A friend loves, always.

I’ve been somewhat sullen lately, I must admit. It has happened again – I trusted someone and he’s shown his true colors. I have lost someone I thought to be a friend.  He could have been a comrade, but turned out to be a mercenary.  Worse, he doesn’t know (or can even fathom) what he’s done.  I bought him breakfast, confronted, and was met with text book evasiveness and passive aggression. I suspect he does not know that I have a great deal of experience with interrogating people – spotting the textbook evasion of the narcissist isn’t difficult. I could’ve had the argument, but I know not to argue with a drunk – or with a narcissist. So, I have forgiven him and decided to  move on, but he’s so unaware – it’s business as usual for him.  I want him to read this – but I will not offer it.  

A friend of mine once coined the term, ‘a-clue-istic’ to describe such men; men who are unaware of the faults they have, but clearly think they see them in others.  In some cases it moves beyond unawareness to action – bullying: They wander about, roaring like a lion seeking consciences to bind. 

ἐχαρισάμην

και

κεχάρισομενοι

Forgiven 

AND 

having forgiven, still forgiving. 

I will (and have) forgiven. Trust, however, is something else. 

I’m a bit snobby I suppose, but the little church ghetto he’s part of foments his sort of behavior.   Ethically, dogmatically and socially cauterized and insulated from challenge leading to growth, he is part of a circle which is blithely unaware of the horde outside the walls of their rarified ecclesial buttress.  

Even though I believe I’ve been clear, day to day, it is business as usual. I’ve had to distance, to keep things superficial. Again, there is little if any trust that remains. 

Am I the problem? Surely. Admittedly.  I am a free conscience who treats others that way as well, and expects it in return. 

“I won’t be wronged. I won’t be insulted. I won’t be laid a hand on. I don’t do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.”

John Wayne, in The Shootist

I’m extreme in this, and therein is my problem.  Violations of this ethic vex me and I have trouble forgiving it.  But I’m aware, and I am past 490 and (yes) still counting.