God Weeps in Gaza

—A Cry from the Rubble to the Thrones of Power— In Gaza, the sky does not fall— It rains fire. Children sleep beneath concrete tombs, Mothers wail into hollow winds, And the olive trees Bleed. A boy holds his sister’s severed hand Like a prayer, Like a memory, Like a question God won’t answer anymore. America— Your silence roars like F-16s, Your aid is not charity, But crucifixion money. You kneel in churches of stone and glass, While funding the shattering of real temples— Human hearts, Infant bones, The dignity of a dispossessed people Longing for home. Israel— You were born from ashes, But now you breathe fire on those whose only crime Is remembering too much About exile. What happened to “Never Again”? Is it “Never Again… unless they’re not like us”? And you—world leaders, Architects of treaties made of dust, Diplomats who toast with red wine While children cough up red foam— You’ve made yourselves gods By forsaking God. Liberation theology says: If Christ walks the streets today, He walks barefoot in Gaza. Not in cathedrals Nor in congress halls. He is cradling the dying, Rising in the rubble, And weeping over the weapons Stamped: Made in the U.S.A. This is not politics. This is not religion. This is not history. This is humanity, Starving for a voice that speaks truth Louder than missiles. We are not asking for favors. We are demanding the right To breathe, To exist without apology, To bury our dead Before they are forgotten By the world’s deliberate blindness. So rise, Not in hatred— But in holy rage. Speak, Not with vengeance— But with vision. For every Gaza, There must be a thousand Jerichos— Where the walls of apathy Come crashing down At the sound of our united cry. Let this be known: God does not stand with empires. God kneels with the crushed. God is not in the drone. God is in the silence After the last child falls. And that silence, If unbroken, Will haunt our names For generations. Free Palestine. Not as a slogan— But as a sacred obligation.