Thievery

"Now, no matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft... When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness... There is no act more wretched than stealing, Amir." (Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini)

I've been contemplating this quote recently. One of the travesties our church has perpetuated is the concept of pride as mankind's favorite vice. The problem is that pride is exactly what many within the church are missing. Though I hesitate to embark down this road, our culture often inflicts a lack of self-confidence upon us, through media exemplars of physical and intellectual perfection, through perfectionism and spiritual guidelines with impractically set goals - I just remember that line in Howl's Moving Castle where Howl says, "I see no point in living if I can't be beautiful." It isn't that pride is a virtue, nor that pride isn't potentially harmful, but that a large population suffers from a lack of pride. Perhaps the church shouldn't preach an abstinence of pride, but a presence of pride in the right places.

So when I discovered this theory on theft, that our greatest transgression is stealing, I latched onto it immediately. Lying is theft of the right to truth, murder the theft of living and relationship, abuse the theft of freedom and joy. Patriarchy steals fullness of life as much as sexism and racism, transforming normalcy into an eternal obstacle course, a trial instead of merely living. This too is a theft.

This appeals to me, for salvation is a reclamation of what has been stolen from me: a chance of relationship with God. My sins steal away the intended goodness of creation, a little natural perfection ebbing away from this world. I feel as a devil, stealing from God's ensemble, an orchestral performance of fluid beauty stolen away by my incessant whining caterwaul.  

I pray I may steal no more. No more stealing from people who've rights to create, to live, to live, hope and dream. No more stealing from God, and no more stealing from myself. It is a time for reclamation, and a time for giving.

Voyage of the Dawn Treader

I'm not much of a television person, and I suspect visual media mattered little in my psychological bloom.  What captured my interest most was literature.  As a child, my heroes were not like Disney princes or Star Wars' jedi, but characters like Ender Wiggin, King David, Benny from the Boxcar Children, and the Stainless Steel Rat.  I wanted the kindness and loyalty of Sam, or the wizard powers of Gandalf; the bravery of Peter Pevensie, or the charismatic wisdom of Ged. I expected, given my literary earnestness, I'd develop into a hero, not vapid like the beast-slaying princes of movies, but honest and true, as Taran Wanderer or Peter Pan.

I was wrong.

Biblical literature is full of fantastic stories, many of which may surprise the most conventional, conservative Christian.  One of my favorites is the story of David and Michal.  King Saul requests that David produce a hundred Philistine foreskins as dowry for Michal's hand in marriage.  David, pleased with the arrangement, kills two-hundred Philistines and returns with double the endowment. I'm not even certain whether I should be impressed, or disgusted, surely.

Would that I were such a hero! (Though I suspect such a prize, currently, would not garner much approval in American households) David's faithfulness to God is astounding - why is mine not so?  As such, I've dedicated fifty days towards a fast of my own, a fast in faithfulness and, perhaps, a desperate prayer. Let the games begin - or, as Sherlock might say, the game is afoot.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
~Yeats

As the sun rises, and my journey ambles from night into day, perhaps this is the tale of:
Voyage of the Dawn Treader.