clarity

The picture grows clearer and I am dismayed. Somehow the opaque and muddy fog was more comforting, more substantial. Now there is nothing, nothing at all to grab ahold of. The reflection stares back at me, never breaking eye contact until I do- and even then I take small peeks back, just to see.

Just to see what?

Just to see my sinfulness? My utter discontentedness with myself and all my small infractions and minor infidelities? Just to justify my compatibility with the sinful flesh: we were made for each other, didn’t you know? Just for what? What is it which draws my attention to the masked horror in front of me? His outstretched arms are no longer welcoming me, a child, into his Kingdom, but capped with index fingers pointing at the sinfulness nailed up on either side of him. I see the gruesomeness of the face and forget the power of the gospel. His last words permeated of forgiveness and even painting us as the innocents: The know not what they do. And yet still, I stand at the bottom casting lots for my memento of a deed well done. My piece of the Prince of Peace.

And so quietly, so stealthily, darkness settles and the crowd dissipates. It is me and a dead man I called Lord a few days ago.

It is me and a force to be reckoned with.

It is me beside you and finally I believe.

Not because there were miracles, not be 5000 were fed. I am not suddenly a believer because I have seen or hear great things about you – or even about eternity.

I believe because I am alone, in the dark and, to be honest, my body of death is no more defensive than yours. I believe because it is death which stares back at me, the fog has lifted and the veil torn in two. I see my sinfulness and I see your pain.

I see.