Dealing with dark forces.

haiku of ambivalence.

When light is coming
the dark forces congregate;
seeking to destroy.

A classic story.
The child of blessing, threatened,
survives the danger.

Like Moses, floating
on the river, the baby
lives to overcome.

Herod, the despot,
becomes his first enemy.
Will not be the last.

The angel returns
with a warning and advice:
Take the child and flee.

The land of bondage
becomes the place of refuge.
History reversed.

Back in Judea
the story is less pleasant.
Evil has triumphed.

The years pass, as does
the danger. The family
return to their land.

They choose Nazareth
in Galilee, to the north.
There they make their home.

 

© Ken Rookes 2016

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What should we do?

 

After this, a group of politicians brought a family before Jesus to accuse them.

family 2 sm

“We caught these foreigners crossing our borders without permission,” their leader said. “How should we deal with them?”

“What do your laws say?” he asked them.

“Our laws permit us to send them far away, where they can be locked up among barbed wire, mosquitoes and despair,” said the leader.

“What have you to say for yourselves?” Jesus asked the family.

The man stepped forward. “Our land was filled with fear and fighting,” he said.

His wife stood at his side, as the children clung to her. “We gathered what we could and fled. We came here hoping to find a place of refuge; where our children could be safe and grow and thrive.”

“There!” exclaimed a woman. “You have heard it from their own lips, they deserve to be sent away. What do you say, Teacher?”

Jesus crouched, and drew with his finger in the dust.
Then he stood, looked about him and spoke.
“Let the one who has never feared an election defeat be the one who turns the key.”

The crowd became enraged. They seized him and handled him roughly.

Their leader spoke. “You are nothing but a bleeding-heart lefty!” he said. “What would you know?”

Then they cast him headlong into a ditch; and dragged the family away.

Some other people saw what happened, and wept for shame. They went looking for Jesus. He was sitting on the side of the ditch, wiping the blood from his face.

“This is all wrong,” they said. “What should we do?”

Jesus stood up. Looking into their eyes he embraced each one, and said, simply, “Everything. We must do everything that we can.”

 

© Ken Rookes 2016.

For some earlier thoughts on these matters see Haiku of Shame

Building bigger barns

Dwelling in the frantic phoniness
that fills the weeks between the calling
of the election and the voting,
we are confronted by the various
parties’ priorities for building bigger barns.
We shall gather to ourselves
and lock away for the fearful future
those things that make us rich,
that we value above all else.
We shall erect a barn for the borders
that must be desperately protected
from people who voyage in boats; poor, fearful,
and as wretched as the vessels to which they
have entrusted their lives and their hopes.
Wealth shall be gathered into silos and defended
against the ravages of responsibility
that might see it paying for the big clean-up
that everybody knows will have to come. One day.
There shall be a separate, sheltered barn
for leaders afraid of making decisions
that might prove to be unpopular,
lest they no longer enjoy the favour of the people.
This is democracy, and it has its own barn,
galvanized and gleaming in the sun.
There is also a barn, full and overbursting
with responsible economic policies,
that all of our leaders are required
to visit regularly, to establish
their correct credentials, or else
we will not place a number low enough
in the boxes beside their names.
They say that there is a barn, somewhere,
that holds the nation’s store
of compassion, truth and justice.
It is apparently a small barn and there are
no proposals to build a larger one; besides,
its GPS coordinates
are believed to have been mislaid.
 

© Ken Rookes