Words have power, certainly, but not when they remain unsaid, definitely. The first part of that expression has become a trite too common in the parlance of motivational speakers; but is it really true? I have to begin this article this way: emphasizing the proper meaning of words, and how they come in handy in the everyday living. I would group words into two major classes: Words in potency (verba in potentia), and Words in motion (verba in acto). There are two levels of potency: words in the mind and written words; the former, more in potency than the latter. Every word is the creation of the intellect and an object of thought. To think, we need words, even if inaudible, which come directly from the intellect. This is why one is considered to think aloud when they speak. Man is considered intelligent just because of this: that he thinks and that he could also use words to communicate and express himself. The power in words, so to speak, would hardly lie in its spokenness, nor would it lie in the tone or temperament through which it is conveyed. Why do two persons who utter the same words mostly end up with different outcomes? Why are some words considered a mere flatus vocis when rendered in certain conditions, or by certain persons – those same words which would bring huge changes at other situations, or with different dispositions? There is power in every utterable word; but there isn’t in every uttered word. In other words, though every word, whether in the thought, in the book, or out in the open, has in it an untapped potential, it is the (utterer’s) meaning which triggers the power in them. Utterance could as well be within as it is without. Say them emptily, they are immediately empty; but say them with full consciousness of what they are, they become that. Words are messengers of creation; and until they are treated as such, they’d create nothing. Remember, “Let there be light” always precedes, ‘and there was light’.
Gratitude, that noble act of being thankful, has always been identified with spoken words such as Thank you, Thanks, God bless you etc. These words, it is believed, encourages the benefactor to do more when called upon. The sayings in the Igbo wisdom register thus: ekelee dike na nke omere, omekwaa ozo and ekelee nwanyi akidi, ogwota ozo capture this in totality. In the act of giving, there is this conception (a misconception in fact) which places the giver above the one who receives. There is a gradient, a slope which gives the giver a sense of superiority and entitlement, while the given, receiving from below is made to harbour the sense of privilege being done to an inferior, an invalid, a beggar. The respect then becomes the given’s to give, and the giver’s to expect. The measure of gratitude, as we are accustomed to, is in how many thank you the beneficiary recites, how they should come and venerate the giver for giving so much, and/or even how ferocious this deed is proclaimed to all who should know. This, and the fact that the beneficiary must feel eternally grateful for such patronage. ‘How could I ever repay you?… May God replenish your pockets tenfold’ as if the purpose of giving is to be rewarded with more, or to be appreciated, exulted, gratified or respected. To be grateful for a favour received should be a simple act from the heart, displayed in different manners by different persons as disposition allows. We should not force everyone into the tiny box we have made with regard to how gratitude is expressed. In fact, in the act of giving, both the giver and the receiver should be grateful to each other: for acceptance (which portrays humility), and for sacrifice (which bespeaks generosity). It should be a mutual sentiment portrayed for different reasons, and in different ways.
Would gratitude only pass for those acts which are recited over and over, in words and reverence? What about the silent prayer offered for the giver, oblivious to the giver? What about the secret admiration and respect which also could be hidden from and rarely shown to the giver? What about the visible effect of the help one has rendered – how many thank yous could bring the natural joy of fulfillment to both the benefactor and the beneficiary? There is more to gratitude than just spoken words and visual tantrums. The real gratitude is in the heart. When the heart that receives is grateful, nothing else matters. However, even if it is written in their faces how grateful they may be, but in their heart is ungratefulness, would you still call that gratitude? The senses deceive at times; and woe to one who looks only at faces: their reward could be just the superficial thanks and praises they receive. Sometimes, people have no words to thank you; accept that and live with it. The measure of the thank you should not determine how much more one should do. True givers give in spite of those who receive, in spite of the bloated honour and respect, in spite of what they would gain in advance. At other times, they do not appreciate what you do; it is not a good enough excuse to stop. Gratitude is a prayer; you never know who is still offering one for you. Gratitude is a blessing; you cannot tell the keys to all your blessings. Gratitude is reciprocal; the hands that give should be grateful that there are hearts that receive; and the hands that take must be grateful for the hearts that give. It is not merely the hands that accept, it is the heart as well; and that is where we should look to find gratitude.
Time and Life: the fate of those who live
Tempus fugit: says Virgil in the Georgics (fugit inreparabile tempus). As slow as the hand of the clock goes, it breaks records with every passing second. As unyielding as the sands of time, they eventually fill the glass in the hour clock. Time is the oldest created entity, yet the most consistent in what it does. Time measures every other thing, as it is the primordial unit inside which other units must exist. Light travels at unprecedented figures in way of speed (some three hundred million miles each second), yet never could it have travelled faster than time. Time flies, and everything with it. Time tarries not, and on its basis physical creation is possible. Within the ambience of time, the new becomes old, the strong becomes stronger, the weak becomes strong, and the stronger turns feeble. Time sees it all, still it remains time, graceful and steady.
Then there is Life, the very thing that gives meaning to creation, either of plant, of animal, or of man. A copy of the Maker’s, born of His breath, life becomes the single most invaluable treasure to those who are given it. Earthly life may have come after time, but life as Life is the brain behind the birth of time. Life is the reason time exists, and the existence of time solely to regulate life. However, as life flows in the arteries and veins of every animal, and through the xylem and phloem of every plant, it is the life of man which is the ultimate sense in creation. The whole of creation – as beautifully crafted as it may be, without the life of man, that humus carved to later embody the Divine, and infused with the spirit in semblance with the Maker’s – loses it beauty. In a lighter sense, if creation was necessary, then man was even more, because the rest of creation was made for him. In the Igbo ontology, cosmology and cosmogony, the word for man as per human is Mmadu. This is the abridged form of the original Mma Ndu (from ndapu mgbochiume) thus: Mma which translates to Goodness or beauty, and Ndu translating to Life. To the Igbo, Man is the beauty of life; and nothing makes more sense than this.
As there is for Plato, the world of forms and the world of substances, so there is the realm of time and the realm of eternity; more so is life made of two forms: the form that dwells with time, and that which dwells with the eternal. These are not different lives, for there is only one life for everyone, interrupted, however, at some point – the point of departure from one realm into the other. The life in time is governed by time, and the timeless life is free from the clutches of time. Time is a factor in every life, as is space. Life and Time are entities which cannot successfully be separated, as one is strongly diffused in the other. Every life has its clock, and is regulated by it. Once life ceases to be, no matter the precedence, time stops; and whenever the time stops for anyone, their life cannot go on. This life is what I refer to as the dying life. Life is radioactive, to speak as a scientist; life decays. In this life, there is no adding up; there is only subtraction – this because time itself uses up its battery life which is never replenished. Nothing in life is renewed; everything is used, and once they are used up, they stop working. Life is that way because time is that way. To renew, one has to discard and undo. To discard and undo, one has to stop, go back and correct; and time does not have time to do these. Time just moves; life just goes on.
THE WASTED TREASURE
In our folly, we often think that time wasted which is not employed in occupations which enhance life. In reality, time is never an ally of ours; in fact we work against time everyday of our lives. We can never waste time, even though we create it. Any deliberate inaction put forth to devalue time inadvertently devalues life. One thing with time is that it carries everything with it in its travels, irrespective of who moves or who does not. As the globe makes its rotations and revolutions in a direction, not minding who chooses a different route, so does time in its voyage. In a bid to bide time, or waste it, as the case may be, we waste life. To waste life is to invite the hangman’s noose, since we’d be guilty of murder. Life is the greatest treasure given as a gift to man, for no merit of his; and so to treat it with such scorn as to waste it deserves the greatest consequences. It is the case then, to regard that life wasted which is not employed in doing things at the right time. That thing is right which is done at the right time; and no right thing could ever be done at the wrong time. In other words, a wasted life comprises of actions not rendered when they should be or inactions done when actions are needed. Wrong times don’t exist; only right times and right actions. A right thing (something or nothing) becomes wrong when it is not done at the right time. In our dying life, time leads us closer (everyday) to the grave, but we often fail to realise. We pray for more years where we cannot get more life. A twelve year old whose time is set at 40 would have only 28 more – provided nothing eventual happens. Every happy birthday is indeed a happy reminder of how shorter ones life is. Every life is radioactive; and is governed by its own decay constant and half-life. And just as time is an extension of eternity, and is lost in it, so the dying life here is only an extension of one single life. Life is a continuun, only interrupted by the briefest hiatus. This we call death, which in reality happens everyday when this life decays. The lesson on living is also a lesson on dying, since we can live only they way we die.
It is a good thing to remember death as we live, but nothing is better than remembering the life we would want, and so trying to die the way we wish to live. In our bid to live well, we must learn to die well; and this not just for the d-day, but for everyday. The quest to die well is consequent of the fact that we learn by doing. We then learn to die well by actually dying well everyday. Where does time come into all these? Quohelette says: “..time exists for everything under the sun”. Everyday we live is another day we die. It continues this way until the day we die no longer. If one puts off the dying now, and tries to live instead, that day comes when they die the death they owe, and still die for putting it off; for trying to live instead of dying; for not doing what they should do at the right time…
We die as we live that we may live as we’d die.
Where Love lands us
{Ruth 2:1-11; 4:1-14, Matt. 23:1-12} There certainly is time for everything, says the preacher: a time to plant {with tears and sweat} and a time to reap {with joy} [eccl. 3]. A popular saying goes thus: ‘time will tell’, and yeah, time does. Just as no good seed goes into a good soil unrewarded, so it is that no single deed, no matter how simple, welling from a good heart filled with love, goes unrewarded. Ruth have up her people for love’s sake, but she wasn’t left without a people, she became the favoured one in a foreign land, through whom the saviour will come. She have up their god; what did she get? It was a reverse; God inherited he just as Boaz would. When she left her home for a foreign land with Naomi, they had nothing left. She didn’t look back because her heart was filled with love – that is what sustains us in despair, when all seems to be lost – Love. There are three things that last, says St. Paul: faith, hope, and love; but he quickly added: ‘and the greatest of these is love’. Ruth had lost her faith in the god of her people in Moab. she lost hope when her husband died, and she refused the offer of a greener pasture. She was married for ten years with no issue, she might have lost any hope of having one. In our time, a couple go 3 years without a child, and the marriage is in danger, but only because it lacks one thing – love. Ruth lost every other thing but love, and this rekindles every other thing, just as oxygen does no a glowing splint. Without it we are gone, remove it we are good as dead. That is the reason we are alive; and for it we live, for we are created in love. Ruth went from widowhood to the kings’ generation. She went from poverty to royalty; from childlessness to fruitfulness, all because of love. Christ’s last words today that, “whoever humbler himself shall be exalted…” was evident in Ruth’s life. Yes exaltation: that is where love lands us. Sure, there will be sufferings and hard times, but these don’t really last. What lasts is the fruit of your love; the sheaves of your harvest. Life’s winter is short, but eternal is its springs-tide. God Bless you..!
Call Her Blessed, and be blessed. Simple!
Glorious things are told of You…
A city too big for the earth, yes you got me right. The earth is made up of cities and kingdoms. The city of Rome, upon all its prowess in besieging nations, was never glorious, maybe because it couldn’t conquer itself. Jerusalem didn’t listen to God, and hence, the turmoil it’s been in even till this day. The list goes on…but there’s got to be a difference.
A glorious city is a great city, and of it alone are glorious things told. How prophetic, yet not totally novel was the psalmist when he proclaimed: “glorious things are told of You…”. If Caesar dwelt in the city of Rome, and David in the city of Jerusalem; if Elizabeth III dwelt in the city of London, and the Pope in the Vatican city, then where dwells the maker of all these, the maker of the world; not just the maker, but where dwells the ruler of the universe? There has to be a city of God, most minds will defo go to heaven, but wait! Catechism teaches that God is everywhere, so He wouldn’t just sit in heaven yet He’s got a kingdom, a city. But is there a city that can ever contain the maker of the limitless universe? It’s like a man entering into the small television he built, but multitude of men and mansions and cities are found in the T.v. anyway.
It’s got to be a mystery, that is, inexplainable, no matter how hard one tries. In God is the heavens, in Him is the universe such that He cannot be contained even in the most infinite of these, since He’s more infinite. Yet, and I say, yet, He lived in a much smaller space. Smaller? How have we measured it? With what unit? Where are the boundaries, and how small is this space? We can’t answer because we can never know. The Virgin’s womb is being referred to here, and how could it have contained He whom the heavens cannot contain? Two things come to mind: either it is big enough to contain God or that it could never have contained Him. The Blessed Virgin carried God for nine months, and that’s why glorious things are told of Her because She is the city of God. There is or rather are certain characteristics of the city of God. First, it must be big enough to habour God, and second, it must be pure enough to house God. From elemetary logic, if Mary carried God, if Mary is the mother of God, then She satisfied the whole requirements, though made possible by God. She is the city of God, and no earth can withstand the walls of God’s city, the body of the Theotokos. Hence, the Assumption.. .
Happy Feast day mother mine
DOING NOTHING: The Kpim of all Evils
A Prelude
For the first time since July, I attended the Holy Mass, and there was no mini applause following the Homily, rendered by the same Priest who has always done so. Instead there was a dead or grave silence, not for want of hands that could applaud, nor for want of reasons to applaud; for indeed, the homilist has always been a seasoned Word Broker. That dead silence could be a consequence of a possible self-accusation going on in minds; or it could be a result of the unsuspected hammer-blow which came down hard on, or a two edged sword that pierced the heart of men. That moment, if the Transubstantiation is the climax of every holy Mass, was the anti-climax of this very Mass – not a low, but a high, in its unique way. The presence of the Divine could never have been doubted, mistaken or overlooked or not noticed, at this time. Hearts were really laid bare, as the strength to applaud gradually dissipated. Though every part of that sermon had that flaming sword coming, it would only be fair to point to the very moment of truth when the edges of the sword drew blood from those hearts; and we could try. That moment could have been the Kevin Carter moment.
WHEN ‘DOING NOTHING’ EVENTUALLY OUTDOES DOING SOMETHING
When people do not want to do good, either for gain from or for fun of evil, they do nothing. Those who prefer the easier path do nothing, when ‘doing something’ seems a bit demanding. Everyone who has failed to tell the truth at the most critical times, maybe for fear of losing favours, or of being in the bad books, has throughout history, opted to say nothing. Then, when they are confronted with a ‘why’, are wont to reply that ‘silence is golden’. Meanwhile, someone else is condemned to some unfair sufferances while these enjoy their ‘gold of silence’. The worst type of gamblers, and indeed the most dangerous, are those who predict so as to favour the both sides of event. This way, they stand to gain something, no matter whose ox is gored. Failing to take sides has not always been honourable save in few cases where ‘taking sides’ is counterproductive. The world thinks it heroic and wise to sit on the fence; and those who maneuver the truth at all cost to get to the imaginary fence are hailed and held in high esteem. Sometimes they are called diplomats. But one truth cannot be maneuvered: the imaginary fence is a lie, and those who decide to sit on it sit on a lie; and by so doing, have chosen, ipso facto, to dwell with the side of falsehood, to fight against truth. The choice to say nothing is a choice to say the lie. Neutrality is not a trait associated with man: we are either older or younger, male or female, dead or alive. There is no middle term in our nature; and so, the very attempt to create a middle term is itself frivolously vain – an illusion. In the ever raging war between good and evil, the choice to do nothing is a choice to do evil, since evil is only a privation of good.
Sometime in 1994 when the Hutus were decimating the Tutsis in Rwanda, in the greatest genocide and tribal cleansing of the post 1990, the whole soccer world had their attention in the World Cup ongoing in the United States, and a year earlier a high degree famine was causing havoc in another part of Africa, Sudan. These represent three great evils in history: the man-made evil, the natural evil, and the chief of all – the evil of indifference. This last one is more dangerous because, while the first would require a lot of energy and resources, and even lives, to be ignited, it requires only one thing – just sit and do nothing. And this was what the world did at that time, in response to the crisis of hunger and death – sheer insensitivity. That same year, the best picture and caption award (otherwise known as the Pulitzer Prize) went to a certain Kevin Carter, a man of African descent (sink in fast!). The great journalist went to the death-ridden country overwhelmed by famine. He did not go there as a humanitarian agent with food, water or monetary aid. He went there for the same reason(s) most, if not all, journalists went to crime scenes and concert halls, to award nights and political rallies – to sell their papers, most of them covered with sweet lies. The award winning picture of 1993 in 1994, however, had its peculiar story to tell. That was the sight of the site of an emaciated dying girl child, and a vulture lurking by. Obviously, the child would die from want of water and food, and could die without a grave, while hopeful of another meal was the vulture. But Carter saw a different thing: Opportunity, but of a different kind. He took the well-taken photograph rather hastily (note the paradox), and took off the next moment,…To catch his flight. Nothing is known of the dying young girl, and the salivating nearby bird of prey thereafter, but your guess could be as good as mine. Carter became famous from that single picture,
Man and Vulture: A paradox
but his fame did not keep him for long. Later, during one of his post-fame radio presentations where people called and congratulated him, he would be required to answer a single question by a different caller: “…after taking the photograph (of the girl and the vulture), what did you do?” He tried to give the ‘late and catching my flight’ excuse, but he knew that wouldn’t do. Even more shell-shocked was he, from the caller’s next line. The caller said, “Carter,…you see…there were two vultures in that photo scene: one, the animal vulture; the other, the human vulture… And you are that…vulture”. Days later, Carters body was found in a metaphorical mid-air from a metaphorical noose his own hands had made. All the fame and money which he was so sure were his just a few weeks before, whose were they just a few weeks after? Should he not have taken the picture? That is not a problem. Should he not have left that girl with the vulture? That’s it. At least he could have been happier with his fame and laurels. And he was only 33.
When we keep silent to the evil that happens to others, just because it does not seem to affect us; when we leave people up to fate, sooner than later that evil will overtake us in grand-style, and their fate would become better than ours. Carter could have rescued that girl that day, if not from the imminent death hovering around in form of hunger, then from the vulture which hovered in wait so as to scavenge her lifeless corpse. At least, a decent death, in warm hands and consoling tears, would have made the evil, so much overlooked by the rest of the world, more bearable. Carter chose fame over life (we do that every day); he chose to do nothing when the opportunity called to do good – at least throw a stone at the vulture that would definitely be back as soon as he took off. Among men are many Kevin Carters, and worse. We choose indifference when action calls. We dive into the sea of apathy when, at least, sympathy beckons. In order to flee responsibility, we choose neutrality, which, unknown to us, is laden with double portions of the outcomes we dread. The lesson is not ‘to point at Carter’ for that singular act, or lack thereof, but to point at the man we see in the mirror for all the evils that happen and that have ever happened around us. Kudos to all who, even when they could not muster much, have always done the little they could. That is the Widow’s Mite required of all to give. Imagine the world, if and when everyone starts putting up their hands, and giving that long overdue Widow’s Mite in response to the evils that rock our world!!! What a world that would be!
At last, most people who left the Chapel after the Mass were going home with something in their hearts screaming in its little musical voice: See something; Do something. The fight is on. Face the evil that face the world.
Inspired by the Preacher© NWANNEMADU®
THE SWORDED HEART – A Poem
Who wields the sword that pierces Thee? To whom is Thy Soul's within shown? Pain or pleasure, which rocks Thy heart, From the violent thrust by hand unknown? O Lady, bearer of the Ancient Word, And to the Ageless Spirit bethrothed, How tranquil did Thou remain within, While those lips, quivering and old, spilled such News? Words as stong, e'en the brave could crumble; And as deep, even the sage would grope, Uttered in manner 'void of urgency, To a maiden heart guiless and lowly. O Virgin, Mother to the Word that made And Fathered by the Supreme Life-giver; How Thy heart so frail; Thy soul spotless, Is run through in ways not yet conceived! What is the sword which rends Thy soul so? How could my heart which thinks of this know? O Dove pure, let me find the Truth hidden In that verse plain, yet with riddles ridden. Echoes of the past, how they now resound! Mother and Son, two scenes in contrary times. Two hearts in one web caught - pain and sorrow: The spare stuck to His, as a sword to Thine. And no more secrets, the thoughts of men... For with the Light or the Night each must dwell. Then the prophet's words, with Thee, true would tell: "Thy soul too, a sword shall pierce"; Not in vain. Austyn Chimbuoyim
A CANDLELIGHT IN THE MIDST OF BREEZE: A Eulogy
I'll recall, but faintly, the first full smile On your face, warming and embracing. Vibrant and lively, you endeared many to you; Passionate and calm, your goals you chased O faithful servant of his Nation No wonder those great monarchs loved you! Yet, even a greater leader of his household Hero and father to one and all. For like a candle you burned out Though the breeze came strong, you held on Let your good heart console you And your rare service pave your way. Once great servant to your children To your spouse, twice a good helper The darkest nights cannot erase The fond memories of you in bright light Your impression on me edifying and encouraging, Never did I regard you less. 'The General' as you fondly called me Only tells so little a tale of you. Does it have to be now, your bow you take? But when is ever best for a farewell? The sweet music would too come with discords few But then, e'en the best has its fair share. When about 3 full moons ago, I left without a word, I thought I'd still come back to see you're well. Little did I know how God would call the time. But our prayers for you would lead you thro... Requiscat in Pace... The music is always better after a Rest...
Hope Amidst Depair
Rumours have a pedigree for deceit, but also they are never totally devoid of truth. People have a perchance for carrying rumours, but also they tend to disregard them when they don’t either suit their taste or fancy, or when they don’t make sense to them. The resurrection story started as a rumour, not just because it was carried by a two few, but also because the chief messengers were women. Why should it be taken seriously? And so, the men gathered in the upper room were losing patience and already reconsidering their next step – some to go back to fishing, others to the tax office, each to wherever they used to be. As such, the two disciples on their way to Emmaus didn’t have to wait for a time called later. Like, possibly, they rest, they had lost hope. They were only a sample from the general consensus of the men who followed Christ. The story wasn’t making sense to them, for some reasons we wouldn’t explore here. But they told and discussed it anyway, on their way back to the old life. Despair takes us back to the lowly places we used to dwell. A discipleship of many weeks and months was dissolving the solvent of despair. Could God allow that? These were the witnesses-to-be, who would take His Word to the ends of the earth. Now, they were walking away; not just to the ruin of the Gospel, but to their own doom as well. A walk back to the old hood, even after encountering Jesus, is a walk into the vessel of undiluted doom.
But…
Jesus intervened. He taught them; their hearts were aglow. But the turning point was a point of departure or separation. Possibly, they unconsciously wanted to hear more from Him whom they didn’t recognize. Something was familiar – something they could not quite figure out. “But let’s buy some more time – for time would tell”. So, grasping at the looming darkness as an excuse, they invited Him in: “…please, come and dwell with us…for it’s already night”. Jesus accepted. At the table, He took the bread and broke it, and gave to them; their eyes opened. That was a great message He came to give them; as though He was saying: “Go back to Jerusalem and be My witnesses”. They did go back; and this time, though still a two few, their message gave credence to that of the first two few – the women – He is risen. He would not allow anyone to be lost who didn’t want to. Follow Him! The dark night of doubt and rumours and despair will come. But Christ will never allow you to walk away lost – but that is, if you have followed Him.
PEACE!
The Starving Tomb: the greatest parable ever
In His 30 years in the flesh Christ taught in parables, the multitudes that came to Him, but none of those parables compared with the one parable He taught all at death. In those years too, He worked a whole lot of miracles, but none compares with the miracle He wrought at death. By the uttering of the perfect phrase, “IT IS FINISHED”, He didn’t mean an end to His parables nor a halt to His Signs or miracles. One more teaching greater than all other teachings put together was brewing on the eternal stove; and one more sign unmatched by even the creation of the first man was yet not wrought. The final laugh was coming, and it wasn’t the devil’s to give; Never. The devil seemed triumphant at the utterance of that last cry, so laughed like the Victor. Count day 1, and then the 2nd day, yet the mocking laugh persisted amid the quietness that rocked the upper room – the mockery directed to the Father Himself.
However, like in Cana in Galilee where the best wine came last, the best parable and the best sign and the best laugh were always reserved as the last treats. Could the one who made heaven and earth, and all within them from nothing (ex nihilo) not change the fortunes of the cross, nay more the grave? The cross was always an object of abandonment and derision; and the grave the house of corruption and doom. Those who hung on the cross were cursed, and those who went into the grave, forgotten forever.
As if the large stone which covered it was not enough, extra Roman guards were required to keep the body of Christ within. And it seemed to be working until…the third day. The two Marys were going for the tomb run, as parents go for school run to pick-up their wards each day; but this time, they did go to anoint the dead. While going they worried about many things ranging from ‘now what next?’ to what the Jewish leaders would do this time, to “who will remove the stone for us”. They expected no surprises, but were greeted with the greatest surprise any man could be given. Not only that their worry about the stone had been taken care of, but also the empty tomb which proved too much for them. They were seeing the parable unfold, but like other parables, they could not understand. They saw Lazarus step out from the tomb, but this sign was far bigger than that. They saw this man manhandled, they saw Him die, in the most excruciating pain and anguish. They saw hope flee and disappear and dissolve into the air. They cried, they wept, yet no relief came. They were now going to perform the last traditional rites – the ritual which bespeaks the faith of those who have given up, and the fate of the corpse within the tomb – acceptance and decay respectively.
They needed an interpreter for what lay before them: both the parable and sign of the empty tomb – the sign of Jonah. The Angel did come, and thus their minds were made to grasp, and their eyes opened to see both the parable and the sign hewn in one incomprehensible picture. It seemed like a dream as the Psalmist prophesied: “when the Lord delivered His people from bondage, it seemed like a dream. Then was our mouths filled laughter;… on our lips there were songs”. They would have wanted to share in that laughter, and shout their songs like crazy women, but for the paralysing effect of wonder, they were too awestruck to do either. Instead, in silence they rejoiced, and without tears they wept when they saw Lord. Then they became the first ever audience to the greatest parable ever told, and witnesses to the greatest wonder ever wrought – the mystery of the Empty tomb. They were going to share the joy with the disciples, but the message was: “go to Galilee, you are will see Me there”. And to Galilee we shall go… The fate of the cross was changed forever and it became a condition sinequanon for everyone who wishes to conquer the tomb’s stronghold as Christ did. “If anyone wants to be my follower, let them carry their Cross and follow Me”. Be not afraid of the cross; it’s a tree that takes us up to the Father, in the footsteps of the Son, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. The tomb was starved of victory, as it will always be by those who learn to die embracing the cross Jesus.
Joy, Love and Peace!
The Sleep That bought Freedom
Often times we go to see someone of note, and we’re met by their servant or family member: Oga dey sleep. Those three words hold much more than what they appear to say. Most times, when said to completion we hear something like: “He is sleeping, and doesn’t need to be disturbed”, and this, no matter the urgency we have come with.
Today, the King sleeps, not in rest as the Ogas of this world, but in further battle to save the prey from in-betwixt the lion’s jaws. Today comes with its own disposition, and the world reacts differently. Today, as with some thousands of years ago, some Jewish fishermen were in self isolation, as we unavoidably are – both us and them, out of grave fear. Behind locked doors, they sat in sadness, with heads bent low, and spirits cast down. For them, no iota of hope remained. This could easily become our portion today, but for slightly different reasons. They hid within the walls of the upper room, afraid and hopeless and reconsidering their very next move – and the shame that would accompany it. Now, we’re begining to experience the real panic, the fear the world wants to see in our faces. The fishermen were afraid because the Lord was dead, and in the most embarrassing way – He did not come down from the cross, as anyone would expect. We’re in hiding because COVID-19 is becoming more real, and as the stats keep rising, so are the worries of great many faces. But we also share a semblance of the worries of the fishermen above because, we too are disciples just as thy were. As much as COVID-19 is real, it is not any more real than Christ being locked-up in the grave – the house of corruption. But like the Psalmist wrote: “my body shall rest in safety”, and in another place, “…for You will not leave my Soul among the,…nor let Your Beloved know decay”, Christ came not to abolish the law, but fulfill it. And this too will be fulfilled – only if the disciples knew…
The inaction of today has called for silence over the earth, and serenity over the hearts of believers. The body lay within the grave inactive, but the Spirit went forth to evangelize, and free all (from Adam to Moses to Elijah to our fore-fathers) from the stranglehold of death, and from within the jaws of the lion himself who is the prince of this world. Today, the popular scripture verse: “be still and know that I am God” is fulfilled. We are told to be calm, have no fears, neither shout nor dance nor play around; we’re told to be hopeful amidst the jeering voice of those who kill hope, to be reconciled again with the Father; we’re told to be sorrowful not because of what they Jews did to our Master, but because of what our Master underwent for our sin, for us. “Be still…”, in solitude, in aloneness with God. This is the time to reflect deeply upon the greatest mysteries of our faith – there, we’ll find that ‘no death is too strong for love to handle’ and very soon, the latest cries of victory will be heard in horizon – victory over man’s greatest nemesis, victory over death. And I hope your voice as well as mine would be heard amidst the United voice of those who believe.
But for now, be silent, be still, hush now…for the king is Asleep…and His is the sleep that bought freedom.
Faith! Peace!
Fiat Lux! 