Somewhere, right now, as I type these words, a child dies, shitting out her insides from preventable diarrhea because a pharmaceutical company refuses to surrender its license guaranteeing it millions of dollars of profits. Somewhere, right now, a young woman weeps, because she is dying inside. Tricked, trapped, traded as a piece of meat, reduced to selling her body to feed the greed of men, she has lost herself and cannot find it anymore. Somewhere, right now, as I type these words, a sniper focuses his sight upon a soldier far from home, scared, tired, not quite sure why he is there, only focussed on this job, right now, because thought might make even this job, right now, look pointless. The sniper pulls the trigger.
Somewhere, right now, a parent is leaving his children. Somewhere, right now, the powerful sit and plan how to retain power, seeing no end other than their own glory. Somewhere, right now, because of those powerful men and women, the powerless die silent, unheralded deaths, faceless and nameless statistics in the war of words that politicians prefer to the reality of shattered bodies, the screams of the dying, and the whistle and screech of bombs and bullets.
Somewhere, right now, a baby is being born, its proud parents weeping with joy as the doctor lays the still-blue body on its mother's stomach, hands the scissors to the new father to cut the umbilical cord. Somewhere, right now, a mother is teaching her daughter how to sew a button, or how to bake a cake, or how to balance a checkbook, or how to drive a car. Somewhere, a father is teaching a son how to throw a football, how to cheer for the best team ever, how to pound a nail straight. Somewhere, right now, a family is sitting down to Sunday dinner, the meal in dishes in front of them, steam rising, and they all give thanks in unison for the gift spread before them, for the love of one another, and for the hope that the food will strengthen and nourish their bodies for Divine Service.
O Lord, help to understand how all of this makes any kind of sense.
Amen.
Virtual Tin Cup
