Colors of their Sin
"You say that you are spiritual." The statement is spoken by a young woman, a college student, with light brown hair, green eyes and petite features. She is dressed plainly, a blouse and jeans. She wears a silver cross around her neck.
"I don't adhere to any particular faith... or religion." The response comes with a haughty air of confidence. The second woman is older, by ten, maybe twelve years. She is tall and thin. She has a piercing in her eyebrow and a star tattooed on the back of each hand. "It's foolishness, you know," she continues. "I know that there is something more than what we have here... in this life. I know that I'm a good person. So, there is no need for me to submit to the rites of religion."
"You're open to anything." the college student states, warming her hands on her mug of hot coffee. Her comment is not a compliment, but a statement of concern.
The older woman responds, after taking a sip of her beverage. "Wisdom about this life comes from so many sources. I agree that Jesus was an amazing teacher, maybe even a prophet. I am open to that. Maybe the road he points out is just one of many."
"There are, but his road is the only road to eternal life."
"The way, the truth, the life," the older woman recites. "Words spoken by a man who had a following of paupers and deviants. If someone came into your life and said you can be forgiven for every sin you have ever... or will ever commit, wouldn't you listen to everything else he had to say. You might possibly see him as a god."
"Not 'A' god," the student says. "God. The only one."
"Yes that trinity thing. You close your mind like a trap door, center it on a certain book of collected writings, cast all else aside, and think you're destined for some heavenly kingdom because of a man crucified by the Romans."
"It's much deeper than that."
"Explain."
The college student takes a long hard look at the older woman. Last semester, she enjoyed the class the woman teaches. They are drawn to the same coffee house. She could like her, despite the lack of faith. There is an openness in her, a willingness to embrace everything, except God's word. The student wants to end the conversation. Maybe it has gone too far. Explaining her faith is not a strength. She nearly rises from her seat.
The older woman extends her hands on the top of the table, fingers outstretched, palms down, the tattoos on the back of her hands on display.
A talisman perhaps.
Still, the student remains seated, and begins slowly, "There will be bushels of wheat... and bushels of weeds. Seeds sown by two different sowers. Some of the seeds will hear, a good number will not. There is a soul we each possess. Some will seek to follow the man who died on the cross. The man who rose up in a tomb. The man who preached to the paupers and deviants..."
"And whos followers shun them," the woman interrupts, feeling a debated victory at hand. "They turn away the paupers, and especially those seen as deviants. The same people who gathered at his table. Your own bible says that he forgave them, yet you would cast them out into the street."
The young woman, the college student, the wearer of the silver cross, folds her hands in front of her. She sets aside any hope of sharing the seeds of the sower, a parable she feels comfortable with. But refusing to give up, she seeks inspiration from the one who is The Way, The Truth, and The Life. She sees an open door in the woman's criticism of her Christian faith. Calmly she begins, "Jesus forgave the prostitute, the adulteress. He forgave all who came to him seeking forgiveness. In that you are correct. But he instructed them, every prostitute, every swindler, every adulteress, every deviant... to sin no more. And most importantly, he didn't tell those with him to go and celebrate the vile sins of another. He told his followers to forgive, to embrace their brothers and sisters, but not the colors of their sin.
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