I once was noble, a man of high esteem. I dined with the Kings and rulers of my time. However, I fell upon hard times, watched my riches drain away. All I held dear was lost. My only possession of value was this robe, a robe fit for a king, bought with my sweat. A robe that symbolises all that I am, all that I was.
I hear there’s a wedding feast, the king’s son is getting married. How delightful… However, there’s no need rejoicing. For the likes of me would never be invited. My nobility is a thing of the past and only nobles attend the ball of the King… Or so I thought.
I saw the chariots race past and stop at the house of Josephus. He’d just bought a new pair of oxen priced from the far hills of Persia, an oxen so fine it is said to plow four times the speed of our Jerusalem oxen. He was going to test it out today, hence he declined the invitation of the King.
I see the chariots race again in the glistening sun, to the houses of all the nobles, but each time, they come back empty. The nobles have their schedules packed out. They are nobility, remember? The only ones with the courage to reject the king.
The chariots now race past the carcass that was once my home, not slowing down a bit, not giving it a second glance.
However, a while later, more chariots come from the Palace inviting everyone one on the streets, the beggers, the thieves, the drunks, the prostitutes… The prostitutes!!! How can the king stoop so low?! He invited the prostitutes… Many of which I knew so well. How can the King invite prostitutes and drunks to His ball???
While I stand still horrified, the chariots came to a stop before me, startling me back to reality. The rider calls me by name. And says the king personally invites to the ball of his son. My head was spinning with joy and the sweet taste of recognition. Finally, someone has begun to identify me as the noble man I was.
Then he hands me a robe. A robe well suited for nobility. I put it on it, my face gleaming with pride. I was nobility once again.
But my joy is short-lived, I hear shrieks of joy all around. Then I realized that everyone had been given the same garment. Everyone, even the prostitutes!!! How can I go to a ball dressed in the same garment as a prostitute?
Never!!! If the King has decided to stoop this low, I won’t! I raced to my house and found my robe. It was tattered but it far outweighs being dressed in the same uniform as a prostitute and a drunk. This robe depicted my honor, I earned this robe, it represented all that I was, all that I worked for. Though old and torn, it was different. The King will surely recognise me with this and set me apart from the rest of these riffraffs.
I walk into the banquet, being careful to avoid the drunks and prostitutes, for I can’t risk being identified as one of them.
I ensured that I sat apart, hoping to be recognized by the King as the noble man I once was…
Then, I heard the word “Friend”. It came from the voice I’ve known too well but not heard in a while. The rich baritone that consoles a soothing child yet strikes fear in the heart of hardened warriors.
I turn to the direction of his voice, only to see his face having an unpleasant demeanor. I recognized that the face held disappointment and disgust.
Then, He asked, “Why haven’t you put on the robes I gave you? Why have you desecrated my sons ball with the filtiness of your own garment? This day was meant to be about my son and his love but you’ve made it about yourself!”
As soon as the words left his mouth, I felt the cold hands of the guards lifting me off my feet and in a twinkle of an eye I was thrown into darkness. A place he says I belong. A place which I now dwell, for I esteemed my righteousness above that of the King.
This is my story. The story of a noble now lost.
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