They can't kill us all, in our little church gathering
In this the poorest colonia because
How can you kill 50 people all at one time?
But then I was reminded about grenade attacks and
Not to mention the 30-round clips of 7.62 mm bullets
Being spewed out to silence us and drown out the gospel -
Hosing us down in a river of our own blood.
But we felt safe, comforting the servants of Elisha among us:
Do not be afraid, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them.
But I was wrong about one thing: they certainly could kill us all -
We learned that the audacity of evil knows no bounds.
Lined up against a wall and executed - bullets sprayed into them like
Zookeepers hosing down elephants, and their river of blood
Still cries from the ground.
Easter Sunday in the killing fields of northern Mexico
Gives me a new sense of the resurrection:
We've felt the sting but await the victory
If Christ has not been raised, then we are of all people
most to be pitied because that means Mao was right -
And ultimately power does grow out of the barrel of a gun
Or a cruise missile or a drone or even a clenched fist.
And when it's our turn to face the firing squad,
We are truly to be pitied.
Show me, O death, where is your victory?
The battles you've won are impressive
But the war's not over and we have the promise
That Christ's victory, our victory, will swallow you forever -
Therefore, I will labor here in the killing fields and avenues of death,
I will not be afraid, even knowing that there is no safety in numbers,
Except in refuge with the One who made the victory possible.