Much like time travelers and aliens--and to a lesser extent angels and demons--insane people are all around those of us that are damaged in the normal way.
2/3rds of my Saturday was spent in the company of insane people, both friendly and unfriendly, and I've learned some lessons:
Friendly insane people are tolerable up to a certain length of time (at most two hours), and unfriendly insane people are immediately intolerable.
Context
I.
The Witness for Life is not a protest; it is a peaceful, prayerful vigil in front of an abortion clinic. We don't scream slogans, destroy property or loot like other "mostly peaceful" protests. We never respond to persecutors passing us by because we are there to pray for the clinic workers, for the parents of the unborn, and for the unborn themselves.
It should only take a little over an hour to pray all four mysteries of the rosary, but on Saturday it took three; our path was blocked by a large group of insane people. The unfriendly kind.
The diocese filed a permit, and we were legally allowed to process down the street with police escort. The insane people did not file a permit, and as such were there unlawfully. But they were treated with special privileges, as they were still given a special zone inside police barricades (in front of the church) to scream their threatening obscenities, audible during Mass.
When it came time for our peaceful procession they disobeyed the barrier given them in good faith and blocked our right of way on the sidewalk. (This would have been a cause for arrest if the roles were reversed.) But the police did their duty and formed a wall between us and the insane people, nudging them softly backward as the group screamed violently at us for "harassing women." (As if "harassing women" is a the worst evil the world has ever known! lol)
I don't label these protestors insane because I disagree with them. I disagree often, with many. (Mostly in secret.)
I label them insane because, for all of the many divisive causes a person can choose to throw an obnoxious public tantrum for, they chose the legal dismemberment of unborn children.
These protestors are not "pro-choice." They are pro-abortion. And they are insane not just because they are proud to support abortion, but because of the way they display it with pride. (I thought Pride Month was over???)
I have pro-choice friends and family that are not insane, just naive. They say naive and stupid things like, "I am personally against abortion, but..." Or, "What if I wasn't ready to raise a child?" They do not support abortion on its face, for its own sake, like these protestors do.
And I have had friends that chose abortion...and when they told me unprompted, it was in secret, whispered cautiously, so that not even God could hear them admit it. They were not proud; they were embarrassed, guilty. (But were they contrite?)
Guilt is the reaction of the "normal" person damaged by the evil of abortion. And guilt takes many forms.
Saturday's protestors have been driven so insane by their guilt that they deny it, and turn it into a public display of pride. Pride for the act of abortion, the very worst choice anyone could make. (And yet, they did not hold up any signs displaying the results of the procedure that they support. How odd.) Their protest is so obviously a big, pathetic, insane cope.
"God loves abortion!" They wail. "And Jesus doesn't like you!"
These are fallacies that could be discussed, even calmly disagreed with, but insane people do not want to converse in good faith; that's exactly why they wail and scream--to drown out any attempt at a conversation. They want to offend us. They want to offend God.
All of this self inflicted insanity is such a sad waste. The devil laughs with glee at these captured souls, trapping themselves in some kind of misery orb.
It doesn't have to be this way. They can release themselves with the simple power of humility, admitting their torment and asking forgiveness. They can stop wasting their precious time thinking they are wasting ours.
But they won't talk to us. They have already killed their number one enemy: their baby. Everyone else is especially expendable.
II.
I met Stephen the way two lover's meet in their dreams, or in the movies: seeking refuge from a rainstorm under a convenient awning, just as a conversation with a friend was getting theologically D E E P .
Stephen stepped out from the deli eating a family sized bag of pretzels and with the confidence of a pick-up artist flattered us by saying, "This is the best conversation I've ever heard in New York."
New York is not quite as agnostic as Paris or London, but as evidenced by part one, it is getting closer. Therefore, when fellow believers reveal themselves, there is instant communion.
"God is angry," Stephen said as the rain drenched the world. I couldn't argue with him.
"Are you Catholic? Or...Orthodox?" I wagered, puffing the remains of a cigar.
"I am a Jewish Catholic," he said, with his mouth full of pretzels.
"What do you think about abortion?" I asked; my personal litmus test."The Jews think abortion is murder. It's murder," he said. (Stephen was sane.)
"The Jews don't know how to pray.," he continued. "I tried to pray with them today, but after 45 minutes I left. I couldn't wait to pray any longer. Do you know Latin, or Greek? Or Hebrew? I know them all. You must learn to pray in Hebrew. Say the Angel prayer."
Josh wasn't saying anything anymore. He knew something I did not. I didn't know how to respond to Stephen, who took our silence as a cue to continue: "I believe in everything," he said. "Time travelers, reincarnation, aliens, angels, demons. Most people are angels."
Within seconds we were fast departing from our shared theology, the rain getting heavier. "Do you want to split a cab?" he offered, as an SUV pulled in front of us.
"Ok," I said, bidding farewell to Josh and getting into a cab to an unknown destination with a man I'd not known for five minutes. "Be careful about your friend," Stephen said in the cab. "He thinks too much about philosophy. I don't read the news, or watch TV. I only read the Bible. I don't do anything but read the Bible."
"Where do you go to Church?" he asked me as the nausea from the cigar smoke filled my skull, my skin so slippery from sheets of sweat that the cab's AC could not dry me. "I'll come with you tomorrow. The cab is on me."
We pulled into the parking lot of a Burger King; I thought the address was a mistake until Stephen got out with a confident familiarity, like we pulled into his driveway. "Tell [the cab driver] your destination. I will see you tomorrow," he said. "Text me the address."
...
I awoke to multiple texts from Stephen, the first one saying, "Avoid conversation until you see me."
We met for coffee as a compromise. Stephen was 30 minutes late. "Sorry I'm late," he texted. "I am praying."
Stephen was always praying. He was praying while we talked. He stopped talking so we could pray. (Not bad habits, by the way.)
Stephen told me he was Jesus. I thought that he meant it metaphorically, that he aspires to be so much like Jesus that he became Jesus. (I had to be charitable, but through intuition admitted that this was a very insane thought.) "No," he said. "I am with my father in heaven, just like I am with you right now."
"I was crucified in the psych ward when they electrocuted me. The police."
Stephen was very charismatic, very pushy. He was a natural cult leader. (He invited me to join his Church, in the basement of his building. "So far its me, John McCain, a lapsed Muslim guy, and you.")
(It turns out "John McCain" was a homeless man Stephen met a few months ago--probably in the same manner he met me--and invited this man to live with him. "I live in a three bedroom apartment by myself," Stephen said. "I have room. I am lonely.")
We talked for a while, but I wouldn't call it a conversation. Stephen would ask me a thoughtful question and I would ponder before answering, and then he would move on, and ask me another question, like it was an interview. He finally admitted to vetting me. Becasue I was wearing sunglasses, "you could be a time traveler. You weren't wearing those glasses when I met you."
(He made no comment about the radical style of my awesome sunglasses either.) I reminded him that we met at 10pm.
"Let's go to Starbucks," he said suddenly. Although I was ready never to see him again, I agreed. "I want to use my free Starbucks card." (Whatever that was.) "I'll buy you something."
Stephen greeted everyone we passed on the way to Starbucks with a gentle wave and smile. If he wasn't an insane person he would be a great evangelist. "See that person in the car?" he waved at a woman, smiling. "Angel."
The woman squinted, then laughed at him. (I mean, I believe in angels too, but there was no chance that we were surrounded by this many angels.)
As we walked I saw a dirty 'Harvard' hat on the street, and for some reason, picked it up. "What a cool hat," Stephen said. "Can I have it? I will give it to John McCain. Today is his birthday."
In Starbucks he drank an orange juice and bought me a bottle of water.
"My whole family hates me. They sent me to the psych ward. That's where I was baptized. In the shower. I am baptized everytime I take a shower."
Then Stephen went to use the bathroom. "The toilet was clogged. So I peed in the sink. Yay!"
After two hours, I had had more than enough of Stephen for the rest of my life. But I was still polite: "My phone is going to die," I said as an excuse. "I have to charge it, I'm expecting a call."
"Turn it off," he commanded. I obeyed.
"You know how much that cab cost last night? $108. Now my credit card doesn't work."
"What?!" I thought Stephen had money. I even thought he was going to buy me a Cinnamon bun at that first coffee shop. "Why did you offer me that ride?!" I was flabberghasted. Stephen did not give me an answer, he just showed me the declined credit card on the Uber app.
"It's ok!" he smiled. (Was he ever not smiling?) "I just applied for a new credit card! See! I can get you a cab," he said.
"No. I live less than a mile from here. I can walk."
"I'm calling it now," he teased.
"Do not call me a cab!" I shouted in the Starbucks, losing my composure. Stephen's grin never left his face. (Maybe I was the insane one.) The Uber app had declined both of his credit cards anyway.
"Hey," he said as I swiped my metrocard for him. "Do you want to meet Constantine? Right now? Go to Bake-a-bagel in Queens. Ask for Gus."
I blocked his number after that...but he still has my address from the cab ride....
Coda
There are two additional types of insanity: self-imposed, and inherent. (And both types are annoying to us folks damaged in the normal way.)
Anyone who refuses dialogue, preferring lies to truth, has imposed the resulting insanity upon themselves. They are building a foundation on lies, and we are witnessing their mental and moral collapse, which causes additional suffering.
Stephen is a tragic case. He did not choose to be insane and annoying by avoiding the truth; he is naturally annoying even though he actively prays and seeks the truth.
He wants to go to heaven right now, but he cannot; he knows he must suffer lonelinees on Earth first. It is necessary for him to endure to reach Heaven. However annoying he is, he wisely listens to his soul.
Ironically, I will see these protestors at the Witness for life monthly. They need more prayers than Stephen.
God will have mercy on all of those who ask for it.
