I’m lying in the
dirt, on the side of a crooked road. The sun is beating down on my face, and
sweat soaks the thin clothing that barely covers my body. I feel it drip down
my face, stinging my eyes. I taste the salt in my mouth, willing myself to
swallow the acrid taste. I do not know what is wrong with me. I only know that
there has been something terribly wrong with me since I was very young. Other
people move to the opposite side of the street to pass me by. They are afraid of
me. They are afraid that they will catch my sickness.
I manage the strength to prop myself up on my elbow, slowly dusting the grime from my face. Someone is coming. Someone important, it seems, for there is a large crowd following. People in front and behind. The sun is so bright, I must lift my hand to my eyes to shade them so that I can see. A cloud of dirt precedes the people. As it clears, I can barely see a man in their midst, clothed in black. He is apparently someone of significance. Immediately, in my chest, I feel a wrenching; like the sinews of my being are threatening to stretch me to infinity. Is the man in black causing this? No, it must be the blackness inside me, the awful disease that slowly sucks my life away.
Yet, there is still a horrible tugging inside me. Why am I so drawn to this figure? My body seems to think he is a cure, it urges me on so. He walks over to me, and as his sandals come within reach, I stretch my arm out to touch him. But he passes by, slowly. I try to grab his cloak, forcing my voice to hoarsely call out for mercy. My mouth is so dry that only crackling moans escape. Still, he walks on. I feel his cloak between my fingers, and I hold on tighter. Still, he walks on. I drag myself along, painfully trying to keep up with him amongst the crowd. Sweat runs into my mouth, moistening it, and my voice escapes clearly this time. Still, he moves on. He does not turn. He does not look. He walks away.
I need this figure, desperately. At least, I think I do. My body craves him. Whatever this man has, I want it. I feel as though I might die without it. Finally, I muster the strength, and call out loudly, “Stop! Why will you not look at me?!”
The crowd hushes. The dust clouds settle. And the man turns. My tongue catches in my throat. My face is frozen, wide-eyed and horrified. The man has now fully turned around, and his lips are formed into a sneer. My own face looks down at me. The man I tried so desperately to gain the attention of, whose essence I craved, is the evil that I have produced.
It is my sin that looks at me, I realize. All the horrible, dark things I have committed throughout my life laugh in my face. Still, my body stretches itself thin; it wants it, still. My flesh craves it. My double looks down on me and continues to laugh, as if to say, You could never survive without me. I alone am what keeps you together. Without me, you would be nothing. Worthless. Already, your sickness destroys you. With me, you gain pleasure. Happiness. With me, your body feels alive.
I stare down at my hands. They are stained with blood; the blood of my appalling sinful life. Could these hands ever be cleaned? Is there anything that could possibly wash the muck away?
Silently, at a whisper, I barely hear his voice above the laughter of the crowd. Somehow, the word reaches my ear. Yes.
That simple word. My head swirls. Still, the crowd laughs, and my sin laughs with them. But I heard it. It was there. I painfully turn my head to look behind me.
I do not see him at first. He is not surrounded by a large crowd, but stands by himself. Yet there is something about him that commands respect. Something that causes the crowd to be hushed, without him saying a word. He lifts his head and tears stain his smiling face. I hear it again. Yes. and this time, I know it comes from this stranger. Slowly, he lifts his hand, reaching it out towards me. I look at the distance between us, and know there is no possible way I can cover it.
I’m right here, you know, I hear from behind. I won’t make you drag yourself to me. I won’t make you suffer. Look, I am so much closer to you. It would be far easier to take my hand and come with me, than the hand of a man who would make you suffer to reach him.
I look up at his outstretched palm. So very close to mine. Simply a fingertip away. The easiness of it appeals to me. I lift my hand, and as I do so, I hear a sigh. Again, I turn my head around, and see the stranger with his shoulders sagged, as if he is sorrowful at the choice I am about to make. But still, his hand reaches out.
Even though my body begs me to take the hand in front of me, there is something deeper calling me to drag myself to the stranger. I begin to use my skin tight arms to pull myself along the sand to the opposite side of the road. Behind me, I hear gasps. And someone tugs at my feet. I turn around, and see the cloaked man, my past, holding my feet and trying to prevent me from crossing. I kick out viciously, freeing myself. Persistently, and painfully, I drag myself to the other side of the road. Dirt and grime cake underneath my fingernails and in the grooves of my skin. The stranger, clothed in purest white, still holds out his hand. He smiles down at me. Again, I wonder if even this man could take away the blackness from my body. And again, I hear, Yes. With one final gasp, I reach up to his hand and grasp it with mine.
Immediately, my entire body is shaken, and something burns underneath my skin. The stranger is shining in a light so bright, it blinds me. As my hands become weak, unable to hold on, his grasp stays strong, lifting me to my feet. At first, I stumble, but then I feel a strength in my bones, and I see my sickly flesh become new. When the light stops burning, I look at the stranger. His face glows and radiates joy. He points to my hands. Where once there was blackness and blood, there is now soft, golden skin. I look behind me, scared that my double is close behind, but I see nothing. Nothing except green grass and a radiantly blue sky.
I face the stranger, knowing now that my Savior stands before me.
I manage the strength to prop myself up on my elbow, slowly dusting the grime from my face. Someone is coming. Someone important, it seems, for there is a large crowd following. People in front and behind. The sun is so bright, I must lift my hand to my eyes to shade them so that I can see. A cloud of dirt precedes the people. As it clears, I can barely see a man in their midst, clothed in black. He is apparently someone of significance. Immediately, in my chest, I feel a wrenching; like the sinews of my being are threatening to stretch me to infinity. Is the man in black causing this? No, it must be the blackness inside me, the awful disease that slowly sucks my life away.
Yet, there is still a horrible tugging inside me. Why am I so drawn to this figure? My body seems to think he is a cure, it urges me on so. He walks over to me, and as his sandals come within reach, I stretch my arm out to touch him. But he passes by, slowly. I try to grab his cloak, forcing my voice to hoarsely call out for mercy. My mouth is so dry that only crackling moans escape. Still, he walks on. I feel his cloak between my fingers, and I hold on tighter. Still, he walks on. I drag myself along, painfully trying to keep up with him amongst the crowd. Sweat runs into my mouth, moistening it, and my voice escapes clearly this time. Still, he moves on. He does not turn. He does not look. He walks away.
I need this figure, desperately. At least, I think I do. My body craves him. Whatever this man has, I want it. I feel as though I might die without it. Finally, I muster the strength, and call out loudly, “Stop! Why will you not look at me?!”
The crowd hushes. The dust clouds settle. And the man turns. My tongue catches in my throat. My face is frozen, wide-eyed and horrified. The man has now fully turned around, and his lips are formed into a sneer. My own face looks down at me. The man I tried so desperately to gain the attention of, whose essence I craved, is the evil that I have produced.
It is my sin that looks at me, I realize. All the horrible, dark things I have committed throughout my life laugh in my face. Still, my body stretches itself thin; it wants it, still. My flesh craves it. My double looks down on me and continues to laugh, as if to say, You could never survive without me. I alone am what keeps you together. Without me, you would be nothing. Worthless. Already, your sickness destroys you. With me, you gain pleasure. Happiness. With me, your body feels alive.
I stare down at my hands. They are stained with blood; the blood of my appalling sinful life. Could these hands ever be cleaned? Is there anything that could possibly wash the muck away?
Silently, at a whisper, I barely hear his voice above the laughter of the crowd. Somehow, the word reaches my ear. Yes.
That simple word. My head swirls. Still, the crowd laughs, and my sin laughs with them. But I heard it. It was there. I painfully turn my head to look behind me.
I do not see him at first. He is not surrounded by a large crowd, but stands by himself. Yet there is something about him that commands respect. Something that causes the crowd to be hushed, without him saying a word. He lifts his head and tears stain his smiling face. I hear it again. Yes. and this time, I know it comes from this stranger. Slowly, he lifts his hand, reaching it out towards me. I look at the distance between us, and know there is no possible way I can cover it.
I’m right here, you know, I hear from behind. I won’t make you drag yourself to me. I won’t make you suffer. Look, I am so much closer to you. It would be far easier to take my hand and come with me, than the hand of a man who would make you suffer to reach him.
I look up at his outstretched palm. So very close to mine. Simply a fingertip away. The easiness of it appeals to me. I lift my hand, and as I do so, I hear a sigh. Again, I turn my head around, and see the stranger with his shoulders sagged, as if he is sorrowful at the choice I am about to make. But still, his hand reaches out.
Even though my body begs me to take the hand in front of me, there is something deeper calling me to drag myself to the stranger. I begin to use my skin tight arms to pull myself along the sand to the opposite side of the road. Behind me, I hear gasps. And someone tugs at my feet. I turn around, and see the cloaked man, my past, holding my feet and trying to prevent me from crossing. I kick out viciously, freeing myself. Persistently, and painfully, I drag myself to the other side of the road. Dirt and grime cake underneath my fingernails and in the grooves of my skin. The stranger, clothed in purest white, still holds out his hand. He smiles down at me. Again, I wonder if even this man could take away the blackness from my body. And again, I hear, Yes. With one final gasp, I reach up to his hand and grasp it with mine.
Immediately, my entire body is shaken, and something burns underneath my skin. The stranger is shining in a light so bright, it blinds me. As my hands become weak, unable to hold on, his grasp stays strong, lifting me to my feet. At first, I stumble, but then I feel a strength in my bones, and I see my sickly flesh become new. When the light stops burning, I look at the stranger. His face glows and radiates joy. He points to my hands. Where once there was blackness and blood, there is now soft, golden skin. I look behind me, scared that my double is close behind, but I see nothing. Nothing except green grass and a radiantly blue sky.
I face the stranger, knowing now that my Savior stands before me.
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