Burning Away Sin by  J.J. van Schaaijk

The town’s children were eager to help. They would gather sticks and small logs from the forest to add upon the pile. It gave them purpose, a role to play in what was to happen. The town’s folk had long been gathered. Many held small crucifixes close to their hearts, whilst memorized prayers left their lips. Others stood patiently, echoing silent whispers of what was to come.

Jean Paul took no joy in it. Though the town celebrated it, and his priesthood commanded it, scripture had taught him that God loves all his children and that we should treat each other with that same love. But how could God love one that had brought others so far from him?

Jean Paul reflected on what had happened, and finally sealed his mind in the thought that each is responsible for their own actions, banishing all last resemblance of empathy. He served a loving God but also a just one, and punishment had rightfully been earned. If only there had been a testimony of guilt, the path to a holy life could have been started. But no matter how much they tried to extract a conviction, she upheld her innocence. How could she though, after Jean Paul had witnessed first-hand of what she practiced, the very thing she had practiced on him?

Jean Paul had come to her house of his own free will. He had seen her a few times in the village but never inside of his chapel. Rumors had flourished, foul rumors about things unhallowed, but rumors and ill-talk were of the devil, and Jean Paul did not listen to such hearsay. If it was because of his holy duty to tell all the Gospel or if Jean Paul deep inside had felt pressured by the village he did not know, but so came the day that he made his visit. After all God wants salvation for each and every one of his children, so the cause of his visit did not matter.

Jean Paul had felt the same mixture of eager and excitement he had felt a thousand times before when he knocked on her door but the longer he waited, the more tension grew in his heart. Until finally she opened. Jean Paul had seen her before, but only from afar not able to see anything other than her golden hair. But once she stood before him, Jean Paul saw that there was much more beauty hidden behind her golden curls. The ill rumors in town spoke no truth about her. She was not against the gospel, nor did Jean Paul see anything of malpractice in her home. He was even invited in and together they spoke about the gospel and faith for a large part of the night. She had many questions and Jean Paul was eager to answer each and every one of them. He saw in her a wandering soul in search of enlightenment and wished nothing more than to be her shepherd on the path of righteousness. Soon Jean Paul spent many of his days with her. He had begun to neglect his evening prayers, choosing to spend that time in her home where warm meals would be ready for him. Becoming ever less and less present in his holy chapel. But after all was telling another of salvation not more important that reciting the same dull prayers each night?

Jean Paul enjoyed the time they spent together and soon their conversations turned from gospel to priesthood and from priesthood to their youths, to life, to the difficulties it bore and pleasures it gave. Within only a few weeks Jean Paul found himself talking about his passions and desires. He could confine his hardships with priesthood to her and share his deepest thoughts and feelings. At the time it felt so good to share with another what before only God could hear. Only now could he see what vicious claws were being dug into his soul. He was so blinded with bliss. A fly trapped in sweet, sweet, golden honey.

At first, Jean Paul tried to fight it. He tried to withstand. Locking the urges deep in his mind. Praying for God to take them away. But it was of little help, the honey had already stained his lips. Her giggle echoed recklessly in his every thought. Her blue pearled eyes did not escape his mind. He would recall every word she spoke with her full luscious lips. And deep in the night he would lay restless as thoughts of her naked forms slithered into his chambers.

Jean Paul had prayed and prayed but to no avail, the village folk had spoken truth when he had refused to listen, and now it was clear. The witch had cast her spell and he was powerless to it. It had to be witchcraft! What trickery she had performed to hide her true nature. Tender words, luscious forms, all to lure him in, a man of the Lord. Of course! What a fool Jean Paul had been. The devil would not introduce itself as such, a demon would not name itself when knocking on your door. All that kindness, all that beauty was but to let his guard down so the spell could be casted, and another soul be ripped away from the Lord. What else could it be! There served no other explanation! It had to be witchcraft! After all Jean Paul was a righteous man. He was not to blame, how could he be to blame? He had gone to her with religious intentions, righteous intentions! It was she who had brought evil, she who had lured him in with beauty, she who had used magic to twist his thoughts and she who had compelled, demanded him to break celibacy. Jean Paul knew that he was a righteous man. But even righteous man can be subdued to evil. Yet it is also to righteous man to rid the world of such things.

Jean Paul looked on as she was marched through the crowd. Her body bruised and swollen, her hair torn and broken, her hands mangled and distorted. If only she had confessed. But no, she chose to uphold her innocence, bring herself even further from the lord with a tongue of snakes. The village folk spat on her as the children threw small pebbles at her face. It brought no pity to Jean Paul, she had chosen to serve witchcraft, to bring her mind and body into sacrilege. The fire would cleanse her of devilry or seal her fate to burn eternally. Jean Paul did not care. It was what she deserved.

Upon seeing the stake, muffled screams echoed. Jean Paul had been prepared. He knew God had already forgiven him for his sin. But the village folk mustn’t know, it would bring doubt in Jean Paul and thus also in their fate. The witch must not proclaim what she had done to him, and she wouldn’t. Jean Paul had secured the gag himself. Rumors can lead to dreadful things and Jean Paul did not need them to be about him.

She resisted being tied but it was to no avail. A torch was handed to Jean Paul and as he made his way towards her cheering grew from the crowd. Finally Jean Paul stood before the blue pearled eyes that hid under golden curls. He saw no evil or wickedness, only fear. But all was okay, he knew that the lord would forgive as he set the wood ablaze.

Joshua van Schaaijk

Image by PhotoBuzz from Pixabay – flaming torch made of brush wood