The words are familiar, the voices quavering–
a table before mine enemies
Psalm 23 at the memorial for children who should have been safe at school.. What do we do with our grief? With Christmas? With all those presents for the fallen?
I have been praying for the Krims. I knew this holiday season would be terribly hard for them. Now I have this image in my mind–20 homes without their babies.
I keep thinking-they were six, they were six, they were just little.
Yes. I know some were seven. Seven years is long enough to fall in love with a bright light in the world and long enough to know that the dark has grown darker with each light extinguished.
These people will never be the same.
We should never be the same.
Yes. I know that each death hurts and the hurt is the more unrelenting because it was so cruel.
Cruel. Cruel like our enemies. Cruel like Herod ordering the murder of babies. A king who murders children?
This table set for us in the presence of…
Our enemies.
Chief among them, death itself.
We forget sometimes that the baby in the manger is the Man on the cross.
In the presence of our enemies.
He dies
To set this table where light cannot be snuffed out–
No matter what
Heaven