Kuda’s Unique Condition

Kuda has a unique condition. He told me all about it last week whilst slumped against my gatepost. I had just returned from the school run when I passed Kuda sprawled out on the grass verge of Woodholme Road. His mouth was partially open and flies were clustered on his upper lip. Surprisingly, my car must have woken him up, for a few minutes after booting-up my laptop, I heard him pounding on the gate. I suppressed an overwhelming urge to kick the dog, stomped through to the kitchen, loaded my pockets with oranges and headed for the gate.

“Pastor, I have a problem with my body - It is very weak.” As if to demonstrate, Kuda laboriously raised his hand and attempted to sweep some dead grass out of his hair. But his hand would not co-operate, and it brushed languidly across his face instead. I shook my head, which seemed to be all the encouragement Kuda needed to go on.

“Moreover ... in fact, not only is my body very weak, but it will not walk straight. I go here, I go there, but I cannot go in a straight line. I keep falling over. Look! I am covered in grass ... on my head, on my back, all over! So, pastor, now you know why I am here. I need your help pastor.”

Then Kuda assumed the preaching position, his index finger raised and his face adorned with a winning leer.

“First, I need some food to make my body strong, strong enough to go to the hospital. Second, I need money so that I can get medicine for my problem.” Why was I not convinced? But, like any good preacher, Kuda pressed on and recapped his main points, explaining with slurred speech what was needed for his cure: food for strength and money for treatment. You see, I can still remember! He did a good job.

By the time he had stopped speaking, I could feel the sun burning the bald spot on the top of my head. It was time to bring this to an end.

“I think we had better pray together,” I suggested. So we prayed and Kuda passed out. When I had finished, Kuda shook himself awake and asked whether he could have the food and money now. So I gave him the oranges but denied him the money. Kuda protested but eventually staggered off down the hill peeling an orange.

Kuda’s condition absorbed my thoughts for a few days. In the end, I came to the conclusion that his condition wasn’t as unique as I had first thought. After all, I had been in denial about my bald spot until the sun reminded me of the truth. We all live in denial of the truth to some extent. And if you fail to accept the truth about your condition, a cure will always remain beyond your reach.