The Courtroom of Faith: The Trial of Goodness Part Two

The Courtroom of Faith: The Trial of Goodness Part Two

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

I stood there.

No podium to lean on. No teleprompter. No choir humming behind me to usher in my truth. Just me, Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar, standing in a courtroom built by the storms I survived and the silence that tried to bury me.

The judge’s eyes cut through the stale air. The jury sat with suspicion etched across their faces. And across the room stood the prosecutor  a polished, cold-eyed figure named Ms. Quinn. The kind of woman whose perfume smelled like cynicism and whose heels clicked like condemnation.

"State your full name for the record," she said.

I spoke clearly. "Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar."

"And your occupation?"

"A soul in motion. A believer in the impossible. A walker of hard roads."

She sighed. "Mr. Shunnar, are you aware that you are on trial today for the persistent, delusional behavior of choosing goodness in a world that has clearly shown you no mercy?"

I smiled. "I’m aware."

She paced.

"You are being charged with radical forgiveness, relentless faith, and the audacity to still love people who left you bleeding. How do you plead?"

"Guilty. With joy."

Laughter in the gallery.

"Order in the court!" the judge shouted.

She continued, now more annoyed. "Tell us, Mr. Shunnar, after being abandoned by people you carried, mocked by those you encouraged, and betrayed by those you trusted, why do you still speak of love?"

"Because I learned that who I am can't be dictated by what was done to me."

The courtroom stirred.

"So let me get this straight," she said, eyebrows arched.

 "You were loyal to those who were disloyal, you loved people who were unavailable, and you prayed for people who cursed you… and you still believe you made the right choice?"

"Every time,"

I said.

 "Because how I respond is about my character, not their capacity."

The judge leaned back, watching.

"Even when you were left alone, broke, crying into the night, no answer comingyou still prayed?"

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"Because I wasn't praying for rescue. I was praying for revelation. And I got it."

She sneered.

"This is insanity."

I leaned in. "No, this is freedom."

Silence.

Ms. Quinn's voice sharpened. "Mr. Shunnar, would you say you've lost a lot?"

"Yes."

"Your grandmother?"

"Yes."

"Your son?"

A pause. "Yes."

"Your cousin, your mother, your peace, your income, your relationships all shattered at some point, correct?"

"Correct."

"And people you stood solid for?"

"Vanished."

"Even mocked you, didn't they? In front of your face and behind your back?"

"Daily."

"And your personal relationships garbage."

"Recyclable now."

The court laughed again.

Ms. Quinn clenched her jaw.

"And after all this, Mr. Shunnar, how in the unholy name of misplaced optimism can you hold onto the delusion of faith, trust, and belief? How can you believe in a Creator who watched all this happen to you? It is… it is absolutely deranged. It's disturbing. And frankly, I ask the court to have you mentally evaluated!"

Gasps.

The judge raised an eyebrow.

I smiled.

"I don’t need your evaluation. God already assessed me and found me worthy."

The judge muttered, "Well, damn."

Ms. Quinn snapped.

"Mr. Shunnar, you're GODDAMN delusional!"

The court erupted.

"ORDER!" shouted the judge, gavel pounding like thunder.

But Ms. Quinn wasn’t done.

"He is NOT sane. He is NOT spiritually enlightened. He is spiraling into fantasy.

I ask again

I BEG the court to stop this before he convinces others to ignore trauma and smile through madness!"

I smiled wider. "Ma'am… I'm not ignoring my trauma. I just refused to build a condo and live in it."

Laughter. More laughter.

"You're not funny!" she shouted.

"Neither is your outfit, but we’re both doing our best."

Even the judge chuckled under his breath.

"Tell me, Mr. Shunnar," she hissed, "when your son died, did you pray harder? Or did you just hug your imaginary friend in the sky and hope he sent you a sympathy card?"

Gasps.

A woman stood. "That’s TOO FAR!"

Another: "You crossed the damn line!"

"ONE MORE INTERRUPTION AND I WILL CLEAR THIS ENTIRE COURTROOM!" the judge roared.

I turned to her.

"My son taught me how to love beyond time. I didn’t pray harder. I trusted deeper. Because pain either poisons you or purifies you. I chose purification."

She scoffed. "And your mother passing, too. God’s plan?"

"Yes. Her exit opened my deeper entrance into purpose."

"Let’s talk about those who used you. The ones who drained you and left you. You gave them everything. They gave you silence.

Yet you defend them?!"

"No," I said calmly. "I release them. Big difference."

She was trembling now. "You're the FOOL in your own parable. You need psychiatric assistance."

"Maybe. But I'd rather be delusional in hope than diagnosed with chronic bitterness."

I stood slowly.

"I've been to the depths. Not once, but often. And every time I looked up from the floor of rock bottom, God's hand was beneath me. I didn't imagine it. I LIVED it."

"And what do you know that we don't?!" she spat.

"That the same fire meant to burn me only refined me."

Gasps.

"I've been mocked, betrayed, ghosted, discarded. Yet I smile. Not because life has been kind, but because I finally understood that storms don't come to destroy you they come to reveal you."

"You think faith is therapy?"

"No," I said. "Faith is oxygen. Without it, I’d suffocate in this world."

"Then what do you plead?"

"I plead spiritually insane. With eternal joy. And no chance of parole."

Silence.

The judge stood.

"Well then. Let the record reflect that the defendant has not only made his case he's made history."

The courtroom erupted. People crying. Others clapping. Some stunned into silence. But no one left unchanged.

And as I turned to leave, I whispered to the gallery:

"The world may call you crazy for choosing love after loss. Choose it anyway. Let them stare. Let them talk. Just make sure, when they do… they spell your healing right."