Important Disclaimer

Since I currently have several employers/supervisors/churches/etc., please know that none of the words on my blog represent them or their beliefs. This blog is my own creation.

It also does not represent my children's perspective, nor my mother's; they think I am funny, but misguided.
(Quick update: only my mother thinks I'm funny now.)

Friday, April 18, 2014

I Locked the Door Behind Me pain he continued
down searching for those
eyes which would let him,
          "I saw a butterfly--
          there can be more
          to life."

...It got darker and darker
and he was afraid.
          He felt he had
          to let go of

~Trina Paulus, Hope for the Flowers

My meditation from the Good Friday Service at The Lawrence Road Presbyterian Church. Gratitude to Pastor Nina for the invitation to share on the theme: "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do."

There are some things that just seem so unforgiveable, aren’t there?
I mean there’s the little things

You forgot to get the bagels at the store
For the 500th time
You’re late
Yet again
Your temper blew
And everyone around you knew it was going to
A lie
A little white lie, maybe
Or maybe a big whopper
That wasn’t really about a big fish
Cuz you weren’t actually fishing
Or anywhere near where you said you would be
Enough of the little things
And there we are with a big thing
And some things are just unforgiveable
Sometimes people do things that completely alter
The course of our life
Who we are
What is possible
Some things are unforgiveable
Because they are life and death
And we can’t find life
In the face of death

I went one night to a church sanctuary
Late, late at night
I didn’t bother with the lights
And I could hear from the silence that I was alone
I stared up at the stained glass
And saw in the window the shape of a woman
Kneeling toward a cross

I was in so much pain that night
From old old unforgiveable things
I had carried those things across two or three decades
Occasionally someone would carry that cross a while
But eventually, invariably, I had to pick it up again
And the person who gave me the cross in the first place
Had casually moved on
A professional cross maker he was
In the years since, I have seen others carrying crosses with his mark

In the shadowy silence I wept
And then I got angry
I looked at the woman in the window
And I took my cue from her
I called on God to be present
I didn’t just call, I raged, I yelled, I demanded
I held God accountable for the debt incurred
I summoned God as witness to my complaint

I summoned up that unforgiveable man
Right there in the empty sanctuary
I would not be surprised to know that his spirit left him in the night
And that he woke shaken in the morning
From a courtroom nightmare
I poured out my complaint
Until there was nothing left to be said
And then I gave that man over to God
And locked the sanctuary behind me.
What God does with his heart
Is no business of mine

1 comment:

  1. oh. good stuff. thanks for writing this and sharing it with us.


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