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This is our fear and our comfort all at once: that our children are not finally in our hands, but they stand in the palm of his.

Today’s musical pairing, chosen to illustrate the meditation below, is Flight from the City by Jóhann Jóhannsson. See the video embedded below. Note that all the songs for this series have been gathered into a Spotify playlist here.

“When they reached the place God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son. But the angel of the Lord called out to him from heaven, ‘Abraham! Abraham!’ ‘Here I am,’ he replied. ‘Do not lay a hand on the boy,’ he said. ‘Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.’”
Genesis 22:9–12

Day 10. 838,061 confirmed cases, 41,261 deaths globally.

When the shadow of death touches the doorstep, we draw our children close. We fear more for them than we fear for ourselves. What should happen to them if the virus finds its way into their veins?

The majority of the suffering and death in the pandemic is concentrated among those who are grown and full of years. Yet statistics and probabilities are no comfort when it comes to the thought of losing your children. Or the thought of your children losing you.

Children are watching their parents go to the hospital and are never seeing them again. Fathers are saying their farewells through windows. One mother spoke her last words to her children through a walkie-talkie. Even those without children of their own are praying for the children they know.

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First seen on Every Child Is on the Altar

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