An apocryphal parable
Grass bent before His feet and small stones rolled to the side of the path. A little gray bird perched on His shoulder was chirping something in His left ear. The day was unfolding; wherever He set His foot, the evening turned into morning; where dark clouds and night had reigned, now an early sun was shining atop the blue waves of the sky. All living things seemed to have forgotten their innate survival instincts and gently leaned against each other, awaiting His look of approval.
Humans could not see Him, but where He walked among humans, old and young faces brightened and love of one and all, of kin and kith — even of their foes — was ignited in their hearts, even if for a short while.
He walked and watched and understood everything. Unwittingly, he made comparisons. On other planets the people are as they should be. It may even be said that in a certain sense they are like gods. They seldom turn to them for help because they are capable of coping with their lives, and very well at that. But on Earth live helpless but cruel children. On top of it, these children are blind, although they do not even suspect that they are blind. Instead, they behave as though they are sages, the crown of creation. In all eras and among all the peoples of the Earth there have always been individuals who can see, but they are always ostracized, ridiculed, thrown out of their homes into the cold night and solitude-some are even stoned to death.
It is especially painful to watch their children — to watch and predict how their cruelty will later “blossom” and how many tears will be shed because of it; tears that no one but God will see.
And, not for the first time, He began to search for a nice trait that would be germane to all the people on Earth; a trait that no one would ever want or be able to rid themselves of; one that would unite all people. He pondered this for a while and became even sadder because He could not think of such a universal and unchangeably good trait in people. In the human world it can even happen that a mother does not love her own child. What then can be said about the high and mighty, who look upon the so-called people as a herd of cattle created solely for the purpose of helping them become rich?
Whenever a member of the elite deigns to give some “alms” from his overfilled pockets, the very next day he will be repaid tenfold. For the sake of what do they sin? Has anyone in this world ever had true happiness from wealth? The same is true of power, for the sake of which people are in such a hurry to sell their immortal souls. “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”
The birds noticed that He was sad and began flying around Him, chirping gaily, gently touching His hair, tunic, and hands with their wings. In its beak a swallow brought a long branch of bindweed adorned by sky-blue trumpet flowers and bright green foliage, and hung it around His neck as a special ornament. He instantly remembered that He had seen such a pretty twig somewhere else; it was not alive, yet appeared to be. It was painted on an icon in a small wooden church somewhere high in the mountains, among tall highland pines. There bindweed and other flowers adorned the head of the sorrowful Blessed Mother of God.
He smiled, and suddenly it seemed that not everything was so hopeless. After all, the children of the Earth are still young children, despite their ancient and contemporary philosophies, in comparison to the beings inhabiting other worlds. And what beauty — sometimes unheard of beauty — they create! It cannot be that all this beauty is simply a capricious accident and will soon disappear forever lest it affect human souls and save our world and its future. Otherwise, what is this beauty for?
