These past few weeks, I have struggled to make sense of it all.
The all that is not white,
The all that is not black,
The all that is not blue,
In this season of Advent, I struggled to prepare.
Prepare for what?
Death or Birth.
Another death due to needless violence.
While violence is seductive,
It traps you in believing that there is nothing more,
It traps you in believing that might makes right,
It traps you in believing that we are always right,
It traps you in believing that we are never wrong.
Yet we all are sinners in the hands of an angry God,
We all have fallen,
We all are broken,
We all are sinful.
Yet that is not it,
That all that was,
and will be.
All we have is The Word,
The Word that comes in and casts out all darkness,
That Word the comes from the ultimate otherness,
That Word that is the Divine Logic,
That Word which feels and knows all pain,
Yet somehow rejoices for,
Pain is not the end.
Tell me a story,
Not of the news of the day,
But that old old story,
Where passion trumps violence,
Where death gets convicted to the eternal life.
Be born to us today,
Of world yet to come,
O come Prince of Peace,
that all violence may cease.
Whether we be black, white, or blue;
We will labour on,
We will be the midwives,
We will wait for the water to break
Justice rolling down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
If there is no justice for everyone,
there will be no peace for anyone.