From across the field it catches my eye – a massive, beautiful tree, twisted and aged with character.
I follow the well-worn footpath hoping to lose myself in something beautiful before returning to the suffering and death that hangs heavy in the air like a wool blanket in the sweltering heat.
Into view comes an informational sign that dashes all hopes of reveling in beauty: “Magic Tree – The tree was used as a tool to hang a loudspeaker which made sound louder to avoid the moans of victims while they were being executed.”
I stand and stare dumbstruck at the evil required to even conceive such an idea.
Turning away in an attempt to avoid the truth of what stands before me, I face yet another tree and another heart-wrenching sign: “Killing tree against which executioners beat children.”
These trees are living monuments among the Killing Fields of Cambodia, unwilling participants in a genocide that took the lives of two million precious people in four years. The plot of land on which I stand was used to bury over 9,000 men, women and children.
My mind wanders to another tree, one I have never seen. A tree that I imagine stood tall, strong and beautiful before its life was cut short. It too was formed by men into an instrument of torture and shame.
As I imagine the cross and the work accomplished on those blood-soaked beams, I see Cambodia’s hope.
The people of this nation can identify with suffering, it is still fresh and painful. It is my prayer that they will come to identify with the hope and life of Christ’s resurrection. It is also my prayer that we will be the ones that can share the hope and life of Christ with them.
