The refugees
The militia
had taken over; and there was chaos everywhere
The Emperor
wanted to know how many… how many people were there; which family line did they
come from; what did they do… so he ordered a census.
A tally of
people
You can’t
tax them, rule them, oppress them if you don’t know them.
The militia
spread fear and mistrust
No one knew
who to trust
No one knew
who was loyal, who was a collaborator; life was lived on a knife edge.
The militia had
their own pawns in the game
The local
leaders were all terrified, and desperate to preserve what little power
remained, what little dignity was left. So they obliged; obeyed; submitted;
accommodated the interlopers.
Life was
hard; people were hard and it seemed like there was no hope. Anywhere.
The faithful
cried out to God
O God! How long?!
How long must we wait?
And into the
darkness came the spark of hope.
Angel messengers.
Strange events.
Miraculous babies.
Into the
atmosphere of distrust and fear and anxiety and suspicion came a glimmer of
hope.
Mixed with doubt and confusion.
It was all
risky.
The hope
might pay off; but it might also end in betrayal; grief; death.
But, it also
might bring joy and love and new life.
Glorious new life!
So, they
took the risk.
They followed
the plan
They set out
on the fearful, hazardous journey, filled with pitfalls and threats.
Eventually they
got there… but there was nowhere to go
Everywhere was
so full
The place
teemed with weary bodies; exhaustion permeated their very being
The time
came for the glimmer of hope to shine
Angel voice
filled the sky
But not many
heard or saw
Just a few bedraggled,
coarse working men, unaccustomed to miracles and light and hope.
Yet, because
they weren’t expecting it
Because they
were not holy men, wise men, educated men the miracle was all the more beautiful
And in their
simplicity they were able to see beyond
Beyond the
dark pit of fear and squalor into the glorious brilliant hope:
A tiny baby
God made
human
Preposterous!
The light
shone, and the darkness could not overcome it.
And here we are,
two thousand years later
Still there
are people under the power of oppression
Still there
are people fleeing, undertaking risky journeys; all in the hope of new life,
new beginnings and a faint hope of something better for those they love.
Still there
are people dying at the hands of persecutors, bullies, tyrants and still the
strong use their power to take advantage of the poor and less able.
Still there
are those who respond too:
The ones who
offer shelter – however meagre
The ones who
witness the light – however dim
The ones who
believe in a miracle birth – however unlikely
The ones who
allow in the light – however reluctantly
And the
light continues to shine
And the
darkness will not overpower it.
 |
| Winter sun, through the trees (c) JW 2010 |
No comments:
Post a Comment