News from Peshawar

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On Sunday morning, as part of the all-age nativity service, we reflected on the three gifts brought by the wise men to the infant Jesus. Mine was myrrh. Using a trick I'd seen before, I filled a tall vase full of a mixture of tinned tomatoes, minestrone soup, refried beans and old teabags. My willing volunteers, bribed with the promise of chocolate, had to plunge their hands into the disgusting mess to retrieve a coin and win their prize.

Our world really is a disgusting mess much of the time. Christians worship a God who gets his hands dirty; who was born a human in poverty and humility and who experienced the mess himself. His homeland was occupied by foreign troops; his enemies accused him and his friends rejected him; he suffered humiliation, torture, even death. Myrrh was an embalming fluid; a gift which offered a clue to what would come later.

The thing that really gets me, I think, is that the gunmen actually thought that what they were doing was justified. How warped we can be. Come, Lord Jesus, and save us.

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