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| Holy Family (Gaza) Kreg Yinst |
Jags this way, then that, and every corner taken
Reveals a broken body, a brother--sister--neighbor
Left for dead by a cynical empire, a disgrunted bigot,
Or a nation-state deluded by some godless religion.
And there is no other way from here to there.
No other way.
We must go.
With kindness, says the elder.
Is his head bloodied by a baseball bat?
Is she even breathing there, in the brush and dust?
Has her little life been starved by suits?
Has this once gentle man been struck dumb by rage?
Will this nameless woman left for dead be missed?
Does he look at all familiar, or fearfully foreign?
No other way.
I must look.
With kindness, says the elder.
In this very moment, no other it seems,
I must decide what family means, what love requires,
And whether faith protects me from my brother's pain
Or joins me to her fragile heartbeat;
Whether grace frees me from caring
Or implicates me in the particularity of their vulnerability.
No other way.
I must choose.
With kindness, says the elder.
No doubt it's hard to care like this,
Excruciating to read the morning news knowing
That each soul around each bend
Is brother--sister--sibling--family.
And no doubt that such grief betrays sleep
And rest and sometimes even happy vacations.
No other way.
We are wounded.
With kindness, says the elder.
Yet isn't it grace that frees our spirits
To count ourselves home wherever we go?
And isn't it faith that moves conscience
To make sweet space for a communion of strangers?
And isn't it love that pumps blood back to our hearts
And drives us to kneel beside them here?
Right here.
On the only road.
DGJ
7/20/25
With gratitude for David Lone Bear,
Mi'kmaq Storyteller and Artist;
and Kreg Yinst,
Artist and Theologian;
and Jesus' Parable of the Samaritan (Luke 10)
