"Isn't it atrocious? The world falling apart, morning newspaper filled with the news of crumbling lives and people with power dancing over others, plainly justifying their actions. I suppose, for some, God has stopped listening.
Where do you think our prayers are going?" she asked while looking out of the window.
"Probably where we always wanted them to reach, to the back of our own heads" he muttered flipping over the pages of the local daily which was slightly moistened due to the sprinkles from the continuous rain that was pouring outside that morning.
"The idea of a God always irritates you, I know that" she gabbled immediately.
"No, on the contrary, the idea of a God amuses me" he said while taking a break from the newspaper, "the world would have been an illusionary place if people were less imaginative, you see, people need to get out of the routine; God demands attention and suffering inflicts imagination".
"But, amidst this suffering, don't you think people have a right to put their faith on to someone!" she said in a tone which doesn't seem to be put as a question.
"Well, we don't believe in the kind of God who has to attend our sufferings as an answer to our diligent faith, had it been the case there wouldn't be any need of the doctors for that matter" he paused, "or even priests, for whatever their need is in any matter" he scoffed.
"So, what kind of God do we believe in?" she immediately asked seeming a bit intrigued.
A bit amused by her question, he paused and then continued "The one that satisfies rather than justifies the comfort for our own doings. We believe in the kind of God who can listen but can't speak, one who can be questioned but doesn't provide an answer. Faith is subjective to the question we pose and belief is something that emerges from the suffering. Would there be any need of the God if there was no suffering in this world?"
"Maybe we believe in the kind of God who treats faith and suffering differently. There are as many sufferers as there are faithful in this world" he said in a deep voice without hesitating.
"Maybe, yes, faith is subjective to the questions one pose" she said while looking out the window as the rain continues to fall heavily.
"Maybe, God is subjective to the answers one wants" he said immediately.
"Would you like some tea? I am making some for myself" she said as she excused herself from the deep thought.
"Oh, thank God, yes!" he said, "I thought you would never ask" as he again carefully flipped the pages of the newspaper.
–inspired by the work of Albert Camus