Two boys, Amir and Hassan. Amir is of the higher class and Hassan is his servant. Both very close in age. Fed from the same breast. Hassan often fights Amir’s battles. He’s the stronger one. He has no fear and a lot of skill both with kites and sling shots. He was incapable of lying, and would do anything Amir said. At one point in the story, Hassan is trapped by the bullies of the neighborhood without Amir around. Amir comes searching for him and sees them surrounding Hassan. However, Amir decides not to make his presence known, even though he knew that Hassan would without hesitation. The main bully takes out his brass knuckles and punches away. Then he does worse….
Redemption is real. And we are all living in the midst of our own stories of redemption. I don’t know if people like Hassan really exist. I have a feeling they do. People who are so pure, so serving, so devout to one person or one cause – it’s possible. His love for the Amir is, to me, a very close to perfect picture of God’s unconditional love for us.
There is a scene in the book after the incident where the two boys go up to the hill behind their house after a long time of not talking to each other. This used to be the place they’d go every afternoon where Amir would read to Hassan. Amir takes a pomegranate and throws it hard at Hassan. Hassan does nothing. Amir does it again. And again. And again. Hassan is dripping in pomegranate juice. His shirt is stained red. Finally, Hassan picks up a pomegranate, walks over to Amir and squashes it on his own head. “Is this what you want?” he says and walks away.
Maybe love like that only exists in books on this earth. Maybe it doesn’t. I look at this kite runner and it only makes me think of how selfish I am. There is a woman who works at my school. She is the janitor. I swear that woman is one of those people. She cleans all day long. She runs to the store when any of the teachers ask her to. I’ve never seen her say “No, you do it.” I’ve never seen her get angry. She just smiles and serves.
I don’t know what thoughts go on inside her mind. I wonder if she ever thinks, “Damn, you have legs too.” Maybe God creates certain people with more quantities of servitude than he did me. Or maybe it was my choice.
But even in his own love, he serves. Jesus living on this earth. Jesus healing and serving and preaching. Jesus being accused. Jesus not yelping about the injustices done to him. Jesus not pleading his innocence. Jesus dying on a cross. Dying for sins he never committed. Pomegranate after pomegranate being thrown at him. And I’m still throwing them, taking my anger out on him (and on others) though he does not deserve it. The anger that I will never be as pure as a Hassan. The knowledge that very often I don’t have the guts to stand up to the bully that comes along. To know I can never deserve redemption. But that despite what I do or do not deserve, I have been given it as a gift. A pure gift. A gift that provokes me to serve, that provokes me to give, that proves to me I am not a lost cause altogether.
