Faith and Madness
A personal and provocative reflection on faith, mental distress and the uneasy boundary between religious conviction and perceived madness.
The exact type of wood is less important to Christians than the fact that Jesus was crucified. Whether it was pine, cedar, or dogwood, מרים Maryam wept, clutching at the base of the stake when she saw her son’s head drop. Yesterday, a Jamaican mother wept upon hearing her son was running through the city center staring at the sun screaming, “Rebbe Melech HaMoshiach Yehoshua! I am the one!”
Some in the crowd pointed and scoffed. Others, alarmed by the dagger he was flashing, called the police. Upon arrival they chased him round and round Piccadilly Gardens, past Burger King, panting heavy as they closed in. When they caught up, they forced him to the ground and cuffed his wrists. “Jesus Christ!” he bellowed thrice.
A concerned Black lady yelled, “Leave him alone!” But her plea went unheard as they dashed him in the van and carted him off to Bootle Street. By the time his mother arrived with the duty solicitor, relief had replaced her tears as they freed him from the holding cell. His dagger was no more than three inches long. They eagerly embraced each and went on their way.
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