A Killer on the Loose


I killed a man. He was a good man. Well, he would have been had I not snuffed out the light in his eyes. He was on track to be a saint; a decent man, on about Jesus all the time and how he wanted to "be perfect" as he says Jesus told him to be. He wasn't terrible to be around, just one of those "mildly annoying" Christians. And for no good reason, I killed him.

You see, we were driving one day, and when we got off the freeway there was a guy standing on the side of the road begging. Our would-be saint said we should give him some cash, but I said "nah, he looks like the same guy that was here last time. He's probablty scamming." And I killed our would-be saint over a couple bucks.

I do it over and over. I kill again and again. Every time I stop from helping someone out, every time I pass judgement instead of give alms, every kind word unsaid, all my sin kills again the saint that God desires me to be. The good man is put to death and the scoundrel continues on, whistling a tune, and spending the money on his own passions. The money that belongs to the poor.

It's not my job to assess the neediness of the beggar. It's my job to give. It's my job to feed, to clothe, to shelter, to listen, to encourage. It's my job to love. When I fail by action or inaction, I kill a saint, and I hurt the poor and downtrodden, and my sin has broken the whole world.

Forgive me, brothers and sisters.

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