Sometimes, the Bishop wondered about that man. Sometimes, he would look at his fireplace mantel and startle at the absence of his two candlesticks. Only a second, before he remembered the man who'd arrived on his doorstep, as if sent by God Himself. That desperate man, abused and beaten into seeing the world as his enemy, who had accepted his hospitality and then stolen his silver and fled in the night. He'd been caught, of course, and dragged back to answer for his crime.
The Bishop never regretted his choice that day. He only regretted that he hadn't had more to give. No one should be driven to such despair, no one should see their fellow Man as automatic obstacles or antagonists. What happened to that man? Did he take the lifeline offered to him? Or did he simply sell the silver and move on, in a life of petty crime and lifeless hate? The Bishop didn't think so. Something had changed within the man. Even if he didn't turn to God, hopefully he still learned God's love and trust, and saw the beauty of the world. The Bishop liked to hope so, for he had seen God in that man. That man had been a reminder of all the need that still existed in the world, and all the potential. A reminder of cruelty, and kindness, and the hope that even the smallest mercy brings. In his prayers he remembered that man, and thanked him.