There are only a handful of adults in this world whom I truly respect, and H is one of them. After devoting himself as a church deacon, H entered seminary at a later stage in life and started a pioneering church. He probably became a theology student around the time he turned forty, and by now, he must be over fifty. My reason for respecting him was incredibly clear. He was a man who possessed real, genuine faith—not the kind of nonsensical faith that exists merely in words—and he raised his children with upright guidance.
Today, in my dream, I ended up visiting the church where he ministers. It was a church I was visiting for the very first time, and I happened to sit in the very front row. Peculiarly, that church handed out sheets of paper and had people write down a prayer. As it turned out, it wasn't for everyone to write; rather, it was a place where only the saints sitting in the very front row would offer the representative prayer. Unaware of this, I remained seated in the front row of this newly visited place until the service was about to begin, and the prayer I had scribbled down was handed over to someone.
After some time had passed, my prayer was rejected. As if reviewing a graded report, the reasons for rejecting the prayer were written down in red ink. Along with expressions suggesting it seemed heretical, there was a message calling me the Antichrist and warning others against me. It claimed that this prayer had been written by the Antichrist.
Seeing my prayer evaluated in such a manner, I was about to quietly slip out the back, wondering if I had made a grave mistake, when a fight broke out inside, dividing the place into a faction that followed me and a faction that demanded I be cast out. As the conflict erupted, I tried to leave, stating that I simply wanted to slip away quietly, but nine people declared that they would follow me until the very end. On one hand, I feared the atmosphere growing intense, but on the other hand, I pondered what on earth it actually meant for me to be called the Antichrist. Amidst this, H appeared, helped me, and enabled me to quietly make my way outside.
Yet, I was bewildered. It was surprising enough that H was at that church, but H is currently a pastor, not a mere congregant. As it turned out, he introduced himself as H's twin brother, born with only a slight difference in time. He then grasped my hand and told me to return home safely.
Upon waking from the dream, I reflected upon this dream, the likes of which I had never experienced before. The Antichrist. Was there a concept of the Antichrist that differed from the one I knew? Upon looking it up, the Antichrist was a term in which two major concepts were intermingled. The first is the Antichrist commonly taught in churches—the one who deludes people on the Last Day and leads them down a mistaken path; this is depicted as a specific figure who deceives people as a false returned Jesus and brings about the destruction of the world. This Antichrist corresponds to the figure who deceives mankind after the Rapture, as depicted in the Book of Revelation.
The second concept of the Antichrist is the Antichrist as a collective group, as mentioned in the First Epistle of John.
First John 2:18 states: "Dear children, this is the last hour; and as you have heard that the antichrist is coming, even now many antichrists have come. This is how we know it is the last hour." Furthermore, Chapter 4, Verse 3 explains: "but every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God. This is the spirit of the antichrist."
The point of divergence in the Antichrist depicted here is the expression 'many antichrists.' In the last days, 'many antichrists' appear, and it says that anyone who does not acknowledge Jesus due to mistaken teachings belongs to those who do not pertain to God.
Yes. I was, indeed, an Antichrist. I started from the Christian faith, but I traveled in search of truth by studying Judaism, Islam, and the ancient Catholicism remaining in Ethiopia, among others; in that process, I came to harbor skepticism regarding salvation through Jesus. While I acknowledged the prophecies concerning the Messiah recorded in Isaiah Chapter 53, at the same time, there were many parts of the Christian teachings regarding Jesus with which I could not agree. That was profoundly heartbreaking. To deny the teachings I had learned for over twenty years and loved for more than ten, and to become unable to believe them down to their foundational core, was an agonizing torture.
What is left behind after the agony of one's convictions being shattered? A skepticism that makes it difficult to believe in absolutely anything. A razor-sharp reaction to all sorts of delusive words and deceptive expressions manufactured by humans. The curse of knowledge, from which there is no turning back to how things used to be. All of it became compounded.
Perhaps the dream was piercing through me with absolute clarity. My faith aligns with the faith of the Antichrist. At least from the perspective of one who does not acknowledge Jesus as depicted in First John, I am an Antichrist. Yet, at the same time, seeing that the twin brother of H, whom I respect, grasped my hand, perhaps he recognized that I was not an absolute Antichrist, but rather a fragile, vulnerable soul locked in confusion.
I still converse quietly with God. Telling Him that I simply cannot understand. The reason He made this world in the first place. Why people have to live so agonizingly to this extent. If it were truly the heart of a parent as Jesus taught, I could by no means accept the entire process of sending one's children to live alongside murderers. Of course, if I were to witness the truth of the universe like Job, and once I comprehended the entirety of God's purpose, I might offer the exact same confession as Job's. But I am not Job, I am not as unblemished as Job, nor am I one who has endured the same tribulations as Job.
My only earnest thirst is how on earth I am supposed to compose my mind amidst teachings and contradictions that are unknowable and incomprehensible. What could God's purpose possibly be? It is a truly lonely life. The chasm between me, who asks questions regarding an unfindable answer, and a God who remains answerless. Is that what transformed me into an Antichrist? Or did the sound of my earnest agony reach the heavens, prompting them to aid me?