Once upon a time there was a young knight...

Once upon a time there was a young knight who had just graduated from dragon slaying school. He donned his new armor, picked up his shield, sword, and lance and mounted his beautiful warhorse. He then went looking for damsels to rescue and dragons to slay. 

He came over a hill and below him in the valley he saw a beautiful, young (almost naked) damsel, chained to a rock, with a fire-breathing dragon on the ground before her.

The knight was filled with compassion for this damsel in distress, pull down the visor on his helmet, and charged the dragon. Now, this dragon just happened to have been drinking a bit too much mead... 

so before long the knight was dismounted from his warhorse, and having laid down his shield, stood with one foot on the dragon’s neck and his huge sword raised above his head ready to decapitate the beast. 

Then, before he could strike, something hit the knight on the back of the head and he toppled to the ground. And there, standing over the knight holding his shield (with which she had just brained him) was the unchained damsel in distress. 

She put down shield and said to the dragon, “Look, Boopsie, if you can’t do better than this I’ll just have to get myself another dragon."

The lesson? As the drama triangle of Victim, Persecutor, and Rescuer plays itself to the end, each player ends up in a different role, as with the story above. In the beginning:

Dragon = Persecutor

Damsel = Victim

Knight = Rescuer

By the middle of the story (game) the roles have changed, so that:

Knight = Persecutor

Dragon = Victim

Damsel = Rescuer

By the end, the Knight has become the victim of the damsel. 

The moral: Rescuers usually end the game as Victims.

However, rescuers-become-victims can themselves be rescued, sometimes in unique ways (its in their karma):

Unfortunately this story has played out in my life many times. One could suggest—and they have—that that I refrain from taking on dragons. However, as the Apostle Paul wrote, “I cannot not preach the gospel.” Myself, I just cannot turn my back on people I perceive as being persecuted, even though at times it has cost me dearly, financially and emotionally. 

For more about the psychology/theology of the above, may I suggest:

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A story: the moment I began my journey as a seeker of shalom.

I have already written about this event that took place in March of 1970, but it all came back to me a few days ago and, besides, I think it makes a good story for Maundy Thursday.

From December, 1969, to March, 1970,as a fairly new army officer, I was assigned to the Military District of Washington (D.C.) while attending the Defense Language Institute at Anacostia Naval Station. In early March I received orders to go to Europe. According to the plan, I understood that this assignment was a two-year hiatus prior to being assigned to Vietnam. My feelings were mixed: my gung ho-ism low; my spirituality nonexistent.

I spent the day before I left Washington in the National Gallery of Art. As I wandered from room to room, my attention wasn’t really on the beauty surrounding me. As it has been today, my mind was centered on war in general and specifically on the meaninglessness of the Vietnam War. For weeks the evening news had centered on the courts martial of Lieutenant William Calley and the My Lai Massacre. The incident—the murders—was not something a young army officer like me wanted to consider as he looked down the road to his own involvement in that war.

As I wandered through the rooms of the National Gallery, I questioned my faith in God and my willingness to lead men into combat and, perhaps, to take human lives. I became more and more disheartened.I was about to leave the museum when I noticed a stairway to a lower level where I had never been. Like descending into the bowels of Hell, I started down the steps. On the lower level, I again wandered around, not really noticing the paintings or sculpture…until I turned and corner. There before me was a huge (5 ft 5 5/8 in x 8 ft 9 1/8 in) oil painting by Salvador Dali that almost covered the entire wall. I stared. I stood and gazed at this astounding painting until the guard told me the gallery was closing.

The Sacrament of the Last SupperSalvadore Dali

For me, in the lower level of the National Gallery, it was one of those mountain top experiences that come so rarely into our lives. Not one that immediately changed my life, but one that pointed me in a new direction, a new path. In those moments I truly began the journey of a seeker of shalom.

May you have a blessed and spiritual Maundy Thursday.

Shalom (in blue) and Salaam (in green) meaning Peace

 in Hebrew and Arabic respectively.

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