Broken and a year of penance September 18th

We feel broken and battered. The days that pass feel like an eternity and the weeks that pass are a struggle to rationalize the life lived, and why so much pain has befallen the young man. All his life he wanted to feel needed. A life that till then he had been left, he had been hurt, and he had been betrayed by those who were closest to him. His fear would get the better of him. The day came when the women he loved would walk away, she would choose another over him and the life he had worked so hard to build would fracture and crumble to the ground like a sand castle against the waves.

The fear and panic that took hold of him that fateful day would reverberate through his entire life and just like a ripple in the water, every single corner of his life would become distorted. He would loose the girl, he’d loose his job, he’d loose his closest friends, he’d loose his credibility, he’d loose his house, and when the dust settled even a year later his life would still be in shambles. He would struggle to gain ground, but the whole he dug himself would be slick and the mud soaked hole would swallow him whole.

He panicked and in a moment of weakness his fight would finally come to an end. He panicked at the thought of loosing his love. He couldn’t see a happy life without her. It was his fault and he screwed up. The judgment and punishment for that he decided for himself was beyond anything anyone would ever have dreamt for him. He faced the punishment in the wake of his devotion and couldn’t stand to loose someone else he loved with all his heart. Every day he relives the horrible tragedy. Every day he begs for forgiveness for what she saw, for what she heard. Every day he asks for forgiveness, but the truth is, he wonders if he’s been able to forgive himself. How could he live with himself for the pain he caused. Just like the stone into the water sent out the waves in his own life, so does the stone affect those close to him also. The tragedy touched the lives of his friends, his family, his church, his job, everyone that knew him now faced the unfortunate truth. He was weak. His weakness had no valid excuse. His need for punishment, his desire to endure the hardships in the wake of his own admission of guilt for everything that had transpired, he became the very thing he fought so hard against, Sin. In an act of pure cowardice, he became the sin eater for not only himself but for the women he loved.

Could he suffer enough for the both of them and take that pain to the grave? While on the surface he played out the exact moment in his head, and in his head he saw survival, deep down beneath the surface he had to know, even if only in the subconscious that his life could end right there on those very steps. The truth didn’t matter at the time. He felt nothing but hallow, nothing but despair, and in that moment without hope all sense of rationalism, all sense of hope, of worth, ripped through him in the symbolism of the bullet. The hole physically made symbolized the struggle within. The near total blood loss, the breaking of bone, the damage done by something so small, so innocent looking, would be the agent of death. The agonizing pain, the sharpness of fractured bones, the suck of air from his lungs, the energy that gives life now laying in a pool on the ground. No longer just a symbol he had given up all he was for all of her. How could one man feel so much for one woman? The answer was in Christ for the church. Perverted as it may have been, he loved her so much, his failure, his punishment, his taking the sins he had committed, all the sins she had committed upon himself, and in a moment of sheer emptiness the bullet symbolized the self-Flagellant: “a person who scourges himself or herself as a public penance” A self display of pain as penance for wrong doing. An old archaic practice that in a moment of desperation became as prevalent as it once was in the 14^th century. No longer bound by reason the sum of a life hidden, expunged from history, directed the storm to the cross through the heart and leave nothing left in it’s wake but destruction.

Sadly time cannot be undone, and the decisions made are cemented in horror and tragedy. Memories can be haunting and painful but they don’t have to destroy us. Psalms 34:18 “The LORD [is] nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” No matter the struggle we face we have to keep the faith. The faith is all he has when the world beat him down to the brink of death. When a man would choose a fate worse then death to take on the pain and suffering of himself and loved ones, he has no where to go but up. When looking at the end the only end we can consider is that of Revelation 21:4 “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” The end of our day is the end of our own pain. The end of time is also the end of suffering. As in all things the truth is often the most obvious. “Living is not for the weak.” (Anatoli, Arrow)

He’s not forgiven by those he hurt, and still the shot rings loudly in the dark at night. The mistakes made cannot be undone, and as he wishes every day he could take it back, every day he can’t a little piece of him suffers from the fate he brought upon himself. Every day the scars itch and the leg tingles as a daily reminder of the mistake that will haunt him forever. Every day he must wake with the aches and pains in the shoulder that remind him he’s still alive. The screams at night still haunt him, and the blood that still clings to the dog tags he wore that day. His blood, the blood that was spilt to take upon the wrongs of the world he knew, and so desperately clung too. The reminders every day of his failures hold most evident the new and daily truth, he has the power to intervene in others lives. Does this tragedy have to end with nothing but pain or suffering or can he use it to reach out to others? Can one man make a difference in the lives of others? Every day he lives to try and do one thing, to pay his penance. He can’t do it as himself so he turned himself into someone else, something else. He became a symbol. He doesn’t hide behind the mask, he embraces the darkness that was within, and he uses it in a force to enact change in others. Perhaps one day that mask may come off and he’d do enough good to make up for all the bad. The works to craft an identity to focus the thoughts, influenced by life, influenced by the light, a penance to right the wrongs.