The Ganja Man Who Wouldn’t Deal Inside or Near a Church but Police Records Are Filled with Pedophile Priests, Bishops, Pastors, Archbishops, etc. — Who’s the Real Believer Beyond Cosmic Tricks [Cosmetics]?

 

If a man whom society calls a criminal is conscious of the sacred, while a man society calls holy violates the innocent under the protection of religious authority, then what exactly are we measuring when we call someone a believer?

There is a strange theological question hidden inside the figure of the ganja man.

Imagine a man who sells cannabis, and therefore is officially labelled a drug dealer. Yet this same man refuses to sell his cannabis inside a church, near a church, or anywhere he considers sacred. He believes that God is watching him. 

He may rationalise what he does by saying: I sell a plant. I don't sell cocaine. I don't sell children. I don't manufacture poison. I sell ganja. The law may call him a criminal; his conscience may tell him something more complicated.

Now place that man beside the history recorded in police files, court records and institutional investigations: priests, pastors, bishops and archbishops accused or convicted of sexually abusing children and other vulnerable people while occupying positions that publicly represent God.

The question is not whether selling cannabis is legal or illegal.

The deeper question is:

Who is actually demonstrating belief?

A man who fears God enough to say, I will not conduct this business in God's house, may possess a certain consciousness of the sacred—even while doing something society considers sinful.

Meanwhile, a man wearing religious garments, preaching morality and standing before a congregation may publicly represent holiness while privately committing acts that violate the very people entrusted to his protection.

This does not mean that every ganja seller is morally good, nor that every priest is morally corrupt. That would simply replace one stereotype with another. The point is that cosmetics are not character. Religious clothing is not proof of faith. A criminal label is not proof of moral depravity.

There is an old question that exposes this problem beautifully.

Someone asks, "Am I a Muslim?"

The answer is: Only Allah knows who the Muslim is.

Someone asks, "Am I a Christian?"

The answer is: Only God knows who the Christian is.

Because faith ultimately concerns the interior person—the conscience, intention and relationship with God—not merely the costume, title or institution attached to the body.

Human beings, however, have always been fascinated by cosmetics: robes, collars, crowns, uniforms, badges, titles, dreadlocks, suits, religious symbols and criminal classifications. We mistake visible signs for invisible truth.

The result is a profound moral inversion.

The person society calls a sinner may sometimes possess a stronger awareness of divine accountability than the person society calls a man of God.

And the person society calls respectable may sometimes be hiding behind the very respectability that gives him access to the vulnerable.

This isn't an argument against Christianity or Islam. It's an argument against confusing institutional appearance with spiritual reality. 

Religious history, colonial history and political history all demonstrate how easily sacred language can be placed in the service of human power. 

Missionaries, governments, armies and institutions have sometimes travelled together, while people were told that domination, civilisation and salvation were somehow the same thing.

The same contradiction appears in modern policing and drug policy. People have been imprisoned or even executed for drugs, while institutions that claimed to represent morality have sometimes produced their own histories of abuse and concealment. 

In Africa, people with dreadlocks have been treated as criminals because of their appearance, while respectable-looking authorities have committed crimes behind uniforms and ceremonial robes.

Perhaps the real tragedy is that humanity's telepathic ability has been switched off.

We cannot see one another's intentions.

We cannot see another person's conscience.

We cannot see another person's private struggle with God.

So we judge cosmetics.

We judge the robe.

We judge the dreadlocks.

We judge the cannabis.

We judge the badge.

We judge the title.

But we cannot see the soul.

That is why the ganja man becomes an interesting theological figure. He's not necessarily a saint. He may be breaking the law. He may be rationalising his behaviour. 

But his refusal to bring his trade into a church raises an uncomfortable question:

If a man whom society calls a criminal is conscious of the sacred, while a man society calls holy violates the innocent under the protection of religious authority, then what exactly are we measuring when we call someone a believer?

Perhaps God is not impressed by cosmetics.

Perhaps God is interested in what a human being does when nobody is looking.

And perhaps, beyond all our cosmic tricks and cosmetics, only God knows who truly believes.