Reflections and Refractions

I sit in the sand, surrounded by rubble – rubble of buildings destroyed, rubble of dispirited lives.  The hot sun burns the back of my neck as I draw in the sand with a stick.  The sun is slowly sinking into the rubble that surrounds me.  It will soon be evening and the cool dry crispness of the dark night will numb the pain of the sounds in my ears and the dust in my eyes.  Those who are against me are on the other side of the rubble.  I fear them, but I have the Lord on my side.  We will triumph.

Images from the past and present flash through my mind and burn through my soul.  In one instant I see so many pictures, so many images.  My mind races to draw them together. 

I see the broken destruction of buildings around me and lives shattered by the devastation.  I watch my stick draw endless lines of random chaos through the sand as my hand wanders aimlessly back and forth.  I see Jesus kneeling before a crowd of people, stones in their hand.  He draws as I do – an endless line of unknown meaning and significance.  His mind must have been filled with random images as is mine.  What do I do?  What do I say?  He stands and says to the people ‘Whoever is without sin, they can throw the first stone’.  As the accused adulteress kneels before them awaiting her fate, silence reigns.  There are no stones are in the many hands that stood ready to condemn. Their owners simply move away in a thoughtful peace.

‘In you O Lord I seek refuge.  Do not let me ever be put to shame.  In your righteousness deliver me.  Incline your ear to me quickly.  Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me.’   The words of the Psalm echo in the inner sanctums of my mind.  And then I realise the words are coming from my enemies.  My words, my psalm.  ‘You are indeed my rock and my fortress.  For your name’s sake lead me and guide me.’  The words carry across the rubble as clearly as I hear them in my own mind.

A story I heard in a church flashes images into my brain.  Stephen stands before the crowd having finished a magnificent speech about the unending forgiveness and saving activity of God.  The stones that were held aloft to stone the adultress and then were dropped to the ground now fly through the air towards their target.  They are flung with a vicious hatred and jealousy that drives deep into the soul of the enthusiastic young priest.  As he falls in pain and torture, his mind turns only to love and forgiveness of his tormentors.  In the midst of the pain and the suffering, he sees God standing by his side, and as he falls to the ground, he says to his God – ‘Lord, don’t hold this against them’. 

The bombs fall.  The tanks roar through the streets.  Houses fall, buildings are demolished and the dust mixes with fear as hatred again fills the air.  The sounds of screaming bodies buried in the rubble are a forerunner to the stench of death.  How can I forgive?

‘You hate those who pay regard to worthless idols, but I trust in the Lord.’  I continue to  recite the words of the Psalm aloud to myself trying to find some solace, some refuge in their words.  ‘I trust in the Lord’, I say.  ‘I will exult and rejoice in your steadfast love, because you have seen my affliction.’  The words of my enemy again echo across the devastation.  ‘You have taken heed of my adversities, and have not delivered me into the hand of my enemy.’  I sit and draw in the sand.  How can I forgive?  How can I sit at the table with my enemy?

The images of old stories again flash into my mind.  Saul was standing off to one side and he witnessed the tortuous death of the Stephen.  The peace and forgiving serenity displayed by the young priest only increased Saul’s hatred and determination, and he went forth in the name of God and his sole aim was to destroy these new believers in God.  On a road to destruction, a light shone and the hate-filled man was forgiven and humbled by a man hanging on a cross and the stones drop from his hands.

I look up and I look at what I see, but I can’t believe the inhumanity of what lies before me.  I look down and see again the endless line I have drawn – winding its way through the grains of sand, like a river through a myriad of valleys and tumultuous waterfalls and rapids finally finding its way into the peace of the forest.  The sounds of birds fill the air – the chattering of animals moving peacefully into the security of their burrows seeking the warmth of each other’s bodies for the night.  The water trickles and ripples over the worn stones in its bed.  And then slowly and majestically, the tumultuous roar of the ocean begins its call.   The river that will always be is no more.

‘I trust in you O Lord.’ I cry out almost in despair.  ‘You are my God.  My times are in your hands.  Deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors.’  From the other side of the rubble the words come. ‘Let your face shine upon your servant.  Save him in your steadfast love.’  I think to myself – “Is he my servant?  Am I his servant?   He is my enemy.  How can this be?”

And again, images from my past flood my mind.  Jesus stands at the foot of a cross and he says ‘In my house there are many mansions.  I go to prepare a place for you.  When it is ready you can follow, because I am the way, the truth and the life.  Ask in my name and it will be done for you.  Peace to you my friends.’

I stare at a TV screen in horror as planes roar into buildings and the buildings fall to the ground.  People are screaming and running.  The world panics.  I stand outside the razor wire and watch as a man jumps from a roof onto the wire below.  Others behind the wire starve themselves and sew their lips together.  I fear they might get out before they can be sent back to where they belong.

Jesus appears in agony on the cross, the pain in his face tearing at the nails, willing them to fall to the ground as stones might fall from humbled hands.  The nails remain stuck fast.  A prayerful cry filled with both pain and triumph flies across the darkened sky.  “Forgive them Lord, for they don’t know what they are doing.”

There is silence.

It is finished.

Or is it?

 © 2002 Steven Mellor (Unauthorised use prohibited)