Daily Office

The readings assigned to today by the Book of Common Prayer are:

Psalms 69 & 73

Revelations 17 

and Luke 13:31-35.

A few excerpts 

Psalm 69:

“Save me, O God!

For the waters have come up to my neck.

2 I sink in deep mire,

where there is no foothold;

I have come into deep waters,

and the flood sweeps over me.”

Verse 30:

“I will praise the name of God with a song;

I will magnify him with thanksgiving.”

Psalm 73:3

“For I was envious of the arrogant

when I saw the prosperity of the wicked”

Verses 16-17

“But when I thought how to understand this,

it seemed to me a wearisome task,

17 until I went into the sanctuary of God;

then I discerned their end.”

Revelation 17:14

“They will make war on the Lamb, and the Lamb will conquer them, for he is Lord of lords and King of kings, and those with him are called and chosen and faithful.”

Luke 13:35

“Behold, your house is forsaken. And I tell you, you will not see me until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’”

The emphasis seemed to be of pain, suffering, hope and victory.

Then I read this FB post by a new missionary friend:

My Children’s Foreign Mother

He gazed at me through darkened eyes,

This man who fled from war.

“I had to wait until my wife

Had died from all her sores.”

“Her sores?” I asked without a thought

Of how this mem’ry might

Uncover pain too deep – too raw –

Too close to fear and flight.

He blinked and turned his face away

As if to hide inside;

And then with measured words he told

Me how it was she died.

“You see,” he murmured quietly,

“We were from different groups.

When we were joined in matrim’ny

We were not split in troops.

But now the war has pitted us

‘Gainst one, and ‘gainst the other…

My people just could not accept

My children’s foreign mother.

At first there were just angry words

And insults flung her way,

But soon there followed slaps and blows

And threats if she should stay.”

But then things got quite out of hand,

As I was pushed aside.

The mob was now out of control

And she was trapped inside.

I pushed and pulled and sobbed and cried

Until I found her there,

A bloodied mess of flesh and bone

With blind and vacant stare.

She did not die that fateful night,

But fought and fought for life.

How could she leave me all alone

With children, but no wife.

As in the dawn began to creep

Her soul began to leave…

One light come in and one go out…

A family left to grieve.

We buried her under the tree

Where we two once were wed.

And with her in that sandy grave

I lay my heart to bed.

And then we packed up all our things,

The little we still had,

And started out on foot towards

The good or t’wards the bad.”

“And now we live within a camp

Together with those who

Had dealt the blows that killed my wife

And left me with these two…

Little ones too young to know

Such sorrow and such strife;

Too young to know that they will ne’er

See her in this life.

How can I speak to them of heav’n,

When hell is all they know?

How can I speak to them of love,

When hatred brings us low?”

He sighed a sigh and closed his eyes

Perhaps to recollect…

Was that a quiver in his voice

Detected, but soon checked?

He turned his face to me once more

As if with pleading eyes

He sought from me, a mortal man,

An answer to his whys.

“But there are some,” he softly said,

“Who suffer more than us…

You see the ones who dealt the blows

Now live among the just.”

“And they must look into our eyes

Each and every day,

Their conscience pricked when every time

We choose instead to say

That we forgive and we still love,

In spite of all the pain

That by their actions they have caused…

For only one thing will remain…

For faith and hope, the Bible says,

Will all too quickly pass,

But love goes on beyond the grave

And on beyond our past.”

He slowly rose as if to go

But then he turned and said,

“I miss her so, my foreign wife,

And even though she’s dead,

A part of her I always see

Within my children’s eyes.

And when I think I may forget

I find her in their smiles.

And by their lives they testify

To one and to the other,

That bitter hatred could not kill

My children’s foreign mother.

© Johann Vanderbijl 2014

It’s ok, I cried too.