would not let go of my amputated finger, and even Simon's face was wet with tears; and still Mr. Merrill would not rest-he sent us swiftly to Second Corinthians.
' 'So we do not lose heart,' ' he told us. ' 'Though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed every day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, because we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen; for the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal,' ' Pastor Merrill said. ' 'So we are always of good courage'!' my father exhorted us. ' 'We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight,' ' he said. ' 'We are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him.' '
Then he swept us into another psalm, and then he commanded the congregation to stand, which we did, while he read us the Gospel according to John: ' 'I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep,' ' Pastor Merrill said, and we mourners lowered our heads like sheep. And when we were seated, Mr. Merrill said: ' God-how we miss Owen Meany!' Then he read to us-that passage about the miracle in the Gospel according to Mark:
And when they came to the disciples, they saw a great crowd about them, and scribes arguing with them. And immediately all the crowd, when they saw him, were greatly amazed, and ran up to him and greeted him. And he asked them, 'What are you discussing with them?' And one of the crowd answered him, 'Teacher, I brought my son to you, for he has a dumb spirit; and wherever it seizes him it dashes him down; and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid; and I asked your disciples to cast it out, and they were not able.' And he answered them, 'O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him to me.' And they brought the boy to him; and when the spirit saw him, immediately it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. And Jesus asked his father, 'How long has he had this?' And he said, 'From childhood. And it has often cast him into the fire and into the water, to destroy him; but if you can do anything, have pity on us and help us.' And Jesus said to him, 'If you can! All things are possible to him who believes.' Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, 'I believe; help my unbelief!' And when Jesus saw that a crowd came running together, he rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, 'You dumb and deaf spirit, I command you, come out of him, and never enter him again.' And after crying out and convulsing him terribly, it came out, and the boy was like a corpse; so that most of them said, 'He is dead.' But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose. And when he had entered the house, his disciples asked him privately, 'Why could
we not cast it out?' And he said to them, 'This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer.'
When he finished reading this passage, Pastor Merrill lifted his face to us and cried out, ' 'I believe; help my unbelief!' Owen Meany helped my 'unbelief,' ' my father said. 'Compared to Owen Meany, I am an amateur-in my faith,' Mr. Merrill said. 'Owen was not just a hero to the United States Army-he was my hero,'' my father said. 'He was our hero- over and over again, he was our hero; he was always our hero. And we will always miss him,' the Rev. Lewis Merrill said.
'As often as I feel certain that God exists, I feel as often at a loss to say what difference it makes-that He exists-or even: that to believe in God, which I do, raises more questions than it presents answers. Thus, when I am feeling my most faithful, I also feel full of a few hard questions that I would like to put to God-I mean, critical questions of the How-Can-He, How-CoM/rf-He, Rovf-Dare-Yoa variety.
' 'For example, I would like to ask God to give us back Owen Meany,' Mr. Merrill said; when he spread his arms wide, the fingers of his right hand were dancing again in the beam of light. 'O God-give him back, give him back to us!' Pastor Merrill asked. It was so quiet in Hurd's Church, while we waited to see what God would do. I heard a tear fall-it was one of my grandmother's tears, and I heard it patter upon the cover of the Pilgrim Hymnal, which she held in her lap. 'Please give us back Owen Meany,' Mr. Merrill said. When nothing happened, my father said: 'O God-I shall keep asking You!' Then he once more turned to The Book of Common Prayer; it was unusual for a Congregationalist- especially, in a nondenominational church-to be using the prayer book so scrupulously, but I was sure that my father respected that Owen had been an Episcopalian. Lewis Merrill took the prayer book with him when he left die pulpit; he approached the flag-draped casket and stood so close to Owen's medal that the shaft of sunlight that shone through the hole the baseball had made flickered on the prayer book, which Mr. Merrill raised. Then he said, 'Let us pray,' and he faced Owen's body.
' 'Into thy hands, O merciful Savior, we commend thy servant Owen Meany,' ' my father said. ' 'Acknowledge, we humbly beseech thee, a sheep of thine own fold, a lamb of thine own flock, a sinner of thine own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of thy mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light,' ' he prayed-the light from the hole in the stained-glass window still playing tricks with the medal and The Book of Common Prayer.
'Amen,' the Rev. Mr. Merrill said. Then he nodded to Colonel Eiger and the young, frightened-looking first lieutenant; they matched their steps to the casket, they removed the American flag and snapped it taut-the medal bouncing like a coin, but it was pinned fast to the flag and couldn't fall. Then the colonel and the first lieutenant walked haltingly
