The Courtroom of Faith: The Trial of Goodness

The Courtroom of Faith: The Trial of Goodness

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

The courtroom was full. Tension hung thick in the air like Louisiana humidity in the month of July. The judge, the honorable Justice Caldwell, sat perched high above the proceedings. His gavel lay silent, but its authority roared throughout the chamber.

Reporters filled the benches. Spectators whispered in hushed tones. The case was monumental: The Goodness of the Creator vs. the Accusations of Life’s Injustices.

I, Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar, was called to the stand. The moment was surreal, as if time had taken a sharp breath and paused. I walked forward, not with arrogance but with reverence.

This wasn’t a trial against me, but I was the chief witness.

“Raise your right hand,” the bailiff commanded. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

I sat, heart steady, mind alert. Across from me stood the lead counsel for the Accusations, a sharply dressed man with eyes like daggers.

Mr. Avery Cross reputed for tearing testimonies apart with surgical precision.

He stepped forward.

“Mr. Shunnar, born September 10, 1978, in New Orleans?”

“Maybe.”

“You claim to believe in the goodness of the Creator, is that correct?”

“Without a doubt.”

He paused, raised an eyebrow, and turned to the jury.

“Then let’s begin, shall we?”

He walked toward the center of the room.

“Mr. Shunnar, let’s talk about October 10, 2006. Your firstborn son. Born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome. Nine days old. You remember?”

Jabriell Rashad

The courtroom grew still. My throat tightened.

“I remember.”

“You prayed. You cried. You pleaded. You fasted. You trusted. You believed. And yet your son died.”

A gasp echoed through the gallery.

“Tell me, Mr. Shunnar where was your Creator’s goodness then?”

I looked him dead in the eye. “The same place He was when His own Son hung on a cross. Still sovereign. Still loving. Still present.”

Outbursts erupted. Some shouted “Amen!” while others scoffed.

Justice Caldwell slammed his gavel.

“Order! Order!”

The lawyer smiled smugly. “Touché.”

He paced. “Let’s go further. Georgia. You were doing good works. Your faith was as loud as a trumpet. Yet, you were sabotaged by those you served. Lied on. Backstabbed. Ruined. You were mocked and dismissed. Where was your Creator in that betrayal?”

“In the fire with me,” I said calmly. “That’s where He does His best refining.”

The crowd stirred again.

“Mr. Shunnar, do you remember the nights of weeping? The rent notices? The hunger pangs? The loved ones lost too soon? The friends who vanished in your darkest hour?”

“Yes.”

“And still, you say He is good?” he scoffed.

“Yes,” I answered. “You’re confusing goodness with convenience. Faith isn’t a vending machine.”

Laughter broke from the back row. Even the stenographer smirked.

Mr. Cross sneered. “So you’re telling this jury that even when you’ve been crushed, abandoned, and broken, you still see goodness?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “Because suffering didn’t blind me it clarified my vision. I saw God not in the absence of pain, but in His presence through it.”

He snapped, “That’s poetic. But let’s get real. Let’s talk about the pitiful job offers. The times you gave and gave and got nothing back.

The missed promotions. The closed doors. The betrayal by so-called spiritual folk. You remember the sting?”

“I remember every sting. But I also remember how I didn’t lose my mind. How peace wrapped me like a blanket when it made no sense. That’s not coincidence.

That’s goodness.”

The lawyer rolled his eyes. “Oh, so you’re saying unanswered prayers are evidence of love?”

“Sometimes unanswered prayers are divine protection in disguise,” I said. “I asked for doors. God gave me wings.”

The courtroom rumbled with murmurs.

He leaned in, voice quieter, more sinister. “Then tell me this if God is so good, why did you feel unworthy?

Why did you feel unseen, unloved, and forgotten?”

“Because I believed the lies whispered by my pain. But the truth never stopped being true.”

The lawyer fired again. “Why did you stay in a storm with no end in sight?”

“Because the One who calms storms was in the boat with me.”

A woman in the crowd wept. A man shouted, “Say that again!”

Mr. Cross snapped, “Mr. Shunnar, can you name a single moment when all your prayers were answered the way you wanted?”

“No.”

He leaned in with a smug grin. “Then what’s the point of faith?”

“Because faith isn't about getting what I want it's about trusting the One who knows what I need.”

Silence fell like thunder.

He tried to regroup. “Let’s go back to that hospital room. When your son’s heart stopped. Where was your miracle?”

“I was the miracle,” I replied. “The fact I didn’t curse God, the fact I didn’t go mad, the fact I could stand again that is a miracle.

That’s grace.”

Cross shook his head. “So now you’re calling loss a gift?”

I smiled faintly. “Sometimes the darkest pain carves the deepest wisdom. I didn’t lose my son. I released him back to the One who loaned him to me.”

A collective gasp echoed. The crowd couldn’t sit still.

Cross waved his hand. “Your Honor, I move to declare this witness emotionally compromised.”

The judge raised an eyebrow. “Denied. Continue.”

He sighed, clearly irritated. “Alright. Let’s address the hypocrisy. You speak of goodness, yet the world burns. Children suffer. Innocents die. Churches lie. Governments fail. Where’s the goodness in this world?”

“Goodness doesn’t eliminate evil,”

I answered.

“It overcomes it. It shows up in the helpers, the healers, the quiet acts of love that never make headlines.”

He chuckled dryly. “Sounds like wishful thinking.”

“No. It’s anchored knowing.”

He turned, frustrated. “You ever just wanted to scream at the heavens?”

“I have.”

“And did you?”

“I did.”

“And what happened?”

“I heard silence. Then I felt presence.”

Another murmur.

He laughed bitterly. “So what would you say to those who call your faith delusional?”

“I’d say faith isn’t the absence of reasoning it’s the presence of resilience.”

“Still sounds like make-believe.”

“Well,” I said, leaning forward, “you believe in gravity, yet you can’t see it. You trust the air though you’ve never bottled it. Why not God?”

Even some of the jury chuckled.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse,” I replied with a grin. The room burst into laughter.

Mr. Cross composed himself. “Let’s go back to Georgia. The betrayal. The sabotage. You were helping. They plotted. And yet, you still trusted?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I realized I wasn’t working for them. I was working for Him.”

Justice Caldwell adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Cross, do you have any more questions?”

Mr. Cross sighed. “Just one. Mr. Shunnar, if you could go back and remove all the pain, the betrayal, the loss... would you?”

I paused. The silence was deafening.

“No,” I said. “Because it was the pain that revealed the depth of His goodness. Without it, I would’ve only known theory. Now, I know truth.”

Cross threw up his hands in defeat.

The judge nodded. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’ve heard the testimony. Now you must decidehas the goodness of the Creator been proven beyond reasonable doubt?”

The jury whispered. People wiped their eyes. One juror a woman in her seventies nodded through tears.

I stepped down from the stand, not because I won, but because I had stood.

In that courtroom not of marble and wood, but of soul and spirit I testified not to escape pain but to reveal purpose. The Creator’s goodness wasn’t on trial.

It was being revealed.

And the verdict... was written in every heart that heard the truth.

You must say this was an amazing reflection.