Fraternity-Testvériség, 1970 (48. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1970-10-01 / 10-12. szám
but back to their flock. There they tried to assure each other. “We wanted to help, didn’t we?” And they found excuses for Aunt Sarah, too: “She was busy all right. Rarely does such an opportunity come to a widow like her to make a little extra money. You cant blame her.” Two days passed and on the third morning Mark noticed a woman coming up the path to their camo from Bethlehem. “Why, it’s Aunt Sarah. What brings her out this way so early in the morning? John, your Aunt Sarah is coming!” — he shouted. The old woman arrived pantine. “What’s with that young couple and the newborn baby?” — she gasped as she caught her breath without a word of greetine. ‘We don’t know. They still must be in the cave. The one which is used for a stable by the town-inn. you know.” The old woman’s voice was trembling: “The guests left this morning and I just realized what you were asking for the other night. I have the feeling l have missed something very important. 0, how could I let you go! Why didn’t you insist?” “Aunt Sarah, you were so busy, really ...” — John tried to assure her. But Abner spoke up: “I think you are right. You missed something. Something great. The greatest. You see . . .” — and Abner told the whole story: angels in the field, the prophecies, the inn, the stable, the wise men and the gifts and the miraculous brilliance on the baby’s face. “My goodness” ■— the old woman whispered. “I do know those prophecies, too. And the deliverer has come. She turned and ran as fast as an old woman could run. “I must find him, I must serve him.” Without stopping she ran to her house, flung the door open, grabbed a basket, threw two loaves of fresh bread into it, then a sheet of clean linen and a blanket of wool and took off for the cave. She must find them, she told herself. 0, how she will help them and care for them . . . the Savior in her house, . . . what an honor it shall be . . . Her heart beating heavily she entered the cave. It was empty except for the two beasts peacefully chewing on their hay. In the manger, in the hay there was still the imprint of the baby’s body. “They’re gone . . . they’re gone. O God, why didst Thou take them away from me?” — she wept bitterly. She noticed a servant coming in with a new bale of hay. “Where is the young couple and the baby? Do you know where they have gone?” She grabbed the servant’s arm, “You tell me.” “They’ve gone to Egypt, Aunt Sarah. The man told me he saw the Lord!s Angel in his dream who said to him, ‘Rise up, take the child and his mother and escape with them to Egypt, and stay there until I tell you; for King Herod is going to search for the child to do away with him.’ So he took his wife and the child, loaded them on their donkey and took off in a hurry.” “To Egypt” — the old woman mumbled to herself. “There I must go, too. I must find them. I must serve him.” And, as she was, with basket and breed and blanket she took the high road toward the South, toward Egypt. We don’t know what has really become of Aunt Sarah. Did she ever reach Egypt? Did she ever find the baby Jesus? But there is an old legend told in many lands for many centuries on Christmas Eve about an ageless old woman who wanders from house to house on the birthday of Jesus, with a basket on her arm and while everybody sleeps in the house she goes in and leaves some gifts behind: some for the grownups, some for the children and one more. That one for the Little Lord Jesus whom she had missed that day in Bethlehem. Col. Hugh J. Lynch Appointed Col. Hugh J. Lynch was recently appointed to the post of assistant chief of staff of Headquarters, Military District of Washington. Col. Lynch has served as Inspector General for the Washington area for the last two years. He is the husband of Gloria Beky and Son-in-Law of our President Bishop Beky. He is a member of our Branch No. 300. STOP, LOOK, AND LISTEN By: Lori B. Parker There’s a man down the street screaming, “Ban the Bomb”. The girl by his side saying, “Stop War in Nam”. Well note they want these men to pick up their guns, So that we can live ’til the day is done. But, bearded, long-haired kids don’t realize That they’re the enemies in soldier’s eye. Stop, Look, and Listen I plea. Stop, Look, and Listen to me. These men have had their share of pain and strife. As you can see they’ve lost their lives. The men lying here under flowers and dirt Can no longer feel the pain that hurts. They died for their country so that we might live, And some of the kids won’t even give A flower to be placed on a grave Stop, Look, and Listen I plea. Stop, Look, and Listen to me. I’ve written this poem for a reason or two, My father’s in Nam, and he’s being shot at for you So go and burn your cards, mess your mind up too, But if this country falls apart . . . the blame’s on you! Stop, Look, and Listen I plea. Stop, Look, and Listen to me. 13
