Champion

There was a time when I saw myself as a warrior, a kind of White Knight. I had been sent out against the minions of Evil. I was equipped with full shining platemail, and a fierce long sword. For a short time, this was a position of pride. But pride comes before a fall.

What I found was that evil throws itself at White Knights. Evil has as enemy all champions of good and right and just. But it particularly despises those which herald themselves to combat evil. Thus, evil strikes them with more fervor. And, I was expecting direct combat, but Evil rarely uses a direct attack. Or, rather, the direct attack is never the brunt of the assault. For every battle line of evil foes, there is some village being raped someplace in secret. Thus was my initiation into the Battle.

I was struck down, driven back, so hard during one melee that I was reluctant to return again to the lines. I sought to justify myself by milling along the backlines, serving the injured I found there. But even there, hiding anonomously, evil would find me. I had made a name for myself, it would seem. My image of myself became that of a blood-covered hero, my armor battered and pierced, my sword limp in my hands as my step was limp. I was walking without end through a night without end, my enemies would not stop attacking, and I could not die. Though I longed for rest…

Then, I committed evil. It was a simple thing, and I really didn’t see it coming, or I ignored its coming. Then, I spent years being mocked by Evil. Now it just came to taunt me, and it (almost) always stayed out of weapon’s reach.

Now came a time where I paid penance. I do not remember much of the sword from that time. I remember little of it at all. At least in the context I am describing here. I must have been successful at redeeming myself.

I remember, not but a few years ago, waking up to the realization: I was no longer stuck in my armor. I was mortal, but healed. My armor was repaired, but no longer had the luster of a White Knight. I had become more of a priest, more of a magician, than that of just a warrior.

I believe that the answer I found was not in the fighting of evil – which itself will never end until all Evil is brought to the end by God – but rather in the support of Good. I retained my martial instincts and capability, but rather than seeking direct combat, I looked for opportunities of succor. Opportunities to Love.

In a combat situation, there is always a chance for failure, and the stakes of success can be high. But in love there is never failure. Love cannot be battled except in the soul of the lover. And that requires the direct combat of Evil. It brings its attacks into the open – it must battle you directly, although it still chooses to fight through others. However, the attacks of Evil are then easy to recognize, and they can be seen for what they are: fear and deception.

Evil’s ultimate attack is deception. Those who believe the falsehood are the one’s who commit Evil’s assaults.

And so I have come to wear my armor less, spend time in the company of people, of nature, of God’s creation more. And I find I am more successful at fighting evil than I ever have been when I wielded the sword. I am eliminating the tools of evil, helping to eliminate deception in the hearts of people. This is where the true battle lies. Thus, I have learned that I, too, had been deceived – by my own imagery.