Kažu da vreme leči sve rane?

Badnje veče u mom domu. Obeležavamo ove veče u okviru porodice, tradicionalna jela koje jedemo na Badnje veče od mog detinjstva, uobičajno i ustaljeno. Ali ovaj put i različito.

Lik iz crtaća na kojeg je moj deda jako ličio.
Završila se večera, deca se igraju, za stolom ostali samo stariji. I moj inače ćutljivi deda Janko se raspriča. Dugačak monolog, možda i najduži govor koji sam čuo od njega ikada. O siromaštvu, teškom detinjstvu i služenju na salašima, o volu koji ga je grejao dahom jer je jedino mesto za sluge bilo u štali (desetogodišnji dečak), kolonizaciji u Futog kao partizansko dete (i Slovaci su bili kolonizirani, ne samo iz Bosne i Crne Gore)...   kako je upoznao svoju suprugu, kako su se venčali... I na kraju kaže moj deda - "Volim ja da pričam", samo što retko priča. Još jedna tužna priča iz detinjstva. Deda je bio najstarije dete, u porodici koju bi danas nazvali disfunkcionalnom. 

Njegov deda (moj čukundeda) je bio lutalica, napustio porodicu i otišao u SAD, tamo koliko znamo ponovo se oženio. Lutao za zlatom, radio u Fordovim fabrikama, čak bio i šerif jedan dan (u vreme neke zlatne groznice, grupa u kojoj je bio moj čukundeda, stigla je u neko selo na Divljem zapadu, i pošto su bili najbrojniji izabrali su njega da održava red - sutradan su krenuli dalje za zlatom, i karijera šerifa se završila). Vratio se posle puno godina, navodno kada mu je sin tinejdžer koga je dobio u Americi izvršio samoubistvo. 

U toj atmosferi ostavljenosti, odrastao je moj pradeda. Rano se oženio, kaže deda da je rano počeo da pije, bio agresivan, zlostavljač. Kada se moj deda Janko rodio, sva sila zlostavljanja se sručila na njega. Dobijao je batine svakodnevno, iz različitih razloga, uglavnom potpuno nebitnih. Najčešći razlog je bio ipak kada bi nešto rekao. Kada bi progovorio, dobijao je batine. I kaže moj deda Janko - "Zato sam se uvek stideo da govorim, osećao se nesigurnim, nevrednim da govori." Moj deda Janko, od osamdeset pet godina, nosi ranu ceo svoj život.
Kažu da vreme leči sve rane... Nije istina! Mnoge rane vreme ne može da izleči. I kada imaš osamdeset godina, rana iz mladosti još uvek boli. Sa nekim ranama se i u grob leže. Kao moj deda Janko. Nekada sam se ljutio na njega jer nikada nije znao da razgovara sa mnom, da kaže neku lepu reč, nego uvek samo kritike - nikada nije ni naučio da to uradi. Nije imao od koga. 

Moje rane leči to sazanje, ali opet ne potpuno. Samo Hristos je nada. Isaija 53.4-5. "A ON bolesti naše nosi, i nemoći naše uze na se, a mi smo mislili da je ranjen, da Ga Bog bije i muči. Ali On je bio ranjen za naše prestupe, izbijen za naša bezakonja; kazna beše na Njemu našeg mira radi, i ranom Njegovom mi se iscelismo". 

Na kraju Badnje večeri, kada se spremao da ide u svoju sobu, ustade moj deda Janko, i reč - "Sada želim ja nešto da otpevam". I otpeva nam Božićnu pesmu. Pesmu koju je zapamtio iz detinjstva, sa veronauke koju je pohađao u Silbašu, u Evangeličkoj crkvi. Drhtavim, stegnutim grlom, ali je otpevao. O Hristovom rođenju i Njegovom delu. Moj deda koji je hrišćane nazivao licemerima, u osamdeset petoj godini peva o Hristu. I priča.

Kažu da vreme leči sve rane... Ne leči! Samo Hristos. Zato je došao, da na krstu ponese i naše rane, nemoći, da isceljuje našu slomljenu dušu. Nešto potpuno i odjednom, a nešto korak po korak. 

Ako vam se dopalo šta ste pročitali, nudim vam nekoliko opcija:
1. Prijavite se na ovaj blog. Polje za prijavu se nalazi sa desne strane blog, ispod spiska imena ljudi koji su se prijavili do sada. 

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I’ve kissed a junky’s hand

"In a conflict between the police and a group of young people gathered Sunday evening as a tribute to Alexis Grigoropoulos, a Greek teenager, three policemen were injured, and 35 people arrested in downtown Athens, Greece.                      
Greek agency ANA reported it’s peaceful in Athens after last night’s conflicts. The group of young people showered the policemen with Molotov cocktails, after which the response was shock bombs and tear gas. About 50 people gathered in Exarchia city block, which is a popular meeting place for anarchists and a place where policeman Epaminondas Korkoneas shot 15 year old Grigoropoulos from a fire gun and killed him on December 6th 2008. APF claims that protesters burned both trash cans and parked automobiles."

Today I walk the very same streets. Cars burned, marks left on pavement after Molotov cocktails, smell of gasoline and tear gas still in the air. Visible signs of anarchists, flags, and graffities. It is quiet, but tension is present.    

Down the same street is an Evangelic Church – The Church of God, the reason of my visit. At the door is a graffiti written by anarchists – To enter all churches (Anarchism as political movement that aims to abolition of all forms of state institutions which shall be replaced by self organized society of equality). It wasn’t meant as entering for the Word of God, but entering to abolish church as institution. Our host, Pastor of this church, stopped by to check whether the treats were conducted and the church was damaged.  It wasn’t. 

The very block Exarchia, is boiling with tension – emigrants, brothels, drug addicts, drug dealers… Just a few hundred meters away from the University and the Parliament a completely different world. I cannot say this world, this mixture of creativity, arts and evil is not interesting to me; I look at it all with my eyes wide open. I almost wish to switch places with my host Pastor, to serve God in this place… It is a world of confusion and chaos and brokenness, covered up not to be noticed from the main street, but strong and present.

While walking, we encountered an Orthodox priest. An elderly man, perhaps in his sixties, educated, a professor. Friend to our host, so we introduced, shared few words about where we came from and what are we doing in Athens (apologetics training)… so I mentioned this part of my calling to work with drug addicts. And this priest started his story.

“Just yesterday, a junky approached me at this very street corner, asking for some money. I took some money from my pocket, pressed it in his palm, bowed down and kissed his hand” he said. I first thought I misunderstood the priest’s poor English, that it was the opposite, that this junky kissed the priests hand, but he continued his story: “The junky looked at me in wonder and asked me – Why do you kiss my hand? I answered – Your hands also need to be kissed.” This old man, a priest, kissing hands of a junky begging for money; respecting him as a human, seeing worth in him, in this broken man, in this broken city block, in this place of conflict and evil.

The Church of God, Athens, Greece 
Just like Christ – God who came to this world of evil and chaos, to give worth to us people, “kissed our hands”. The image of tiny old man still hovers in my mind while I’m typing this blog in my hotel room. Image of a man who imitates Christ, renouncing his own title… fulfilling the words of Apostle Paul in Philippians 2:  "Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus,  who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped,  but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name,  so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth,  and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

A call for me (you) to: 1. Empty myself, to follow the image of Christ and be the one who adds worth to people around me; 2. Love this broken world; not just like it but to genuinely care for brokenness to be healed; 3. Celebrate Christ’s “kissing of hands” even more at this Christmas, for Christ has by his birth, death and resurrection, given to me, a sinner, gave worth I certainly do not deserve. 

Poljubio sam narkomanu ruke

"U sukobima policije i grupe mladih, koji su se okupili u centru Atine u nedelju uveče da bi obeležili godišnjicu ubistva grčkog tinejdžera Aleksisa Grigoropulosa, povređena su tri policajca, a 35 osoba je privedeno.
Grčka agencija ANA je javila da je u Atini mirno posle sinoćnih sukoba. Grupa mladih zasula je "molotovljevim koktelima" policiju koja je odgovorila šok bombama i suzavcem. Oko 500 ljudi okupilo se u četvrti Eksarhija, koje je popularno sastajalište anarhista i mesto gde je policajac Epaminondas Korkoneas iz vatrenog oružja 6. decembra 2008. ubio 15-godišnjeg Grigoropulosa. AFP navodi da su demonstranti palili i kante za đubre i automobile. (prenosim vest iz Kurira, 6.12.2015.)"
Danas šetam istim tim ulicama. Spaljena kola, tragovi molotovljevih koktela po asfaltu, miriše još uvek na benzin i suzavac. Na sve strane znakovi anarhista, njihove zastave. Mirno je, ali se vidi napetost.