Svt4Him
28th April 2007, 07:46 PM
Quoted by permission from Michael Frost, taken from "Jesus the Fool", UNOH Publications: Melbourne, 2007
Where love and justice intersect
A story I read in the historical pages of the evening paper caught my eye a few years ago. It concerned the great leader of the unification of the Afghani tribes many years ago, Ahmed Shah. For centuries, the savage tribes of what we now call Afghanistan waged bloody war between themselves in a hopeless, destructive series of vendettas. Finally, prompted by the fear of extinction, many of the elders of the tribes gathered to unite their people into one tribal federation, and Afghani-stan. After prolonged discussion in which they could not agree on a king, the peace talks looked like breaking down, when one of the oldest elders rose to his feet and demanded their attention. ‘There is only one man who could unite our tribes,’ he said authoritatively. ‘And we all know it is none of us.’
They all fell silent and bowed their heads, realising the truth of his words. There was only one man. His name was Ahmed Shah. He had left the region many years before, so disgusted was he with the bloodshed of his own people. He was said to be as strong as an ox. Word was quickly sent to him beyond the Hindu Kush offering him the position of ruler of united Afghanistan.
Ahmed Shah agreed on one condition: that he should have absolute authority. Only with unquestioned command could he unite the warring Afghani tribesmen. His terms were accepted and he took the people to a secret valley that he had discovered on his travels. It was a vast open plain, bordered on all sides by sheer cliff faces. There was only one entrance to the basin through a deep ravine cut in the rock. He had kept the whereabouts of this entrance way secret for many years. Through the passage, he led his new nation into a future to which they looked with optimism and hope.
Once inside, life changed for the Afghanis. Used to fear and bloodshed, they now experienced peace and growth. Culture flourished. A new generation was born into a life of harmony filled with possibilities. The laws, though occasionally contravened, provided the framework for unity. And, of course, the most important law was that no-one would dare to disclose the whereabouts of the secret passageway to any neighbouring nations, lest these neighbours sneak in and undo all that they had struggled to achieve.
One day, Ahmed Shah was in his hut when his lieutenant walked in. He cleared his throat nervously. ‘Emir, we have a problem. We caught someone breaking your most important law.’
‘The most important law?’ Ahmed Shah gasped in amazement. ‘You caught someone disclosing the entrance to our city?’
The lieutenant nodded. ‘Our secret is still safe. We apprehended the traitor and slaughtered the spies from the neighbouring nation who were paying for the information.’
‘Well,’ continued the ruler, ‘make an example of him. Tie him to a column in the middle of the city square and have him beaten to death fro everyone to see. We must show that no man can put his desires over that of the whole community. Do you hear me? One hundred lashes in the city square.’
‘Yes Emir, I was afraid you ere going to say that. But, you see, it wasn’t just anyone we caught. It was. . . er, it was. . . ‘
‘Out with it man. Who was it?’ thundered Ahmed Shah.
‘It was your mother, Emir,’ the lieutenant stammered.
Well, you can see the crisis this posed for Ahmed Shah. Even though his lieutenant promised that he could release the mother and hush the whole matter up by killing the guards who had captured her, he knew this would make the situation even more tricky. Surely word would get out sooner or later and the whole city would learn that he had let his mother off scot-free even though she had jeopardised the whole nation’s security. Once it was known that the king had abdicated his responsibility to treat everyone equally, there would begin the rapid descent back into chaos.
But on the other hand, how can a man have his mother publicly executed as a matter of example? Who would want a king who was so heartless as to allow such a gruesome spectacle to happen to his own mother? Such a king would have ice water in his veins and would lose the devotion of his people. It was Catch-22. How could he win? He was being forced to choose between his love for his mother and his commitment to justice. This was too much for a snap decision, so he dismissed his lieutenant, telling him he would make his own ruling first thing next morning.
When the sun finally burst over the cliff face and shed its light across the rocky plain, everyone gathered in the square and awaited Ahmed Shah’s judgment. The accused was brought forth, still manacled. The lieutenant called for quiet, and absolute silence descended as they listened to their king. Ahmed Shah looked haggard and unkempt. Clearly, he had not slept all night. He spoke softly, but the gravity of his voice could be heard by all. He simply couldn’t allow someone to risk the security of the whole city for personal profit, he said. The prisoner must die.
Women squealed in shock. Men stood silently, their heads hung low. The old woman was man-handled to the centre of the square and her hands were bound above her head to the column. The executioner stepped forward, his bull whip in his hand. There were pieces of bone knotted through the serpentine strand. It was a fearful implement. The mother’s dress was torn from her back and the executioner began his dreadful business.
The first last tore at her frail body, leaving a fiery welt. The second drew blood. Her legs began to buckle. She couldn’t survive half a dozen of these blows. There was the continual hubbub of a community disgusted by the spectacle. Some stared at their king and shook their heads. They had never believed him to be like this. But as the third stroke was about to be felled, the king suddenly broke down.
‘Stop!’ he screamed, raising his huge hand. He could bear it no longer. He walked to his mother and untied her and carried her to his bed. Several of the less savoury
Where love and justice intersect
A story I read in the historical pages of the evening paper caught my eye a few years ago. It concerned the great leader of the unification of the Afghani tribes many years ago, Ahmed Shah. For centuries, the savage tribes of what we now call Afghanistan waged bloody war between themselves in a hopeless, destructive series of vendettas. Finally, prompted by the fear of extinction, many of the elders of the tribes gathered to unite their people into one tribal federation, and Afghani-stan. After prolonged discussion in which they could not agree on a king, the peace talks looked like breaking down, when one of the oldest elders rose to his feet and demanded their attention. ‘There is only one man who could unite our tribes,’ he said authoritatively. ‘And we all know it is none of us.’
They all fell silent and bowed their heads, realising the truth of his words. There was only one man. His name was Ahmed Shah. He had left the region many years before, so disgusted was he with the bloodshed of his own people. He was said to be as strong as an ox. Word was quickly sent to him beyond the Hindu Kush offering him the position of ruler of united Afghanistan.
Ahmed Shah agreed on one condition: that he should have absolute authority. Only with unquestioned command could he unite the warring Afghani tribesmen. His terms were accepted and he took the people to a secret valley that he had discovered on his travels. It was a vast open plain, bordered on all sides by sheer cliff faces. There was only one entrance to the basin through a deep ravine cut in the rock. He had kept the whereabouts of this entrance way secret for many years. Through the passage, he led his new nation into a future to which they looked with optimism and hope.
Once inside, life changed for the Afghanis. Used to fear and bloodshed, they now experienced peace and growth. Culture flourished. A new generation was born into a life of harmony filled with possibilities. The laws, though occasionally contravened, provided the framework for unity. And, of course, the most important law was that no-one would dare to disclose the whereabouts of the secret passageway to any neighbouring nations, lest these neighbours sneak in and undo all that they had struggled to achieve.
One day, Ahmed Shah was in his hut when his lieutenant walked in. He cleared his throat nervously. ‘Emir, we have a problem. We caught someone breaking your most important law.’
‘The most important law?’ Ahmed Shah gasped in amazement. ‘You caught someone disclosing the entrance to our city?’
The lieutenant nodded. ‘Our secret is still safe. We apprehended the traitor and slaughtered the spies from the neighbouring nation who were paying for the information.’
‘Well,’ continued the ruler, ‘make an example of him. Tie him to a column in the middle of the city square and have him beaten to death fro everyone to see. We must show that no man can put his desires over that of the whole community. Do you hear me? One hundred lashes in the city square.’
‘Yes Emir, I was afraid you ere going to say that. But, you see, it wasn’t just anyone we caught. It was. . . er, it was. . . ‘
‘Out with it man. Who was it?’ thundered Ahmed Shah.
‘It was your mother, Emir,’ the lieutenant stammered.
Well, you can see the crisis this posed for Ahmed Shah. Even though his lieutenant promised that he could release the mother and hush the whole matter up by killing the guards who had captured her, he knew this would make the situation even more tricky. Surely word would get out sooner or later and the whole city would learn that he had let his mother off scot-free even though she had jeopardised the whole nation’s security. Once it was known that the king had abdicated his responsibility to treat everyone equally, there would begin the rapid descent back into chaos.
But on the other hand, how can a man have his mother publicly executed as a matter of example? Who would want a king who was so heartless as to allow such a gruesome spectacle to happen to his own mother? Such a king would have ice water in his veins and would lose the devotion of his people. It was Catch-22. How could he win? He was being forced to choose between his love for his mother and his commitment to justice. This was too much for a snap decision, so he dismissed his lieutenant, telling him he would make his own ruling first thing next morning.
When the sun finally burst over the cliff face and shed its light across the rocky plain, everyone gathered in the square and awaited Ahmed Shah’s judgment. The accused was brought forth, still manacled. The lieutenant called for quiet, and absolute silence descended as they listened to their king. Ahmed Shah looked haggard and unkempt. Clearly, he had not slept all night. He spoke softly, but the gravity of his voice could be heard by all. He simply couldn’t allow someone to risk the security of the whole city for personal profit, he said. The prisoner must die.
Women squealed in shock. Men stood silently, their heads hung low. The old woman was man-handled to the centre of the square and her hands were bound above her head to the column. The executioner stepped forward, his bull whip in his hand. There were pieces of bone knotted through the serpentine strand. It was a fearful implement. The mother’s dress was torn from her back and the executioner began his dreadful business.
The first last tore at her frail body, leaving a fiery welt. The second drew blood. Her legs began to buckle. She couldn’t survive half a dozen of these blows. There was the continual hubbub of a community disgusted by the spectacle. Some stared at their king and shook their heads. They had never believed him to be like this. But as the third stroke was about to be felled, the king suddenly broke down.
‘Stop!’ he screamed, raising his huge hand. He could bear it no longer. He walked to his mother and untied her and carried her to his bed. Several of the less savoury