And from a fire house in Connecticut, not just words, but the sound and lament of tears andguttural wails, the kind that almost do
n’t sound human; inexplicable
human sounds as parentswait for their child, but she does not come.The silence is deafening. On Friday it is wretched silence, noting the absence of all absences.
What we wouldn’t give for a word.
Words.Wait. Here comes another child.Wait. Here comes another child.Wait. Here comes the school principal.Wait.Wait.
What we wouldn’t give for a single word
in the end.Wait
a single word in the beginning was the Word. And the Word became flesh and lived amongus.Why not just a Word? Flesh is too much to risk.
Did God not know, in all of God’s infinite wisdom, that a bullet has no effect on a word? A word
does not experience mental anguish. A word cannot bleed. A word cannot be frightened. Aword cannot be extinguished.But flesh. Oh, God, why flesh? And bone. And blood. And muscle. And matter. Why all these?
Don’t you know what flesh is capable of? Don’t you know what happens
when the prophetsare wrong and
weapons aren’t turned int
o plowshares and justice does not flow like a mightystream?Flesh. The word after the Word. A wretched-sacred risk.What it must have been like for mother Mary and father Joseph to wait at the fire house for ason that did not come home. Had Jesus remained a Word, no one would have thought tofashion a device of torture to blot him out.