Mindshot: The Green Mile

We love him. 

He is a creature somehow still innocent from the thick gloom of reality. 

We suspect that maybe he is an angel. Perhaps one day he stringed his harp a bit too zealously, lost his balance, and fell off his heavenly perch. In our bones we know, he is better than us. 

Yes, John Coffey commits several acts of miracles along the way. A logical man could point to that as the center of our awe of him; a logical man would be wrong. 

It was never the magic that sold us on the greatness of Mr. Coffey. No. It was his purity. 

He is an empath. He can feel the vibrant hues of the inner tuggings of folks' souls. He knows us by our hearts. This is why the moment is so painful, why the scene is so toxic to our sense of justice. 

They jeer him.

Their anger has burned, and must be quenched with the shedding of his life. It is not the death of John Coffey that we collectively fear, so much as it is the face of the world; how could men consume themselves with hate for such an angel. 

We bitterly ponder, "How dare they try to shame the pure with their tarnished and hardened hearts! Who are they to destroy such a majesty?"

We ponder... and we weep.

 

Mercifully, there are souls in the room that know better. As they perform the predestined execution, they pour out their love to him. John Coffey is told to focus on their love. Only on the love. 

 

-------

This is what we must do. 

We must love devastatingly.

In the midst of blackened souls and darkened nights.

We must love with abandon.

We must hurt for the hurting.

We must sigh for the sorrowful.

We must also pity the hateful...

and ask God for the courage to love them too.