodiment of myself in the flesh and taken your punishment in the flesh. You owe nothing, Zayn, my son. I am not your accuser. I am your father. He is your accuser but I am more powerful and he cannot claim that I am unjust because I have paid for you."

Zayn stuttered, "But how can he punish you? You cannot bleed."

"If I became one of you I could." Allah opened his pointing hand and showed Zayn a deep scar as if a hole had been stretched through his palm. "Now sleep, my son. Find peace again. You are forgiven. Go and do no more haram."

"Wait, I don't want to leave. How will I talk to you again? Can I come back?"

"Go talk your friends with the crosses around their neck. The West may be the modern fountain of Porneo, but they do know about how I am the fountain that washes all."

Raw Spoon

July 21, 2026