I Don’t Want Your God in My Home

“I Don’t Want Your God in My Home” I was shocked when a middle-aged Indian mother repeated these words to me. They had been spoken by her son, and the pain they had caused was evident on her face. She had come to meet me at the home where I was staying during a tour of the West and had requested to speak with me privately. She explained that her husband had wanted to accompany her but had unexpectedly been called to another city for urgent office work. We sat in the hall, while my host remained in his home office with the door open, where he could see us but not hear the specifics of our conversation. As a monk, I don’t meet women alone, and this arrangement allowed us to speak with some privacy. “I grew up in a very religious family,” she explained, “and after moving to the West and meeting Krishna devotees, I became even more serious about my devotional practices. I raised my son to learn shlokas, songs, and stories about Krishna. He was very enthusiastic during his childhood, but when he became a teenager, he started drifting away. “I hoped his teenage rebellion would end when he grew out of his teens. Recently, he got a job in another city. Earlier, he had been living in shared quarters, but now he has moved into his own rented house. “When I went to visit him, I took a nice big altar of Krishna as a gift, so that he could keep it in his home. But he rejected my offer, saying, ‘I don’t want your God in my home.’” As she recollected those words, she broke down. I offered her some tissues and spoke gently. “I’m so sorry you had to hear those words.” After she had calmed down somewhat, I continued, “I can understand that what he said was very painful for you. Can you tell me what about those words caused you the greatest pain?” She remained silent for a few moments, perhaps gathering her thoughts or examining her emotions. Then, her brows furrowing, she said, “I felt as if he was rejecting me. I felt as if I had failed as a mother. And I felt that I had failed Krishna because I couldn’t make the child He had entrusted to me into a devotee.” “Thank you for articulating those three concerns so clearly,” I replied. “Let’s look at them one by one, starting with the last one.” ## Are a Child’s Choices the Parents’ Failure? “Have you failed Krishna because your son hasn’t become a devotee? I don’t think so at all. Krishna Himself has given everyone free will. No person can be held responsible for another person’s misuse of free will, or even for their failure to use it properly. “Consider Krishna’s peace mission to the Kauravas. He personally tried to persuade Duryodhana to avoid the war, but Duryodhana refused. Krishna’s peace mission did not succeed in changing Duryodhana’s decision. “But if Krishna, who is infinite and omnipotent, doesn’t ensure that everyone uses their free will properly, why would He expect or demand that from us finite beings?” She thought about this for a moment and then raised an objection. “But Duryodhana was a demon. I’m talking about my son. Am I not responsible for my son’s choices?” “Duryodhana may have had demoniac tendencies, but he too was a soul, a part of Krishna. In Bhagavad Gita 14.4, Krishna describes Himself as the seed-giving father of all living beings: ahaṁ bīja-pradaḥ pitā . “If Krishna is ultimately the father of everyone, should He be held responsible for the misuse of free will by every living being?” “No, we can’t hold Krishna responsible,” she acknowledged, though she still seemed uncertain. “But isn’t it my duty as a mother? The Bhagavatam says that one shouldn’t become a parent unless one can deliver one’s children from the cycle of birth and death.” “Yes, that’s true. But that verse is meant to infuse a sense of spiritual responsibility in parents, not impose on them an impossible expectation that overrides their children’s free will.” “Can you explain that?” she asked. “Consider another part of the same verse. It says that someone shouldn’t become a guru if they cannot deliver their disciples. “Can a guru guarantee that every single person who takes initiation will continue practicing bhakti diligently throughout their life?” “But that’s what disciples are expected to do,” she replied. “That’s the vow they take at initiation.” “Yes, but can a guru guarantee that every single person who takes those vows will honor them throughout their life?” “Unfortunately, no.” “Should a guru then become so burdened by guilt or fear that they stop sharing Krishna bhakti, inspiring others to practice, or offering initiation?” “No,” she replied. “There may be so many other sincere people. They shouldn’t be deprived of that opportunity.” After a pause, she added, “Maybe the guru should test the candidate more seriously before granting initiation.” “Yes, that’s a good point. And it brings out how the spiritual responsibility of a parent is, in one respect, even more difficult than that of a guru.” “How is that?” she asked, surprised. “A guru can test a prospective disciple’s sincerity before offering initiation. Parents don’t get to test their children before they’re born. A guru can decline to initiate someone who isn’t sincere. But parents cannot stop being parents simply because their children aren’t spiritually interested.” “Then what does that verse actually mean?” she asked. “It means that we should take seriously our responsibility to share devotional values with our children. But responsibility doesn’t mean control. We are responsible for how we guide our children; ultimately, they are responsible for the choices they make. “And please don’t think that your efforts in raising your son have been a failure. The fact that he has a job and is maintaining his own home suggests that you’ve done much right. He has become a responsible human being, even if he hasn’t become a devotee. “How is he overall as a human being?” “He’s normally quite polite and helpful,” she replied. “That’s why those words were so unexpected. They shocked me and hurt me so much.” “Yes, I can understand that,” I said. “Let’s now consider your second concern: your feeling that you’ve failed as a mother. “One of the things the Gita teaches us is that we’re souls, eternal parts of Krishna, playing various roles in this world. Being a mother is an important part of your identity, but it isn’t your defining identity. “Parenting is a serious responsibility, and we need to identify with our role as parents sufficiently to fulfill that responsibility. But as children grow older and become more independent, our role changes. “You can certainly continue praying for your son’s devotional change of heart. But a setback in your role as a mother shouldn’t discourage you in your relationship with Krishna. “Your identity as a mother matters. But beneath it is your eternal identity as a soul, a part of Krishna. You can continue finding shelter in that relationship even when things don’t unfold as you hoped in your relationship with your son.” She nodded her head slowly. “Let’s now move to your first concern,” I continued, “your feeling that your son has rejected you. “I think it’s important not to let those hurtful words define your entire relationship with him. You said he’s normally polite and helpful. Do you have any idea why he spoke so harshly on this occasion?” She hesitated. “He started asking more and more questions about how God could allow so much suffering in this world.” Then she swallowed and added something that completely changed my understanding of the situation. “I had a younger daughter. She was killed in a car crash.” ## The Hurt Behind the Hurtful Words “We were all in the car,” she continued. “Another vehicle suddenly came from an intersection on the left and hit the part of the car where she was sitting. The rest of us suffered minor injuries, but her injuries were fatal. “We were all shocked. While she was still alive, we prayed intensely for her, and after she passed away, we prayed for her soul. We took greater shelter of Krishna, and we found solace in Him. “But my son was very protective of his younger sister. After her death, he became very bitter. He felt that Krishna had failed to protect her. He started blaming Krishna and gradually moved away from Him.” I began to see her son’s words in a different light. “You’ve gone through a lot in your life,” I empathized with her. “The fact that you’ve survived the loss of a child and maintained your devotion is truly laudable. But different people process pain differently. “What you’ve told me helps me understand your son’s response quite differently. He may not be rejecting you; he may simply be speaking from a place of unresolved pain. “You know the saying, ‘Hurt people hurt people.’ Rather than focusing only on how his words have hurt you, perhaps we can also consider how deeply he himself is hurting. We can try to help him find healing.” After a little thought, I continued, “I recently wrote an article about a father who had lost his son in a freak accident and felt that he just couldn’t forgive Krishna. I’ll share that article with you. You can go through it yourself, and if you feel it may help your son, you can share it with him.” After thinking for a few moments, I asked another question. “When your daughter passed away, how did you deal with your grief?” “I took fervent shelter of Krishna. I chanted a lot, went to the temple, and found great solace in my devotional practices.” “And how did your son respond? Did you share your grief and pain with him?” “No. Right from the time of her death, I could see that he was taking it negatively. He had started blaming Krishna. I felt that if he saw how much I was hurting, he would become even angrier with Krishna. So I mostly concealed my grief from him.” I considered what she had said. “It’s possible that, although your intentions were good, he may have perceived your response differently. He may have thought that you’d become so caught up in your devotion that you no longer cared about your daughter, or about the fact that you’d lost her.” She looked shocked. “Of course I cared! Do you think he might have thought that?” “I can’t know for sure. But I’ve seen something like this happen. When we are spiritualizing our consciousness, those around us may sometimes feel that we are dehumanizing ourselves. This is especially likely when they don’t share our spiritual inclination. They may even start thinking that our spirituality is making us unwilling or incapable of experiencing normal human emotions.” I paused and then continued. “I think you need to first take shelter of Krishna and find some healing from your son’s words. Then, at the right time, you can talk with him about your own pain over losing your daughter.” “But whenever I start talking about it, he criticizes Krishna,” she protested. “I can’t tolerate that. I don’t want him to offend Krishna.” “Don’t worry about his offending Krishna at this point. Krishna’s love for us is large enough to accommodate our anger, as I’ve explained in that article. “When you talk with your son, don’t worry about defending Krishna or about whether he’s offending Him. Focus on bonding with your son.” I then asked, “How did your husband respond to your daughter’s death and to your son’s words?” “My husband is a very stoic, unemotional person. He also practices bhakti, but he doesn’t usually express his emotions. He took shelter of Krishna and found solace. “And as a father, he feels that our son is now an adult and will make his own choices. We can’t force him.” “So your husband’s not grieving visibly may have been something your son would have expected,” I reflected. “But your not grieving visibly may have been something he didn’t expect.” “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “As I said, I was only trying to protect his faith. I didn’t want him to go away from Krishna.” “Rather than worrying about his distance from Krishna, work on decreasing the distance between him and you. “At the right time, share your pain with him without being preachy. Tell him how deeply you grieved for your daughter and how you found shelter in bhakti. But focus on helping him see that you cared deeply for your daughter, that you still care deeply for him, and that your devotion hasn’t diminished that love.” She nodded. “Let’s conclude with a prayer,” I said. Closing my eyes, I offered a prayer that she might find healing in Krishna from the hurt caused by her son’s words, just as she had found healing in Him after losing her daughter. I also prayed that her son might find emotional healing from the loss of his sister and that, through the renewal of the bond between mother and son, he might gradually find his way back to Krishna and discover devotional healing as well. The mother thanked me and departed. ## Healing Needs to Feel Like Healing Later, as I reflected on this distressing encounter, I felt that it was perhaps the strongest living example I had personally encountered of a truth I’d often spoken about: hurt people hurt people. But the encounter had given me a deeper understanding of that familiar saying. When people hurt us, we need to look beyond how they are hurting us to consider how they themselves may be hurting. I thought about how a younger version of me might have responded to the son’s shocking words. I might have fixated on his rejection of Krishna and quickly categorized him as an insensitive, godless rebel—an atheist who was offending God. I might have condemned his harsh words without considering that the pain he was causing might have arisen from the pain he was carrying. I felt grateful that I hadn’t been so quick to judge him. I also hoped that the mother and son would find healing—not only in their relationship with each other, but also in their individual relationships with Krishna. I know from experience that the Gita’s wisdom can offer healing to anyone, no matter how much they are hurting. But this incident helped me appreciate something more deeply: for people to accept that wisdom, they need to experience our outreach as an offer of healing, not as an act of preaching or imposing. On that sobering note, I offered a prayer: My dear Lord, great is the capacity of this world to hurt; greater still is Your capacity to heal. Grant me the sensitivity to share Your wisdom in ways that help those who are hurting see and feel its healing. *** 14.04 It should be understood that all species of life, O son of Kuntī, are made possible by birth in this material nature, and that I am the seed-giving father. The post I Don’t Want Your God in My Home first appeared on Chaitanya Charan Das, Bhagavad Gita ISKCON .