March 7, 2004

  • The thieves were there.
    On that day, that momentous day so very long ago, the thieves saw and heard everything.
    One mocked Him. The other was blessed by Him. And the one who robbed and who murdered, he was set free.
    The thieves were there.
    When the Twelve had fled, when they were all in hiding, the thieves were there with Him.
    Why?
    Why were the thieves there?
    Of all the people, why the thieves?
    Is there some special message in their presence?
    Were they there to bear witness?
    Was He so cast down, so abandoned by the human race that the thieves could be his only company?
    Were the thieves more worthy in some way?
    Were they more loved?
    Were the thieves there for a reason? Or was it all just cosmic accident? With no more meaning, of no more consequence than the belch of a baby?
    Two perished with Him while another lived to steal and murder again.
    A sinner was set free and another was blessed while He was punished for all of the world’s sin.
    Sinners are chosen and blessed all the time. They multiply and thrive while the virtuous are sacrificed to their own righteousness.
    Is that the true nature of this life?
    Are our beliefs, is our faith nothing more than a misconception of what truly is?
    What if virtue is actually despised by God?
    What if the sin is blessed and the sinners are His chosen?
    What if those who harass, pander and beg to paradise with their prayers are punished?
    What if God is incensed by our pleas and our adulation?
    Nature does not worship.
    Birds do not pray. Beasts do not cross themselves before they feed. Is it man’s monumental vanity that leads us to believe that we know the desire of God and that all other life does not? Do we bow our heads, attempt to appease that which we cannot see to ease our own fears rather than to please God?
    My soul rebels so often against my reverence.
    It begs me to scream out during devotion. It entices me to assassinate the silence and blaspheme against the righteous serenity that clings to the barren walls of this cloistered space. I am sorely tempted to giggle out loud and dance a dirty jig during Vespers.
    My spirit taunts me. It teases and tempts me.
    Faith will not give herself me. She will not be held by me. She will not come to me even for a moment.
    Faith is a virgin and I am too unclean to touch her.
    I weep sometimes at the aloofness of Faith to me, that she lingers so far beyond my reach.
    They assume I weep so because I am moved.
    But I weep because I am immovable.
    I weep because belief cannot penetrate, will not penetrate my soul.
    I am alone.
    Truly and terribly alone.
    Thomas doubted.
    Peter denied.
    Judas betrayed.
    Luther rebelled.
    I can do none of these things because I lack the conviction and the courage to act.
    I can only fear.
    Alone.
    I came here to this place to find a way closer to God.
    I came here to find Faith.
    But in escaping the outside world I could not escape myself.
    Here in the seclusion and in the silence there is only me.
    If God is here he is not listening. If Faith is here she will not lower herself to me.
    Not to me.
    The only sound here in this vast emptiness is the hollow echo of my isolation.
    The only light in this never ending darkness is a dim reflection of my own fear.
    I am alone.
    I suspect that I have always been alone.
    The rest has been nothing more than desperate illusion.
    I am trapped by myself within a prison that is what is left of my soul.
    I am my own prisoner.
    I am my own prey.
    There is only one true escape and I lack the courage even to think about such a thing. Yes, I fear the darkness and the solitude.
    But I fear what is on the other side of this life more than I fear any other thing. I long to extinguish this weak flame but I fear that it can never be truly and completely put out.
    Not by me.
    Not by me alone.
    I fear.
    I will leave this place.
    I must leave this place.
    I know that the solitude and the fear that found me within these walls will follow me wherever I go but I cannot spend another day contemplating the vacant darkness.
    God is not here.
    He is not in this place any more than he is in any place.
    At least there will be noise outside. There will be that kind of movement which has no substance or sense, but is at the very least distraction.
    I will leave this place and live amongst the thieves
    I will worship their distraction.
    I will venerate chaos, however temporary or fractional it may be, because within it I may find some small respite.
    From my thoughts.
    From my fear.
    From myself.
    Diversion may not be my saviour, it may not be my salvation. But at the very least it is…
    Other than this.
    Other than me.
    Perhaps that is what the thieves knew.
    Perhaps that is why they were there.
    To provide distraction.
    From fear.
    From uncertainty.
    From thought.
    I will go into the world and live amongst the thieves.
    I will lose myself among the sinners.
    They may be my final hope.
    They may be my final salvation.
    Perhaps I too, if I live like a criminal, like a sinner, shall be set free.
    I will become a fugitive among the discarded.
    From my fears.
    From my thoughts.
    From God.
    From…
    Me.