the dust, the fishes and the twelve

This morning I was reading our 1996 newsletter after our eldest son's near fatal accident. I used two of James McAuley's poems in that letter. Here is verse 3 of his Jesus:

And when a dove came to his hand,
He knew that hell was opening behind its wings.
He thanked the messenger and let it go;
Spoke to the dust, the fishes and the twelve
As if they understood him equally,
And told them nothing that they wished to know.

Our 1992 letter uncovers the growing realization that our fourth child was disabled from birth. So little we knew.

There is no place to stand that can be spoken of lightly as if the weight of loss, mental illness, or disability were easily borne. No disability is or can be borne alone. It is and will always be borne by the whole community. Violence, whether of economics or weapons, is an insufficient price for self-protection.

The fences enclosing the vine are breached. All may forage who pass her way and the wild creature of the field shepherds her.