I only want to do what is right, but sometimes it’s as if I were born a creature of darkness. Only by heavy exertion am I able to be good, and I’m not Atlas. I can’t exert myself all day, every day. I’m too weak.
I’ve used my religion to define what it is to perform an act of good. I’ve created a moral code for myself with my faith and my understanding of its teaching at its foundation. I know I can’t ever come close to achieving it, but I aspire to. I fail miserably on a daily basis. That’s ok: I’m a human, destined to fail. What’s important is my intent. When my actions fail, I seek forgiveness from myself, and God, and anyone I’ve unintentionally hurt. I try. Sometimes I do good, sometimes I fail. It’s the thought that counts, right?
Yesterday I forgot my dinner for my break at work. I had a couple hours so I went out to grab a sandwich. I’m in the yuppie part of town and my sandwich costs either $8 or extra miles of walking. I settle to treat myself. Buffalo Chicken sandwich. I want it to go, to eat in the privacy of my shop. I pay the $8, wait the half hor it takes to make it in the dinner rush, and carry it back.
I got right to my door. Moments away from eating, finally. I was clutching the savored treat, I was fantasizing about eating it. Soon my dreams, however small, would come true.
A man asks me for change, in a rehearsed, calmly pleading tone. He receives my standard excuse that I don’t carry cash. I don’t. He motions to my dinner, and in the same, even tone asks, “then how about a doggie bag then?” He’s wrong. Assuming my untouched, pristine meal was mere leftovers and that I had eaten my fill perhaps. That’s my dinner! I protested with salivating emotion.
For some reason, my hands were instantly stretching out. My mouth was saying, “Here, take it.” My brain was screaming at me in horror. I had a split second to comprehend there was a Christian inside of me handing out the food exactly according to the moral code I had devised, and completely opposite the desires of my mind which now welled out in anger. Without taking a single bite, I gave away my dinner.
I don’t remember if he was grateful, it didn’t matter. I was furious with myself, and I quickly locked myself inside for fear this part of my mind gripped control over my body again and what it would do. I had to stop and breath. I felt violated. I felt like I felt when I was conned out of my tax return. I felt gullible. I tried to direct anger and fault at the man, who did nothing except ask to be fed. I wanted to know why I felt so awful for doing the right thing. I demanded answers from myself. I was in emotional lament over the loss of my dinner. I was blowing this out of proportion, and didn’t understand why.
I reasoned with myself: I didn’t know if he was homeless or a wealthy CEO, and that didn’t matter. He asked to be fed, I fed him. This is how I believe we all should act. He didn’t take advantage of me. He didn’t fool me. I wasn’t shammed. I surrendered my meal voluntarily.
I had to tell myself it was okay. I did an act of good. I wouldn’t starve, and that man wouldn’t starve. I was like an Israelite in the desert. I’ve had my daily bread and the extra is for my brother. This is the economy of God at work. It didn’t matter that my intentions were the opposite of my actions, the thought doesn’t count.
Well, which is it? Does the thought or the action count? If it must be both, than I am damned. If I can be a hypocrite, and give myself the excuse that’s most convenient, then I am damned. I don’t know what to do, except be human.
