Thursday, December 11, 2008

justice can never be a judgment

During the joining of hands, my gut wrenches.
What seems a million miles from here, all those bad things you hear about in news reports are happening. Heck, even down the street, young boys are killing slightly older boys (you hear handguns pop during the quieter parts of service), solid old houses are being demolished to make way for flimsy new ones that only those with swollen accounts could afford, and stomachs are going empty.
The whole world is rotting, each blade of grass and each drop of water.
But here, in this steepled, solemn house, I'm learning that justice can never be a judgment. That there's only so much you can do and only so much that should be done.
The purity of the looks upon our faces is almost scary, even to us. We never speak of it.
We're startling full of life.
We cover our coughs to dampen the noise and we eat ham sandwiches in the basement of the rectory.
We hold hands, just like this, praying with our eyes shut tight.
Together; everything's ok, just fine.

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