I awoke the other day with a song in my heart ... and I was super-pissed.
It was the morning after a bad night, and the song was the hymn Be Not Afraid.
The verse playing over and over in my head was the one about the Beatitudes:
Blessed are the poor,
for the kingdom shall be theirs.
Blest are you that weep and mourn,
for one day you shall laugh.
And if wicked men insult and hate you, all because of me,
blessed, blessed are you!
Now, I can't speak for the poor, but as someone who spends more time than he should mourning, I think, "Well duh?" At the same time, I think, "You are supposed to take care of me. I know I will be happy in heaven. Is that really all you are promising? You allow Friedreich's ataxia and other genetic diseases on this earth and make people struggle with them, and all you are saying is: 'It'll be better when you die'?"
Maybe Mordred was right: 'It's not the earth the meek inherit, it's the dirt."
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1 comment:
Maybe it was just a little encouragement for tomorrow. And your approaching trip.
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