Scarlet Robe Creations

  They bypassed her.   The hood of her twenty-year-old Dodge was raised in the air, advertising her unfortunate situation.   Maybe the steam wasn’t noticeable.   The four ways were flashing, competing with the bright sun of the new morning.   A car approached from the direction she had come.   The passenger glanced, a woman, blond, maybe in her early forties, or late thirties.   It appeared as if she looked right through the broken-down vehicle at the side of the road, not taking notice of the elderly woman wearing a light blue dress and a white sweater.   They were on their way to church.   They were late. She watched the shiny dark blue sedan turn into the parking lot of Saint Stephen’s a short distance up the road.   It wasn’t a cold morning for early September, still she wrapped her frail arms around her body to keep warm.   The state road was rather quiet, not containing any of the dangers of a high-speed highway.   Mild...

One came in his robes, proud of himself and the status he held. He sang praises in the open courtyard.   One would say he was a faithful servant.   He smiled when his title was shared as such. There were beggars. There were those covered with the sores of disease. He steered clear of the harlot and her tattered children. He is the most pious man ever seen.   His garments speak of his devout faith.   His public deeds show his love of fellow man. Look, he drops silver coins in the lap of the poor man. And the diseased one? They would stain him from his religious duties… and the prostitute is an abomination in the city streets. Where are the others who care for the stricken? Why do they not boast? Why do they not embrace those wearing public disdain? They do not beat their chests in places of worship. They do not lift their arms in praise, so others will witness. Their offerings are humble. They do not seek the ...