LONG season of my life was spent in prison, where I slept on a hard floor of emptiness and awakened in a dark room of hollowness. Only my faithful companion and kindred possess this knowledge of that which has passed in my earthly travels.
But, it is not an experience to be ashamed about. One of the robbers on the sorrowful hill of Golgotha learnt this, too.
This Christmas, and in this space, a few steps closer to the Celestial City, must I find the courage to share the tale.
The purpose of this story, and the journey it takes beyond my austere words, though, are to be determined by you alone.
The space in the cell was joyless, but I did not know this. A little light struggled to get in through the tiny window barred by cold iron, but I did not recognise this. The walls, when a new day arrived without a sign, were the colour of nothing and resolutely hard. But I did not see this, too.
The weeks came, then the months, then the years. The seasons had no names.
Throughout the long stay in the cell, I read much and gained tremendous knowledge and esteem, but not a whit of wisdom.
And, I lost my fledgling inherited faith. Before even knowing Nietzsche, I was persuaded that “God is dead”, and that now was the time of the “Superman”. Besides, life was too unfair, too corrupt. The cosmos was too vast and complex for one “Lord”. “Wait until the aliens come,” I would say. “Let’s see, then, who is the Lord of all.”
But, there were no aliens or strangers in this big prison. All were kindred spirits. We believed in everything, and believed in nothing. It was good, yet it was bad. Such was the depth of shallowness of our lives.
In this chamber of conflict, the body, mind and spirit lived. Together, in peace, yet striving one against the other. I lived, yet I did not realise that my life was a multiplicity of contradictions.
Alas, what was wrong with me? Why did I not feel sorrow for my incarceration? I should have. I should have been as perceptive as Wilde, who discovered in prison “there is no truth comparable to sorrow”, and that “the secret of life is suffering”.
Why was I so unfeeling and blind? Perhaps, it was pride and arrogance, and endless chasing after the wind. Perhaps that, and more. I do not know.
This prison did many things to me and to so many others. It hardened us, it made us supreme narcissists, debauchers, pretenders and lovers of things. But, we hardly recognised these ‘infirmities’.
Mercifully, there came a day when the scales began to fall from my eyes, and it was a day when he walked into this prison and into my life.
He who came to me was a gem, emerging with a host of stars that chased the celestial midnight away. The gentle creature had “the belt of truth” buckled around his waist, “with the breastplate of righteousness in place”, and his shining eyes and sharp words penetrated my soul to its deepest marrow.
We had many conversations, but I resisted him for as long as could, for I was unconvinced and unprepared. But, his lips had sown the word and I could not win against one as pure as him. The contradictions that I had experienced for too long unravelled, I was crushed and defeated, and reduced to mere clay.
Thus did the prison ramparts fall. Thus did I find the truth, and the truth set me free.
Today, in the shade of the golden leaves of Mummy’s towering avocado tree, 20 years after I left that prison of the mind, I look to heaven and thank God for my freedom in Him. The ground is hard, and life is one mountain after another. But I am free. That, my friend, is the true Christmas story.