advent reflection: prayer of Mary the refugee

Why, Lord?

A bellyful of baby and not married

and then this to look forward to:

A sword through my own heart. . .

For how long, Lord?

It doesn’t look so good for him now.

They're talking, saying things that aren't true

Maybe if Yusef had lived, it would have been different.

"Cheers, O favoured one!"

Divine irony?  or was it sarcasm?

I cry each night for him.

I remember running,

grabbing my belly,

running from Mogadishu

the smell of blood everywhere, rotting in the sun

I cry each night for him.

It was such a dream:

Pulling the mighty from their thrones

lifting up the poor,

Was I simply trying to convince myself?

I cry each night for him

When, Lord?

When does the victory come?

I see him, I smile, he smiles,

But I think he knows,

It’s there in his eyes.

It always was,

I saw it when he’d look up from my breast

It scared me then,

still does.

Why should there be sadness in a baby’s eyes?

Why couldn’t it be easier for him?

Was this the only way?

Surely there could have been another.

Let those hands hold me again, Lord

The hands that rocked me to sleep in Kakuma,

Your hands, Lord,

Rock him to sleep tonight, Lord,

wherever he is.

Keep trouble at bay,

at least for tonight, Lord,

thoughts of a good friend who ran from Mogadishu as a pregnant teenager fused with thoughts of the refugee Mary who ran clutching her baby

Comments

[jonny]

this is very powerful bill - thanks. i will blog it if that's ok and link to you...

[bill]

sure, Jonny, that would be, of course, fine. having spend the last couple of years among so many refugee women, I find the image of the holy family as refugees compelling. . .