The Nazarite Trap

"Did you not learn the lesson of Samson, from the perspective of his and God's enemies?" With smug looks they all act like they don't care, and my words no longer carried weight, high fiving each other for their apparent final victory. "While tricked, he was complicit to a degree with his hair being cut, but even then his hair still grew. Finally he prayed to God for assistance and was answered, knocking down their entire arena with a final surge. Without even a hint of complicity, there is no validity to the cutting of hair. Their fate feels preferable to yours, for at least in such a physical rebuttal those outside the arena could mourn and bury the dead." Just like that they all saw my hair as white as snow in full length upon my head, and they turned equivalently ghost like. 

"Now you could not even find a way to trick me into cutting it off, nor could I agree to do so in some strange twist of events." I stand from their trap and brush myself off casually as I continue speaking. "Perhaps you did yourself a favor though, for as far as I am concerned this never had anything to do with you; at least now you see that as well." The coldness of my words feels as though it physically chills the air in the room a full 10 degrees as I simply walk out the door, without anyone even attempting to make a move to stop me. As I cross the threshold I add almost flippantly "With any luck, maybe Jesus feels differently."

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