Susan LaffertyThis past week, I sit numb. Shaken. Shocked by sheer brutality.
And cry out for the ones who can’t breathe.
Weep for those with necks slammed against asphalt under the knee of racism. Relentless, insidious racism. Again and again.
The snake slithers. Just beneath the surface of society. Often hidden in the dark. Feeding pride and arrogance. Fear. Prejudice.
Injustice.
As a young girl, I watched the Charlton Heston version of Ben Hur. And was drawn into the story so vividly told on the big screen. Awed by the way Jesus Christ figured into the fictional tale of Judah Ben Hur’s life.
Jesus kept appearing. Giving us glimpses into how His time on earth impacted people. It was mysterious and beautiful.
The newest version of Ben Hur was showing at theaters in the Asian country where we were living at the time. Before it was relegated to odd middle-of-the-night hours, we headed to the mall, purchased our popcorn and settled into a nearly empty theater to enjoy the movie.