There once was a sinner who prayed to God.
Though he often prayed, it was never through the lens of a sinner, but rather someone who simply sinned. For him, his mistakes were an action, not a characteristic, until the time he succumbed to reality.
In the stories we tell, even the hero’s mistakes are somehow meant to exude nobility and virtue.
Aladin is a thief, yes, but the kind-hearted type, who only stole to survive, a descendent of Robin Hood. Sawyer is a con-man and a murderer, but that was only because of his troubled childhood, and his rightful desire to seek revenge.
Only the pretty scars are to be admired. The ugly ones, are just that – ugly.
And something tells me that authors who write fiction know exactly how to apply make-up to the scars of their characters, such that they are pretty enough for the readers to love. For a character who doesn’t make mistakes isn’t realistic, and one who can’t be admired in spite of his mistakes, is unlovable.
And thus, there once was a sinner who prayed to God.
Except this time, he couldn’t pretend that his sins were those of a hero. There was no angle from which any of this looked any good. This was irreparable damage, the kind that would tarnish any image of himself he would ever hope to paint.
Because what is the first thing people would notice on the face of someone with an ugly scar? And I do not mean the kind that can look cool, like Tyrion Lannister, or Prince Zuko, but rather the one that can’t.
Pretty privilege, I guess.
Why is it, as someone who loves cats, I can’t fathom the idea of someone hurting a cat. How can they? But someone hunting a mouse, an animal that is also a mammal? That’s alright. They’re not as cute as cats.
And thus, there once was a sinner who prayed to God.
But this time, he was the mouse, not the cat. No more pets for him, not from anyone, and especially not from himself. There was nothing cute about this, there wasn’t a category of people who have a special taste that might have an appreciation for him in some weird way.
So he might as well ask for God’s forgiveness. At least God would accept him, right?
It is funny how the acceptance that matters the most, is always sought last, when all other merchants and have closed their shops. When no amount of currency would buy you an ounce of empathy, the problem must be with the customer.
So you turn to the one shop that asks for no money, but rather a confession. A confession so hurtful, so costly, that you can never take it back. Once you admit it, you can never go back to lying to yourself about it.
A confession that you are not the hero of a fictional story. A confession that your scars are ugly. A confession that from now on, you shall be a mouse.
Why is it, that when God sends a prophet, it is almost always the case, that people who have nothing to lose who are the first in line to believe?
The poor. The slaves. The prisoners. The sinners.
The outcasts of society. The ones that are less.
Is it because they seek retribution by being part of a small, special community of believers?
Or is it because when you have nothing to defend, you become more susceptible to accepting the truth?
Maybe it is just that those, who can still be saints in their own mirror, are unwilling to make the leap of faith, that would fundamentally make them admit the things they prefer to stay blind towards.
That their inner thoughts are not that secret, that they are not truly unsullied, that they did more in the name of looking virtuous, than in the name of doing a virtue.
And giving up your self image when you don’t have to is much more painful than when you have no choice.
And thus, there once was a sinner who prayed to God.
And this prayer might be an apology, an apology of someone who thinks they took a step away from the road of virtue.
Or it may be a confession, a confession that they were never on that road to begin with.
Or even a realization, that those roads of virtue and vice do not exist outside of us, but inside. A realization that our deeds are a product of our circumstances and how we are perceived by others within them, and what really matters is what you do when you are unseen, when the masks are taken off at the end of the play, when you see the flaws of others and feel them as your own, and the only difference between you and them is that your mask is a different color.
The complexities of the human soul – how do you evaluate someone’s worthiness?
Well, I am relieved that the answer to this question is left only to God.
Thumbnail Image by Jengod via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
