Poor Aleppo.  When I consider the enormity of its devastation, the untold suffering inflicted on its inhabitants, and the continual pleas of the global community for the killing to stop, I once more ponder the depths to which humanity can go in its quest for power. On the one hand, I see a man who wants at all costs to preserve his power, and on the other hand, a diverse set of other men (and women) who wish with equal fervor to gain power of their own.  The former has had it all along; the latter has not.
     Why, we wonder, cannot people share something that is so achingly transient anyway? Throughout history, we see people holding power.  Some hold it for centuries; others for only a few hours.  Either way, it doesn't last.
     What about religion?  Unless a religion is extraordinarily inwardly focused, it does everthing to disabuse itself of power.  As it should.  True power lies in its ability to give itself up, to let itself be used to greater good.  We see this in Buddha, we see this in Jesus.  Both gave up what they had, Buddha (once Siddartha) his family's wealth and heritage, Jesus the privileges of divinity.  Both suffered, yet only one died in his suffering. That one was of course Jesus.
     We can deny that Jesus was born, yes, but as we look upon the carnage of Aleppo, we cannot dismiss the possibilities of the power implicit in his life.  It is a power that seems otherworldly, so sacrificial was it, a power that could have only come from one who understood its dimensions with absolute clarity.  We wish for peace for Aleppo, we wish for an end to its horror.  And we hope for a renewed commitment to Jesus' power, a power of humility, a power of grace, a power that finds its impetus and hope in the sacrificial presence of God.
     Pray for Aleppo, pray for God.