The servant’s gift

My dear child. So confident and so full of insight. And so unrealistic.

He had seen the destruction of his own land, the terrible brutality of the Babylonians. As a child he had lost so much. I held him to me, let him feed on my own pain and glimpse my own inexhaustible currents of joy.

My pain. My joy. How hard, how hard for human kind to see either. What terror it is for them to be let in. How courageously they breast me, surging up the thermals, soaring, tumbling, landing rough. Eagles they are.

And he – he surged ecstatically up, never loosing the current that took him until he could see the wonders I planned for my true Israel. He saw the restoration, and all the ecstasy of re-building in the old land made new. And the message which he hoped would fill others with elation as it did him – that message caused them to round on him. How could he be other than distraught.

He understood much, but not how hope can be the most acute pain, more agonising even than a peaceful despair. They attacked him. Another might have turned to bitterness, but he turned to me, and I drew him further and further into my pain, into the place where the waves of suffering crashed and broke on the rock of my love, and where still waters are re born out of tumult and agony.

I rejoiced. I drew him to me. I could let him hear things that even Jeremiah could never hear. He would come to see how pain was inevitable for my servants, and how it turned to healing. He would come to see how the suffering of wrong doing broke its power against the rock of my servants.

But even he, beloved, full of my spirit, blessed with insight, could only go so far. He was balancing impossible things. He over reached. It is not possible for human kind to face suffering and death and break the power of the waves of pain and wrong without terrible cost. They cannot keep that inner calm in which my little Isaiah still believed.

Let me be plain (will you hear me?)- neither is it possible for God.

Pain is real. It soaks though as water soaks earth, and blood soaks bandages. I cradled him. I knew. It would only be when I came and suffered with them that they would even begin to understand.

It would only be when I was the servant and they saw my blood soaking through that they would even start to understand.

2 thoughts on “The servant’s gift

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s