What Hope When Murderers Reign?

When the world runs out of tears,

Because we can weep no more-

Because the body counts are becoming just more numbers-

Because those cut down are a different color, country, gender, politic, or faith-

Because one murder follows another and our hearts have no time to rehydrate-

When the world runs out of tears for the dead, You still know their names, the idea you had when you designed each one, their promise, Your potential within them

And you know where each one fell, and how, and by whose hand. They never really died alone or unwitnessed and the crimes against them, You recorded to be revealed on that day.

When the world runs out of tears, You still have compassion for the recent dead.

 

When justice is a punchline, a footnote in history, preserved for private viewing only in a museum of ancient history,

When justice is so rare it’s reserved only for those with the right skin, heritage, geography, connections, and cash,

When the people discard justice along the side of the narrow road and place their faith instead in mob rule, revenge, or power they were promised in the dark,

When the people tell their children justice is a fairy tale as they nurse them with bitter milk,

You remain the only righteous judge, the eternal process, the One who holds justice in His hands and You remember, better than we, every life that was stolen, every bone that was broken, every innocence penetrated, every womb violated, every tooth shattered, every blood splattered, every hope scattered

There will be a great gettin’ up morning when Holy Justice is the only item on the menu for the day.

 

When we finally blind ourselves because we cannot, will not, dare not see another blown up child, another kidnapped daughter, another young man shot through , another old man severed, another weeping mother, or orphaned babe

Because our hearts are fragile

Because our minds rebel against the horror

Because we can find no answers within ourselves

Because our eyes are scabbed from the scraping our hands across them in the agony of more front page art,

When we are finally blind, You will still see. Nothing escapes Your vision, Your scope, the reach of Your right arm. There is no darkness so dense that Your eyes cannot penetrate. Your laser focus sees them scurry like cockroaches from the True Light and You know where they hide. There will need be no other witness on that day of Holy Reckoning because You know where all the bodies lay and by Your power they will rise to testify against those who stole their light, their blood, their lives. You are the Eternal Irefutable Witness

 

When our love runs cold and we know longer have the heart to connect with another human who may die and leave us bereft,

When we are calloused and hardened from too many coffins,

When our arms no longer reach out to strangers, weakened by loss, by fear, by the weight of our cynicism,

When our minds, numbed by mass graves and headline tallies, lock up as if that were some protection from the pain,

When we are at risk of losing our own souls,

You will be our source, our wellspring, our ever-rich supply of Love Come Down, of Love Divine, of Love excelling, of Love never-ending, of Love that lays down its life, of Love that lifts, that amazes, that runs like a river from soul to soul, You will be the love we need to survive a murderous age and not just survive but to rise above and carry on

despite the fallen in Kenya,

despite the tortured in North Korea,

despite the beaten in China,

despite the exploited in Bangkok,

despite the kidnapped in Nigeria,

despite the beheaded in Syria,

despite the slaughtered,

the aborted,

the kidnapped,

the trafficked,

the gunned-down,

the poisoned,

the missing,

the murdered,

the silenced,

the dead.

Your love will fill us. Your grace is sufficient. The dragon roars and snuffs out as many as he dares before Your return but he knows too well that death will not win, that murderers will be called to account, that those who overcome will see Your face and live forever.

And when we are prostrate before You,

kneeling bedside,

standing hands raised,

seeking Your face,

we pray, O Lord, that You will search our hearts and pluck out the murderous seeds of anger against our brothers, seeds of unforgiveness, of selfishness, greed, of quarreling and lust before our hearts are hotbeds of murderous intentions that give rise to words that give thoughts to plans that give arms to action and we, too, fall prey to the murderous spirit of this age.

Without you, we would be found with blood on our hands when You return as well. But by Your blood, we are washed clean, even if we barely remember what that looks like surrounded by headlines that scream “Cain’s ancestors rule and Abel will never rise.”

We know the truth and we wait to rise at Your word, O Lord, at Your command. All who have fallen will rise on that day, at Your say.

Only say the Word and we shall be healed.

What hope when murderers reign? Just one. But One is enough. Jesus Christ, now and forevermore. Amen.

What Hope When Murderers Reign? http://t.co/wDsptHgHZk Just One – it is enough #amwriting #amwritingfaith #ISIS #murdervictim #KenyaAttack

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) April 9, 2015