Jesus is in Aleppo
Jesus is in Aleppo. I last saw him two days ago. We were digging trenches between piles of rubble so the people who don't have water would have a place to relieve themselves and raw sewage wouldn't collect in the streets. We worked shoulder to shoulder, digging with our hands, until a child brought us some pieces of broken metal to use. It was hard work. I tired long before Jesus did. He dug until his fingers and palms were blistered and bloody.
After we finished digging latrines, we sat and rested. We shared a crust of bread a kind woman brought us. As food is scarce in Aleppo, we savored every morsel. Jesus ate far less then I. He is emaciated. He tries to hide his condition beneath the layers of dirty rags he jokingly calls his robe, but I've caught glimpses of his gaunt frame when the barrel bombs fall and we run for cover. And when the whimpers of hungry children arise at sundown and infuse the evening air with a haunting sadness that seeps into your core, I've watched his jaw tremble and his eyes fill with tears. Jesus is strong, but he's not fooling anyone. He's starving. Just as we all are.
At night, Jesus is prone to gaze up at the stars. Sometimes I catch him smiling when one shoots across the sky. And a twinkle will appear in his eye when he follows a streaking trail of light across the infinite darkness above us. But inevitably, his smile fades when the star fizzles out. And his brow wrinkles and he becomes melancholy. I've heard him weeping at times. He tries to muffle his tears by burying his face in the crook of his arm. I guess he doesn't want anyone to know he's crying. I've tried to comfort him when he gets upset, but what words I've spoken, or what gestures I've extended to him to try and console him, don't seem to do much good.
Between the starvation, disease, bombing, mutilations, kidnappings and torture the people of this city have had to endure, it would be easy to lose faith. But Jesus hasn't lost his. He is adamant that a legion will come and break the oppressive siege Aleppo is under.
"What legion?" I asked him the first time he spoke of such an army.
"Those who hold the words of the Father close to their hearts," was his reply—and all he has ever replied each subsequent time I've asked him.
And when I've pressed him on the matter, he silences me with a gentle wave of his hand. In deference to his strong belief and his devotion to the people of this city, I've stopped asking about this legion of his. I don't believe there is such a force. But if he is right, if such a legion does exist, I hope they come soon. For Aleppo is dying.
Two nights ago, Jesus cried out in his sleep. He was violently shaking and seemed to be in the clutches of a fever. His body was soaked with sweat. When I awakened him, I became afraid, for the look he gave me was of a man who has witnessed unspeakable horrors. Torment and despair; I felt these emotions running through his hands when he gripped my shoulders and stared into my eyes.
"It's just a dream," I told him. "You are among friends."
An intense shiver wracked his body when he tried to reply. And he gasped for air as though he was a drowning man breaking the surface of water. I held tight his forearm until he calmed. Finally, with a shuddering sigh, he offered me a brief smile and looked up to the sky. But the night was filled with clouds. There was no spark amongst the heavens to bring a twinkle to his eye.
The next morning, Jesus was gone. He'd risen before sunrise to help the victims of a chemical bombardment in another part of the city I was told. Reports of casualties filtered back to us later in the day; scores of people had been blinded, swaths of their skin melted from their flesh, many unable to breathe without suffering great pain with the effort. A burning agent had been packed inside the bombs. The chemical was released upon detonation. The invisible assailant enveloped three city blocks. No one was spared.
I fear Jesus will be dead soon. Like all of us trapped in Aleppo, I fear he will be buried beneath the rubble, an unnoticed and forgotten casualty of an unmerciful war. I hope the legion he so strongly believes in will arrive before that time and deliver this city from the evil that seems bent upon extracting its very soul. But it's been two days since I last saw Jesus, and I am afraid for him. Aleppo is dying, and he is in its midst.
The Lion of Djibouti
After we finished digging latrines, we sat and rested. We shared a crust of bread a kind woman brought us. As food is scarce in Aleppo, we savored every morsel. Jesus ate far less then I. He is emaciated. He tries to hide his condition beneath the layers of dirty rags he jokingly calls his robe, but I've caught glimpses of his gaunt frame when the barrel bombs fall and we run for cover. And when the whimpers of hungry children arise at sundown and infuse the evening air with a haunting sadness that seeps into your core, I've watched his jaw tremble and his eyes fill with tears. Jesus is strong, but he's not fooling anyone. He's starving. Just as we all are.
At night, Jesus is prone to gaze up at the stars. Sometimes I catch him smiling when one shoots across the sky. And a twinkle will appear in his eye when he follows a streaking trail of light across the infinite darkness above us. But inevitably, his smile fades when the star fizzles out. And his brow wrinkles and he becomes melancholy. I've heard him weeping at times. He tries to muffle his tears by burying his face in the crook of his arm. I guess he doesn't want anyone to know he's crying. I've tried to comfort him when he gets upset, but what words I've spoken, or what gestures I've extended to him to try and console him, don't seem to do much good.
Between the starvation, disease, bombing, mutilations, kidnappings and torture the people of this city have had to endure, it would be easy to lose faith. But Jesus hasn't lost his. He is adamant that a legion will come and break the oppressive siege Aleppo is under.
"What legion?" I asked him the first time he spoke of such an army.
"Those who hold the words of the Father close to their hearts," was his reply—and all he has ever replied each subsequent time I've asked him.
And when I've pressed him on the matter, he silences me with a gentle wave of his hand. In deference to his strong belief and his devotion to the people of this city, I've stopped asking about this legion of his. I don't believe there is such a force. But if he is right, if such a legion does exist, I hope they come soon. For Aleppo is dying.
Two nights ago, Jesus cried out in his sleep. He was violently shaking and seemed to be in the clutches of a fever. His body was soaked with sweat. When I awakened him, I became afraid, for the look he gave me was of a man who has witnessed unspeakable horrors. Torment and despair; I felt these emotions running through his hands when he gripped my shoulders and stared into my eyes.
"It's just a dream," I told him. "You are among friends."
An intense shiver wracked his body when he tried to reply. And he gasped for air as though he was a drowning man breaking the surface of water. I held tight his forearm until he calmed. Finally, with a shuddering sigh, he offered me a brief smile and looked up to the sky. But the night was filled with clouds. There was no spark amongst the heavens to bring a twinkle to his eye.
The next morning, Jesus was gone. He'd risen before sunrise to help the victims of a chemical bombardment in another part of the city I was told. Reports of casualties filtered back to us later in the day; scores of people had been blinded, swaths of their skin melted from their flesh, many unable to breathe without suffering great pain with the effort. A burning agent had been packed inside the bombs. The chemical was released upon detonation. The invisible assailant enveloped three city blocks. No one was spared.
I fear Jesus will be dead soon. Like all of us trapped in Aleppo, I fear he will be buried beneath the rubble, an unnoticed and forgotten casualty of an unmerciful war. I hope the legion he so strongly believes in will arrive before that time and deliver this city from the evil that seems bent upon extracting its very soul. But it's been two days since I last saw Jesus, and I am afraid for him. Aleppo is dying, and he is in its midst.
The Lion of Djibouti
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