Parable of the Body

There was a certain pair of men; one rich man and one poor man. They were friends from childhood on two separate paths in life. The rich man owned a beautiful house, well tended to by many servants. The poor man was homeless and would get so cold some nights as to nearly die. The rich man took pity on him and decided to build him a house to live in. He went out every day and built the house, brick by brick, with his own hands. The poor man saw it and was overjoyed. He settled into his new home at once, and the rich man went away.

When the rich man returned to check on his friend, he found that the poor man had not been watchful over the house. There were door handles that had been broken, empty bottles of whiskey scattered about the floor, blown light bulbs and their cracked fixtures.

"Do you care nothing for this house?" asked the rich man. "Why then do you treat my gift so poorly?"

"No, no," answered the poor the man, "I love it! I've just been having a little fun is all. It's a strong house with few years on it, it holds up well."

Again the rich man went away, and after some time he returned to see his friend. Upon arrival he could see that the house was worse yet. Many windows were broken, there were strangers regularly coming and going and there was a distinctly unpleasant smell emitting from its doors.

Before the rich man could say anything, the poor man, reeking of the drink he was now reliant upon, came right up to his friend and said, "I really do love this house, so much. It's truly the best thing that's ever happened to me. For once I have something of my own that I'm allowed to do anything I want with."

"My friend," the rich man said, "how is it your own? You did not build it, you did not pay for it, you do not even know how to care for it. I made this as a gift for you. Can you not even respect me enough to honor this house?"

The poor man was offended by the rich man telling him that the house he had been living in all this time did not belong to him. "This is my house. I'm the one living in it, not you. You decided to give it to me, I make the decisions. I have every right to bloody burn it down if that was what I wanted."

"Do what you please," the rich man replied, and again went away.

Then one day the rich man opened his front door to find the poor man kneeling on his steps. The poor man, still pickled in drink, pleaded at the rich man's feet, "I'm so sorry! My house, your house, it went up in flames. Things got out of control and there was nothing I could do but to watch. Please, can I stay in your house? I have nowhere to go."

The rich man looked at the poor man and said, "But if you could not take care of your own home, how could I expect you to take care of mine?" and shut the door.

------ maya alexandria stewart. 2015. ------