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Miryam10

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  • Frank Thomas Smith
    Days, nights, weeks, months: I thought about the same thing: I would go to the desert monks and demand my brother back, who betrayed his duty to manage
    Message 1 of 1 , Apr 6, 2004
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      Days, nights, weeks, months: I thought about the same thing: I would go to
      the desert monks and demand my brother back, who betrayed his duty to manage
      father's house, business and inheritance. That's what I'd say. Duty is duty.
      And I would also say: you have also stolen Yeshua of Nazareth from his
      family. Hs mother lives without his help. Is that right? Does the Law allow
      that?

      One day I was ready: I had coins sewn into my clothing, took the strongest
      of my servants with me, chose the strongest two donkeys, and was on my way.

      An adventure. A crazy plan. Sure. But that's how I was: once decided and
      begun, I carried it through.

      We rode for many days along the Jordan. Where to now, my servant asked, and
      she didn't want to continue.

      To Bethany, I said. It's not much farther. When I said that we were near
      Jericho.

      Yerushalayim is there, the servant said, in the west, Bethany is over there,
      why are we riding farther south?

      Why? I didn't know.

      You go to Bethany, I said, go to my relatives, to Martha, Miryam and
      Lazarus, I'll come afterwards.

      Where are you going?

      I didn't answer. I didn't know. I rode on. Sand and thorns, snake tracks,
      fox dung: the desert. Then the dull smell of dead water: the salt-sea. And
      then I saw the desert lodgings in the hills: lions' caves rather than human
      dwellings. Fortresses, unconquerable, unapproachable. Like a city of the
      dead. And my little brother was there. I was sure of it. And Yeshua too? I
      wasn't sure of that.

      What to do? I stood there, close to the goal and far from the goal. A
      useless trip?

      Then I saw, yellow in the desert sand, between the salt-sea and the hills,
      some nomad tents. I would get information here. I got none.

      As soon as I got close, two figures with their faces hidden came out of a
      mountain gap. With outstretched arms they motioned me away. But I went
      closer until they could hear me, and I cried: you up there, you stole my
      brother. Give him back to me! Give him back his life!

      No answer. Only the echo. The men stood like stone figures, they were
      terrible, custodians of death, guardians of the black threshold. I cried:
      robbers of men, you living dead! You hold my brother and my lover prisoners!

      From where did the word lover come to me? The echo brought it back to me.

      Frank Thomas Smith
      http://SouthernCrossReview.org
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