Historical setting: 602 C.E. The cottage in the Vosges
On this beautiful day I’m home with my family, healing slowly in God’s time. Greg and Gabe are still aching of childhood, not able to accept themselves as powerless in the face of senseless brutality. So how will healing turn them? Will they learn from what they’ve witnessed — vengeance for hurt with hate? Or, with the help of God, might their witness to cruelty purpose Christian pacifism in their hearts?
Dear God, author of parental love, help me gift my children through patience of learning that they themselves may discover the depths and dangers of holy love. Let them value love so deeply in their hearts there may be no earthly weapon empowered to scar that love. Let them grow up, past the practical purposes of vengeance, into the oddly tuned love for enemies, love for power-starved taunts and tyrants, love for empty-headed soldiers following orders. Empower my sons with forgiveness so deep in understanding that love may follow every pain. Heal their hearts. Amen.
So how long must the dove fly to find that sacred olive branch called peace? My prayer was for that longed for patience. I try not to lecture my children with platitudes and by always knowing answers.
My words, “Greg, Gabe I beg you to search your hearts for worthy values. At each turn ask yourselves, ‘how is this part of the Creator’s good?’ When you see your papa run through with a polearm, you say ‘just now, how am I, the Creator’s goodness?’ Then you find your heroic selves offering healing not retaliation. When you see the swords and horses gifted to the strongest of men who you are, ask, ‘how is this the all-loving Creator’s goodness?’ Search your hearts. Pray to God. Don’t ask me, a simple parent on earth to tell you what to do. Will I always want you to be safe? Will I simply put your safety ahead of your goodness? Yes, too easily. Parents can have a warp in values too, in the instinct to protect their children.”
Does all this instruction mean anything? Their empathy for my moment of pain just now yields more of the “I’m sorry” chants from them. How I would rather hear them counsel me like wise men, “It was the best we could do with the help of God.” But they still just say they are sorry.
(Continues Thursday, June 1)
Lazarus Ink 