As I write this, a mother may be losing her son or daughter in an attack by Israel on Gaza in Palestine. In fact, it may be the mother who loses her life instead, leaving orphaned children behind.

Somewhere right now, an Israeli soldier is loading a missile, a bomb or some other taker-of-life and pointing it towards Gaza and is pressing the trigger. Right now.

As you read this, as I type this, someone has been killed in a mindless thirst for geographical ego.

 In a land so holy one shudders when they are reminded of its history.

Jesus walked those shores.

Jesus ate the fruit of the trees there. He washed in the rivers and sea on those borders. Natural borders, not man-made.

Jesus read the Psalms in that land. He learnt to read the Scriptures of the God of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jacob. His own. It was there He read the words of David, of the Prophets who spoke of His coming. His promise. He possibly sat on those rocks and ran His coming sermon on the mount in his mind before He’d walk there to deliver it.

Jesus the Christ, saviour of humanity, Whose majestic hands threw the stars into the sky, by Whose names all creation came into existence, once called this land home.

This is Palestine. These are the people of Palestine whom Israel kills. Nay, butchers. These are the people who walked with Jesus. Talked with Him. Believed in Him.

It was this land which 2,000 years ago brought forth a Palestinian woman who would help Mary deliver Him into this world.

These are the people who deserve our prayers. And this song. Thank you Roger.

Gaza, I am praying for you. I am. And I am truly, truly sorry. This is not what my Jesus would have wanted.