God and Guilt

As most of you probably know, my dad is a pastor. In addition to this he teaches world religion at the seminary. Growing up, every night before bed my dad would sit me down for our daily devotions, and on our hour long drives to and from soccer practice, he would often explain what Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and occasionally Zoroastrianism were and how they differed from Christianity. Combine that with the stories he told me from his time deployed as a chaplain in Iraq and I was very, very aware of the role religion in Khaled Hosseini’s Kite Runner.

That said I have never considered myself a religious person. Yes, because of my dad, I know more about the Bible and Christian theology than some people who have gone to church their whole life (I say this knowing I come off as condescending and arrogant, and I apologize for that, but it is true), but I have never really taken it to heart. I learned it the way I learn my classwork. I memorized it for its limited uses in life (mainly the bible category in Jeopardy), but I never really applied it to my own life. I go through the motions of Christianity but never seem to truly connect with it.

I promise I am not writing a blog about my religious journey. I am well aware that no one wants to read that, and a blog for AP English is not the place to explore this. I mention this, however, because it seems that this is the same attitude Amir has for his own religion. Like 99 percent of the people of Afghanistan he is a practicing Muslim. But unlike the rest, he does not not take it that seriously. Sure he knows the famous verses of the Quran, believes in Allah and Mohammad, and employs a Muezzin for his wedding and his father’s funeral. But Amir does not follow all the pillars like salat, prayer. Hosseini never makes any mention of Baba praying and only records Amir doing so twice. Amir is so disconnected from God that he cannot even say the common qualifier Inshallah, or “God willing,”because he feels it sounds “insincere” and “phony” coming from him. Baba even goes as far as saying that there is no God.

Hassan stands in stark contrast to this. He says Inshallah and it comes off almost as a prayer; it sounds sincere. When running kites for Amir its like he acts on faith alone, just waiting and opening his arms to the kite. Where Hassan’s faith becomes most apparent, though, is in his letters to Amir. He begins his first with “In the name of Allah….”, frequently states that he is praying for something, and ends his last with “May Allah be with you always.” Religion is central to Hassan’s life, and it clearly means something to him.

The question is why. Why is there such a difference between Hassan’s faith and Amir and Baba’s? I think the answer lies in their sins or lack of sins. Every sermon I have ever attended emphasizes God’s holiness, his purity. He is perfection, and no sin has ever blemished him. This description of God has always had the opposite effect on me than what I think was the pastor’s intent. Instead of making me want to get closer to God this description makes me feel small, dirty, and I put up mental barriers, separating me from even the idea of God’s perfection. And while I know Islam is not the same as Christianity, they hold the same views of God.

If my own personal experience is anything to go by, it makes sense that Hassan easily connects with his faith. He is pure and sincere and the very opposite of duplicitous. Hassan is so innocent that he reminds Amir of a sacrificial lamb. Hassan connects so easily with God because God’s holiness does not seem so foreign to Hassan, who is by his very nature pure and guiltless. Amir, however, is saturated with guilt and self-deprecation. It makes since that he does not truly care about religion if every time God’s goodness and purity is mentioned he is reminded of the guilt he has tried so hard to escape and forget about.

Amir’s guilt comes to a head at the hospital when Sohrab has just slit his wrists and now is in surgery. Amir is desperate, helpless, and scared. He has come so close to atonement, so close to absolving his guilt, and that chance for peace is dying on the table. So he does the one thing he can do, something he has not done since his innocent childhood, he prays. He prays that his sins have not caught up with him, that he will not have more blood on his hands. He prays so that God will absolve him of his guilt.

Once Hassan pulls through, and Amir and him return to America, there is a seemingly throw-away scene where Amir gets up early to do morning prayer. For me, however, this one paragraph showed that Amir no longer felt guilt, that he felt he atoned for what he did, or more aptly, did not do in that ally back in Kabul. He feels pure and guiltless enough to finally be able to approach God with confidence and sincerity.

For many of the people I have spoken to, the most emotional scenes in Kite Runner were when Baba died, when Sohrab slit his wrists, or the end when Sohrab finally smiles and Amir runs the kite for him, but the scenes that brought tears to my eyes were the scenes where Amir finally prays. Because these scenes show a man that has let go of his fear and guilt and worked up the confidence to truly connect with God, and that is something that I have always wanted to do.

(After proofreading this I realize that this blog seems to imply that I have some huge guilt hanging over me just like Amir. I assure you that is not the case. It is only my raging insecurity that you see peeping through.)