Historical Setting: 793 C.E. Lindisfarne Island
The slaves wait with the boats while the monastery at Lindisfarne is being raided. We talk among ourselves about our own Christian ways. I find these men who once called themselves Christian, in these times, have no idea of the Jesus peace.
How does God answer the prayers of people when twelve slaves on a beach are praying different prayers and each one of us trusts God to be just, though we have vastly different notions of justice?
Dear God, how have our human ways taken us so far from the constancy of love for neighbor? I know the slogan from the teachings “Love your neighbor as yourself.” It should be simple, except maybe for that “self” part. It is the human way to come before you despising the self, claiming sin as our spiritual nature. Dear God stay near us.
From this beach we can see nothing of the raid. We heard the battle cries as they went ashore, but nothing now.
Now, one raider, Gunnar, comes dragging a bag of loot. He comes right to me, with a wide, flat jeweled case. Others are coming now. Everyone gathers around to see this thing. He believes it is a chest of sorts or a drawer that contains the most treasured jewels because it was found in the most special place on the high altar. It has a beautiful case with what looks like locks and hinges though has no real lock or place for a key. Gunnar suggests I will be able to open it because I know “Christian magic.”
It is wide, but not very deep as a chest of jewels. It’s very heavy, and yes, it is beautifully set with gold and silver and precious stones. It’s clear why they would think it is a chest to display gems, because they have never seen a book before.
“It has no lock because it isn’t meant to be locked.” I simply unhook the clasps, and it is the most beautiful rendition of gospels I have ever laid eyes on.
“It’s nothing!” someone shouts.
“Let’s just keep the jewel case, and cast these innards into the sea.”
I know that is what they would do. Others are returning from the raid with their swords bloodied and armloads of silks and satins — brocades cut into liturgical garb — golden crosses on heavy chains –and here are simple weaves of wool — the robes of monks. There has been a terrible devastation.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 