To what shall I compare the Christ?
Say you have a drop of dew — just a drop. You examine it closely and judge it to be perfect. Its transparency radiates purity; its substance, innocence. Innocence: so unmolested as to have existed before the sands of time were gathered; when mankind was still a dream, beautiful and full of promise.
You have from the butcher a big bucket of dirty, congealed blood: a foul container, full of the shattered parts of unclean animals, suitable only to be discarded.
As if compelled by an inaudible, irresistible voice, you drop the precious pearl of dew into the bucket.
You hold your breath as you see it fall into the ungodly mess below. And the dew disappears; it becomes completely absorbed by the filth, its ugly essence now in it. You gasp: Death has consumed Beauty.
Your conscience rips at your throat and tears wet your face.The ancient desire for meaning stirs violently within you: how can something so pure die in a sea of rot? Where is justice — what is justice?
A tired sorrow settles in your bones and you turn to leave. Suddenly, you stop: you hear music that reverberates in your soul like a resurrection. You return to the bucket and watch in awe as the liquid begins to stir. The dirty, congealed blood becomes clearer and clearer, until it is as pure as the dew was before: fresh, living water.
You are amazed. The water rises like the hope in your heart until it begins to overflow. You bring some to your lips to drink, and suddenly you are whole, from the tip of your thirsty, outstretched leaves, down to your hidden, buried roots. Whole: someone is joyously planting lilies where the thorns of your past have been, and your future, once threadbare and frayed, is turning into fine silk.
Can a man enter a second time into his mother’s womb to be born, to feel again the sharp, clean rush of life upon first breath?
For the overflowing water becomes a river that graces the dusty streets, and all who come to drink are cleansed and made whole: they are born again.
