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The year was 1945, as the war in Europe raged on with the American’s and British closing in on the Third Reich in Berlin from the West, the Russians from the East. There was a young man at the age of 20, by the name of Andre Stomas, a Hungarian refugee who was captured and imprisoned by the Russians for 55 years, from the year of 1945 through the year of 2000.
Now after being beaten, starved, tortured and left in solitary confinement year after year, the Russian Government decided to loosen their grip and release several prisoners. However, Andre Stomas didn’t act and look quite right. He spoke a language that sounded like gibberish, he stared straight ahead into space and his mind seemed clouded. So the authorizes called for a Hungarian Psychiatrist to examine him. After the examination by the Doctor, he said there was nothing wrong with Andre, he speaks a Hungarian dialect, he’s malnourished and you Russians messed his mind up. The Doctor said if you give him to us we can make him well. Now at the age of 75, after 55 years of imprisonment, the papers were finally being signed for his release as he was rolled out in a wheelchair.
If you haven’t heard this story before, it may come as bit of a shock or surprise to you. As he was pushed down the hall in his wheelchair, he made his first request: you would never guess what he ask for in your lifetime. He turned to the Doctor and ask: “Can I see a mirror, for I haven’t seen a mirror for 55 years.” As they handed him a mirror, he placed it in front of his face for just a fraction of a moment, then placed that mirror down, placed his hands over his face a sobbed uncontrollability. The last time he saw his face he was strong, robust, motivated and politically driven and looking for a better world at the age of twenty. Now he was worn down, broken, beaten, battered and taken to be in-sane, now at the age of 75. For over a half of a century there was no glimpse of what his countenance really looked like.
How would you and I withstand something like this? For we wake every morning and go through our ablue-shuns putting on all the forms of disfigurement and start looking like what we wish we did, but really don’t.
For you see, we do this routinely because it is part of who we are and our culture expects it, or at least tidy ourselves up a bit in the best possible way to look presentable.
So I ask this question: Ladies and gentlemen, what does a real mirror say to your real face? Is there a real mirror for the soul? Is there something that you and I can know of what the soul was intended to look like?