Monday, November 24, 2014

Christopher Crossing the River

Yesterday I learnt that Father Kuriakose Chavara was conferred sainthood by Pope Francis. For some reason, I was reminded of Sister Ann and Sister Sheeba who taught me at Lena School, nestled in a small corner of the Nilgiri Hills, where I did my primary schooling. Maybe this was because Father Chavara had founded many schools like Lena. One can find several Chavara schools dotted around the towns of southern India. As I thought of the nuns at the convent, on the spur of the moment, all I could remember was the story of Saint Christopher that I had come across as a child. Perhaps Sister Sheeba read it out to us in one of those classes known as 'Moral Science'. Anyway, the story made a great impact on me. I can still see the black and white illustration of the gentle giant, Christopher, wading across the waters of the wild Jordan river, carrying the Child on his shoulders in my mind's eye; I can still feel the same tingle in my spine when the identity of the mysterious Child was revealed.
I really wanted to write about this story, and so decided to dabble in some narrative poetry.

Christopher was a giant, tall and fierce
Compared to him, they were dwarves, all his peers.
Carrying people across the river to earn his bread
A simple life, Christopher led.

The gates of heaven burst open one day
Torrents of rain, the gloomy skies turned grey
Full to the brim, the river was in spate
Nobody wanted to cross it and tempt fate.

All of a sudden, appeared a little child
Sweetly asking to cross the river, angry and wild.
Christopher refused, looking at the deluge in all its greed
But the mysterious child continued to plead.

And so he finally agreed
The child's request, he did heed
The child on his shoulders, he strode
Into the treacherous waters where the rain flowed.

The burden grew heavier with each step taken
Why did he accept this? His faith was shaken.
It was only a child, he thought, as the waters swirled.
Yet, it was like carrying all the troubles of the world.

Huffing and puffing, he reached the other end, half dead
That's when he noticed a subtle aura around the child's head
He vanished, without a trace.
Christopher finally understood, grateful for His grace. 

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Monday, November 24, 2014

Christopher Crossing the River

Yesterday I learnt that Father Kuriakose Chavara was conferred sainthood by Pope Francis. For some reason, I was reminded of Sister Ann and Sister Sheeba who taught me at Lena School, nestled in a small corner of the Nilgiri Hills, where I did my primary schooling. Maybe this was because Father Chavara had founded many schools like Lena. One can find several Chavara schools dotted around the towns of southern India. As I thought of the nuns at the convent, on the spur of the moment, all I could remember was the story of Saint Christopher that I had come across as a child. Perhaps Sister Sheeba read it out to us in one of those classes known as 'Moral Science'. Anyway, the story made a great impact on me. I can still see the black and white illustration of the gentle giant, Christopher, wading across the waters of the wild Jordan river, carrying the Child on his shoulders in my mind's eye; I can still feel the same tingle in my spine when the identity of the mysterious Child was revealed.
I really wanted to write about this story, and so decided to dabble in some narrative poetry.

Christopher was a giant, tall and fierce
Compared to him, they were dwarves, all his peers.
Carrying people across the river to earn his bread
A simple life, Christopher led.

The gates of heaven burst open one day
Torrents of rain, the gloomy skies turned grey
Full to the brim, the river was in spate
Nobody wanted to cross it and tempt fate.

All of a sudden, appeared a little child
Sweetly asking to cross the river, angry and wild.
Christopher refused, looking at the deluge in all its greed
But the mysterious child continued to plead.

And so he finally agreed
The child's request, he did heed
The child on his shoulders, he strode
Into the treacherous waters where the rain flowed.

The burden grew heavier with each step taken
Why did he accept this? His faith was shaken.
It was only a child, he thought, as the waters swirled.
Yet, it was like carrying all the troubles of the world.

Huffing and puffing, he reached the other end, half dead
That's when he noticed a subtle aura around the child's head
He vanished, without a trace.
Christopher finally understood, grateful for His grace. 

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Post a Comment