Die messe het geflits in die son, en 21 jong Koptiese Christene het die hoogste prys betaal vir hulle geloof. Op elkeen se lippe was die naam van die Here Jesus Christus soos hulle gesterf het: “Lord, Jesus Christ.”
Die reaksie van die Koptiese kerk? Binne 48 uur het hulle ‘n traktaatjie vrygestel en versprei in Egipte, in die hoop dat die boodskap ongelowiges bereik. Daarop kom hierdie gedig voor:
Two rows of men walked the shore of the sea,
On a day when the world’s tears would run free,
One a row of assassins, who thought they did right,
The other of innocents, true sons of the light,
One holding knives in hands held high,
The other with hands empty, defenseless and tied,
One row of slits to conceal glaring-dead eyes,
The other with living eyes raised to the skies,
One row stood steady, pall-bearers of death,
The other knelt ready, welcoming heaven’s breath,
One row spewed wretched, contemptible threats,
The other spread God-given peace and rest.
A Question …
Who fears the other?
The row in orange, watching paradise open?
Or the row in black, with minds evil and broken?