It was getting dark. The abutments of the desert cast their long shadows upon the Jordan Valley. While the crowd dispersed, the Poor One of Nazareth stood immobile for a long while, enveloped by a cloud of contrary impressions. While amid such agitated interior currents, he left the place and without any.
preoccupation about shelter for the night and with slow steps, he went deeper into the desert with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground. After advancing several leagues, he stopped and sat on a rock along the path. The night was falling upon the mountain, obliterating the silhouettes of all creation.
Suddenly, in the distance, Jesus noticed a solitary figure approaching. When the traveler reached him, the Poor One saw that it was John the Baptist. They greeted each other. John asked the Poor One about his identity and sat down beside him. In the starlight, they had a memorable encounter.
“This battle axe is too heavy for me,” the Baptizer slowly began, as though pouring out pent-up emotions More than one thirsting for the water, more than the sentry at dawn, my soul awaits the One who has been sent so that I may hand over to him this heavy axe.”
A long silence followed. The Poor One of Nazareth oscillated between amazement and compassion before that unexpected venting of the prophet’s feelings. He wished that he had been a silent clam to catch each word of the Baptizer.
“Lift up your eyes, prophet of God, and count, if you can, the myriad of stars. All of them seem cold and distant and silent, but from all time and until the end of all time, they sing immortal hymns to the power and love of the Most High. Power, only power, is death; love is life. But if we join in one harmonious whole, if we join in one harmonious accord, there will be neither rotten roots that cannot heal nor calcified bones that cannot renew like the springtime, nor ravines that cannot be populated with cypresses, nor is there death that can- not be turned into a feast. We have always spoken of the All Powerful. When will we begin to speak of the All-Loving God?”
There was another long silence. Something mysterious stirred within the depths of John. An errant star, like a ray, opened a scar of light in the dark firmament.
“Our prophets have told us,” As though speaking to himself, “that in Sinai, the Eternal One skillfully wielded bolts of anger, and rode on horseback above clouds charged with fire”.
“Our Father always rides the white cloud of Mercy,” responded the Poor One sweetly.
“Our prophets,” retorted John, “affirm that the people are an indomitable flock who only understand the language of the whip; and fear is a devouring and menacing flame to whose splendor the people of God return, trembling, to the highroad. Otherwise, they would confuse love with weakness and take undue advantage of another’s kindness.”
“One night, not long ago,” insisted the Poor One, “I had a dream. I heard a voice telling me that I was not sent to be captain of a death squad; and the voice asked me these questions: What harvest will you gather if you sow salt? What does it mean to win? What purpose does a military victory serve? I had no answers. Before my silence, it continued: Son of Man, pay attention and write this down: You are sent to stoop to the ground and lovingly pick up the worm that drags itself across the ground so that it will not be trodden upon; to bury the shrouds of death deep in the ocean; to entice sinners seated at your table; to lean over the embers covered with ashes and lovingly blow on them until they become a living flame; to heal wounded fledglings; to infuse health on calcified bones until they become living creatures; to plant roses in the desert and make the springtime bloom in cemeteries; to straighten reeds beaten down by the storm, and with a magic touch, transform reeds broken by the trampling of passers-by into sweet sounding flutes. And the voice ended by shouting: ‘I want mercy!’ And on hearing this, I awoke.”
The Baptizer was moved profoundly. He was left without the energy to continue the conversation, with his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands. The Poor one remained silent. The night was so deep that they could not see each other even though they were close to one another. And when they were both silent, they had the strange sensation that the world had disappeared.
Taken from the book “The Poor One of Nazareth” Chapter 2 of Father Ignacio Larrañaga.
