Sometimes to become a Resting Traveller on the journey of life, we must allow afford the embrace of difficult things. Questions that have no answers, theologies that don't align with the heart; we have to dare to look upon them—we have to be brave enough to consider value might be within them. Today I challenge the heart in order to walk further in rest. I want to travel with eyes to see all angles and be open to learn that which may be difficult.
I begin with a little story for today...
Once upon a time, for that is how all stories begin, there was a young woman. Only age of 16, she delivered a baby boy. No one knows for sure how that young woman became pregnant; the boy next door perhaps took advantage of her, her own father abusing his role in her life... or was she just lonely and found comfort in the physical nature of a man. Yet, we know that a child was born from her young womb. One could imagine she was scared and full of fear, so young and about to bring life into the world; life she was barely understanding at such a young age.
One could wonder if she didn't want that child, he remained nameless for weeks; why was no founding statement of his identity given quickly? Was he not worthy of a title to bear? Well, it is a wonder, not fact here in this story... let us continue.
The young woman married shortly after the birth of this child to a man who worked as a labourer. It is hard to tell how that relationship was, but knowing how hard it is to raise a child and be a wife and mother; one could say times were stressful, especially for such a young soul.
The boy-child was not safe within a home at all times, not raised in the boundaries of consistent love and contentment, no... this boy was passed to foster homes, given away, and sent to group homes over and over. His mother found guilty from a string of unlawful behaviour, he was put into situations repeatedly that no child should be found in. And in each place he lay his head to sleep, I have to wonder if he himself was taken advantage of, if he was abused or found without the nourishment of food, water, and love? Children who are transferred in foster homes find themselves with severe mental illness a great majority of the time, the trauma of abandonment and rejection bears deep wounds to their souls... I bet this child would be no different.
This sad little boy, being sent away over and over, decided one day to break away from the group home and run back to his mother; run away in order to find the heart who birthed him, for she was out of jail and could receive him! ... He was rejected by that heart, his mother refused to allow him access to her heart or her life. She tried to release him to the courts and into their possession; he was devastated as any young soul would be.
No home, no sense of belonging; this little lonely boy began to take care of himself in the only means he had; theft and the secrets of the night. But what about his heart? How did he take care of the deepening wounds of the heart, soul, and mind? Was there anyone for him? Was anyone there to show him he mattered in a world that told him he didn't?
Darkness covered his eyes and heart, he began to live a life in the shadows in order to survive. Stealing the wealth of others to buy food for his belly, robbing from the innocent to provide shelter for his body. Darkness grew and hatred interrupted his innocence daily as he had to care for himself; alone. Soon, he was not just taking what was not his; he was killing lives that were not his. His anger and sadness grew so large it overtook his innocence and became a thief to his own life.
The little lost boy just needed to be loved. He needed to be valued enough to be given a name in jubilation of his birth; not necessity of the courts. He was just a little boy who wanted to ride his bike down the street and learn to spell his name in school. A small child who liked to play toy cars and desired to run into his mothers arms and be found in her warm embrace... a child; a baby.
This child; this was Charles Manson. In the story he was so humanized; that was his story, his life. He may have grown to be a monster, but he was born a prince. Everyone comes from somewhere. We all are born in the innocence of life, yet life is not always innocent to us.
We have no right to condemn him to hell, for he already lived it here, and in a world where faith trumps darkness, where we proclaim God to be big enough to save; we must also agree that even the darkest of hearts has a child within, and perhaps it is because of those around that child, that he became dark as he did. We too are responsible for the shadI wiows of this world, we contribute to the madness when we do not love the least of these, as Jesus said. And I believe that God is big enough to handle the mess of Charles' life, that God is loving enough to hold his darkness and peel away the layers to hold the once small child and say, "I am here. You are not alone. I will not cast my presence from you."
