The Elder
“Elder!”
Three young men
called out after dragging their small wooden craft onto the shore. The old man, the one known to them only as
elder, sat at the front of a cave. He
was feeding twigs to a small fire. As
the three men approached, he looked up and smiled.
“We are
friends of Lydia,” one of the three said. “She sends her greetings.”
“Lydia,
sweet Lydia,” the old man said with a sing-song rhythm.
“She said
you would give us audience.”
The old
man’s attention returned to the fire. He
laid a couple dried twigs over the glowing embers.
“I had
considered allowing the coals to cool.
But now I see that I have company.
Join me. I have some bread.”
The three
men gathered around the meager smoldering pile of ash. The elder presented a Barley loaf. He tore chunks off it and handed a piece to
each of his visitors.
“We did not
come to eat your food,” the man who spoke of Lydia said. He wore a beard, and had a shawl pulled up
over his head.
Ignoring
him, the elder asked, “So, how is sweet Lydia?”
“She is as
she was and always has been, Elder. She
speaks as you instructed. Many listen.”
“And some do
not?” the old man asked.
One of the
young men shook his head and responded, “It would seem so.”
“When I
first met Lydia,” the old man began, “she was barely more than a child. When I spoke to her, she was fully present,
attentive. Her focus was totally on what
I shared with her, things that had occurred… and things that would.”
“So, you are
saying she did not know, or have any idea of these things?” one of the men
asked, then followed with, “Is it to say that she was better off not having
this awareness?”
“An
interesting question,” the elder responded. “There is a time in life when we
are all ignorant of certain things. We
lack knowledge. But do not confuse
ignorance with innocence. Ignorance is
not knowing that which you should. If I
throw seed on a field without purpose, only to watch it scatter in the air, I
am ignorant of what I do. I do not have
the knowledge to understand that from the seed comes the grain, and I, because
I am a mere man, must eat what is made from the grain in order that I might
live.”
“But is a
child not ignorant?” one of the men asked.
The elder
simply smiled and held back his response for a moment. When he spoke his eyes seemed to be fixed on
a cloud overhead. “My time is limited,” he started. “I will not be given more
than what I am allowed. There are
moments for me when I consider my youth.
I was a fisherman. My hands were
calloused. My muscles were strained. Then, once I have spent time and pondered
those days deeply, I remember being a child.
I would run with the wind in my hair, and laugh with ease. Then I opened my eyes. I saw this world as it is.”
“Would it
have been a better thing to stay a child?” one of the three asked while tearing
apart his piece of bread.
“Childhood
is a time of simplistic freedom,” Another added.
The elder
answered with words felt deeply, “Did you not know, when we are children we are
protected because of our innocence.
There are many who have harmed those little ones, taken their innocence
and sullied it. It is said, it would be
better for them to be thrown into deep water with a millstone around their
necks then receive the curse promised.
“For me,”
the old man continued, “I would not go back, not to the days of my innocence,
nor to the days of my ignorance. As an
ignorant man I mended nets and dreamt about lives I could never live. I watched others move about, and wondered if
I could ever be like them. Once the veil
was lifted from my eyes, I saw what truly is.
I have seen bread, just as you eat, multiplied. I have witnessed a blind man gain his sight. I have seen a man from Bethany step out of a grave
wrapped in a shroud. I have watched as
blood was spilt in sacrifice, and I have seen an empty tomb.”
“These are
the occurrences Lydia speaks about,” one of the men said with excitement,
“Would it not be easier, if you did not know what the veil revealed? For many have been put to horrible deaths
simply for uttering the words Lydia speaks.”
Again, the elder smiled. “A seed has been planted by sweet Lydia. Perhaps there is some reluctance where the sapling might take root, but I see that tiny seed might still be nurtured with the proper amount of rain and sunlight. Oh, the seed could be subject to cold and darkness, and the soil in which it has been sown may be rocky and full of briars. But Lydia’s words offer the nourishment required, if you have ears to hear. I will tell you this, there are two forms of ignorance, one is to never know. The other is to know and chose to not understand.”
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