I’ve not been the same, not since that night. I came with the enemy, intent on crushing the life out of him. Desperate to settle this thing once and for all, didn’t realise I was building on lies and mistruth. I heard the rumours and believed them. Swallowed them as juicy morsels of gossip. And now I’d come to help with finishing him, enjoying the high drama of it. Something to boast about the next day. I was there, I was part of it. Then it happened. The pain and the blood and the horror. The sword flashing in the torch light. Could not quite grasp what was going on for a second or two. Till I pressed my hand to my head and felt the warm sticky mess. The gap where my ear should have been. When he started to approach me I thought he was going to finish me off, end what his friend had started. But his reach was gentle, calming, his hand open and peaceful, not a fist. And when he pressed his palm to the wound everything changed. The pain subsided. And more, the restless hunger inside too. Something shifted. As he backed off and they grabbed him with angry snarls and hustled him away, I stood there, my hand on the place where that wound should have been. Cured. Healed. Put back together. In the dark and the menace of that meeting he reached out, amidst the fury he dared to calm the storm with a single touch. And now I am not the same. I changed lanes. My life began again that night, no idea where it will take me now, but not down that previous road. Now I’m on a different trail. Now I’m heading for home.
Luke 22 v 47-51