On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken (Isaiah 25:6-8).

We still dream of this day millennia later,
a day the politicians and oligarchs promise for profit,
a day nobody can deliver but God by pure grace.
Meanwhile, we meander about complaining: Why the holocaust
beforehand, the cycle of wars and recovery from wars?
This prophet dreamed this peace, this feast as a portrait of hope,
a final consolation after God sacks the city of raiders,
shelters the naked poor as from scorching heat or winter rain.
To see that happening now one needs a keen eye
or a wild imagination, seeing saplings after the great blaze,
hearing song in the silence of night. Otherwise,
those who insist on plain facts curse the prophet
for the burden of this dream dashed time after time.
But this dream concludes a mere prologue. A story starts here.
With the death shroud lifted, an arduous task begins.
Gone is hope framed by the absence of enemies,
confinement in shelter from sun and sleet. Gone is hope
for life without “those people,” dead by sword or separation.
God wipes tears from their eyes too, serves them the feast
at table with us. Death is the separation we wish.
Grace is the harsh refusal to grant it. Now we must love.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God (Matthew 5:9).

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