I always jump for the earliest time. At Wernersville I like to meet with my director early, that meant this past Sunday I had three hours to fill between direction and mass. First a little flat on my back jazz meditation before I moved to the easy chair and Matthew.
Imagining myself being a friend of Joseph and hearing him tell me that he was moving the family to Egypt was something I could resonate with and brought up a guy named JD who left PA a little over a year ago. Still miss the guy. So, there I was pissed off at Joseph, best guy to have entered my life for 7 years and he was heading down the road to Egypt. Soon enough I was wishing I had helped Joseph move.
Herod's command for all the males under two to die (Egypt, death of male children... truly seems Matthew was connecting Jesus to Moses) was brutal to witness in my mind. All weekend I was good for an hour of contemplation, but after 30 minutes I was ready to move out of that easy chair, but it wasn't to happier places... a poster on the third floor.
Up the stairs I went and I stood reading the names of Jesuits murdered in Central America .
2000 years later and rulers are still willing to send out others to kill for them. Seeking justice for the oppressed is dangerous business. I look at the long history and see that those who have sought justice have changed the world, but the battle rages. Keeping this long view can get me past the sadness brought on by the news.
Last night I was with another dream which wakes Joseph and again he has to tell Mary they are moving. It is safe to return. It is safe to return. It is safe to return.
What have I fled? What have I returned to? In 1987 I was more than ready to leave Pennsylvania. I left the urologist of my youth. In 1990 we left Massachusetts and we arrived in Oregon. I left a bad habit on the east coast. Eventually I was ready to come back to Pennsylvania. And each time we moved I left friends behind to face the troubles that were to come to those places with one less friend. The school shooting in Springfield Oregon comes to mind. I student-taught in that school district when I got my Masters degree.
And the big question which Isabella brought up... why didn't God warn all the parents? I wish I had an answer. Were they not warned? Were they not open to a dream about warnings? Were that not responsive to dreams? Maybe others were warned and did flee? I don't know but I can only imagine a God who was saddened by the blood shed as he was in Central America, and as she was in that high school in Oregon.