Entry Forty-Five:
I walk down the road in the cool of the morning. At this time of year, Jericho is busier earlier in the morning and later in the afternoon because of the heat. But I mostly walk alone…the crowd parts before me like the Red Sea. Are they afraid to touch me? I see many of my one time friends…they look away, embarrassed. Even though they have declared my Benjamin to be dead, they keep him alive with their revulsion and disgust.
But as I think about this shunning, an older man comes up to me, takes me by the arm, and leads me to a place where there is less noise. He wants to talk. I recognise him. It is hard to live in a small town like Jericho and not know everyone. But he was never one of my closer acquaintances. He introduces himself to me. His name is Levi. “Are you a priest?” I ask. “By descent, yes,” he replies. But he says he wants to talk to me about my son, Benjamin. I am astounded anyone wants to talk about my son.
He tells me to be strong. Unlike him, I have hope, he says. His own son is dead…has been dead for years. For him there is no more hope. I remember him now. I attended the funeral. It was a drunken brawl that killed his son. The shame such a death brought on the family added to the crushing grief. They too had felt rejected…many people avoided them…others slandered them. Yes, they too were told they were bad parents. If they had raised their son in the fear of the Lord, this tragedy may have been averted. He speaks freely of his grief and tells me that I will learn later that grief can bring blessing…that in the utter devastation, we find the strength to live…but more. We find the strength to grow. Grow? How does one grow when life itself is being drained from you? But he assures me that the time will come when I will see he is right.
He asks if we may meet again. Yes, I say…and we arrange a time and a place.
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