From Bergman's Winter Light:

 

We must trust God. We live our simple daily lives, and atrocities shatter the security of our world. It's so overwhelming, and God seems so very remote.

 

God's silence.

God's silence?

God's silence.

Jonas Persson and his wife were here, and I could only spout drivel. Yet I had the feeling that each word was decisive somehow.

 

God's silence. God won't speak.
God has never spoken because God doesn't exist. It's as simple as that.

 

You must learn to love.
And you can teach me that?
I can't. That's not in my power.

 

I have never believed in your faith. Mainly because I've never been tortured by religious tribulations. My non-Christian family was characterized by warmth, togetherness, and joy. God and Jesus existed only as vague notions. To me, your faith seems obscure and neurotic … somehow cruelly overwrought with emotion, primitive. One thing in particular I've never been able to fathom:  your peculiar indifference to Jesus Christ. You were going to pray for my weeping hands, but the rash left you dumbstruck with repulsion, something you later denied.

God, why have you created me so eternally dissatisfied? So frightened, so bitter? Why must I realize how wretched I am? Why must I suffer so hellishly for my insignificance? If there is a purpose to my suffering, then tell me, so I can bear my pain without complaint. I'm strong. You made me so very strong in both body and soul. .. but you never give me a task worthy of my strength. Give my life meaning, and I'll be your obedient slave.

This autumn, I realized that my prayers had been answered. I prayed for clarity of mind, and I got it. I realized that I love you. I prayed for a task to apply my strength to, and I received one. That task is you. This is what the thoughts of a schoolmarm might run to.

I love you. And I live for you. Take me and use me. Beneath all my false pride and independent airs, I have only one wish: to be allowed to live for someone else.

 

I loved her. My life was over. I'm not afraid to die, and there was no reason for me to hang on. But I did. Not for my own sake, but to be of some use.

I had great dreams once. I was going to make my mark on the world. The sort of ideas you have when you're young. I knew nothing of evil or cruelty. When I was ordained, I was as innocent as a baby.

Picture my prayers to an echo-god who gave benign answers and reassuring blessings. Every time I confronted God with the realities I witnessed … he turned into something ugly and revolting. A spider God, a monster. So I sought to shield Him from life, clutching my image of Him to myself in the dark.

Forgive me for talking in such a confused manner, but all this suddenly hit me. If there is no God … would it really make any difference? Life would become understandable. What a relief. And thus death would be a snuffing out of life. Cruelty, loneliness, and fear …  all these things would be straightforward and transparent. Suffering is incomprehensible, so it needs no explanation.

There is no creator. No sustainer of life.  No design. God … why have you forsaken me?

I had this fleeting hope that everything wouldn't turn out to be illusions, dreams, and lies.