Grace to you and
peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen
Oh you who would
walk with me, will you love my people as I have loved you?
Will you pray for
them?
Will you care for
them?
Will you rejoice
with them?
Will you cry with
them?
Will you
celebrate with them?
Will you grieve
with them?
Will you serve them?
Will you not
judge them?
Will you accept
them?
Will you welcome
them?
Will you embrace
them?
Will you forgive
them?
Will you live
with them?
Will you be with
them as they die?
You who would
walk by my side, will you love my people as I have loved you?
A mother, a
father, an unborn child, a family waiting for the most precious gift of
all. Will you love my people?
Incest and a 12
year old girl. A baby within and desperation
without. A decision made. A pregnancy aborted. One life resumes, another ends. Guilt.
Shame. Regrets abound for a
lifetime.
Will you love my
people? Will you care for her? Will you forgive her?
Silence where
there should have been a heartbeat. A couple grieves the news. Labor is induced that a lifeless body may be
delivered. Under a tree they buried
their lifeless child.
Will you love my
people, crying their tears and holding them tight?
One born too soon
with insufficient lungs. 5 days of
gasping for air. But no more.
Will you love my
people?
A child eager to
learn.
A toddler longing
to play.
The tender grasp
of a baby’s small fingers wrapped around yours.
Water, the Word,
a font and some promises. God’s
child. Our brother. Our sister.
Will you love my
people?
Two young girls,
full of life and adventure. A
Mustang. An unsupervised afternoon. A joyride gone bad. Flying through the air. Another causualty. More grief.
Baptism in the emergency room. Funeral. Lilies blooming at the foot of the cross.
Grief Struck
parents. Angry parents. Lawsuits.
Vengence. Opportunistic
lawyers. A judgment that left no one
satisfied.
Will you love my
people?
There in that
cemetery, three boys playing. Swinging on
the rope that hung from the flag pole.
Too much weight. The flag pole
crashed down on one of their heads.
Beeping
monitors. Intensive care. No brain activity. Yet the beating heart of one declared
dead. Grieving parents. Agonizing choices. A void.
Accusations and investigations.
Will you love my
people?
Homeless. Mentally disabled. Shouldn’t have had one child, but they had
eight, including the one who died in that cemetery. Judgements rendered against them by the
courts, by public opinion.
We are homeless, can you help? Living from handout to handout. Welfare.
They hate the system that is both their lifeline and their prison. Counties pay them to leave and go somewhere
else.
Will you love my
people?
Anger. Being treated as a child throughout his life
by a father too controlling to let him grow up.
Farmers working side by side.
Sort of. On the father’s
terms. Resentment. Anger.
Too often others
bear the brunt of that anger. Victims of a rage unresolved.
Will you love my people?
Will you love my people?
A wife
abused. Terrified at night, devastated
in the morning.
Yet she will not
leave. For better or for worse.
Will you love my
people?
Contentious and
conflicted. Wanting to do what is right
but venturing into the unknown.
Misguided. Rumors and
slander. Vengeful rejection. All in the name of Jesus.
Loving and
supportive. Quick to forgive. Slow to anger. Wanting to do far more than they are
able. Willing to think the best. Deeply grateful. But unable to protect from all harm.
One parish. Three congregations. As different as night and day.
Will you love my
people?
The “Pillar” of
the congregation. Dedicated. Generous. A sarcastic wit which was her
greatest gift and most evident fault.
Will you love my
people?
A colonel. Retired.
Still commanding. Serving. Bigoted.
A little to the right of Attila the Hun.
Will you love my
people?
A young woman who
wasn’t a woman inside. I don’t
understand. Hormone therapy. Emerging masculinity. Surgery.
A man. Peace. Yet seeking acceptance from a people who don’t
understand and who are ready to judge.
Will you love my
people?
Strong
convictions. Seeking the truth and
defending their understanding of righteousness.
“If my child were gay, he wouldn’t be my child anymore.” They left the congregation. Others did as well. Unable to accept, desiring to follow Jesus,
they walked.
Will you love my
people?
For over twenty five years
these two women have been a couple. Twenty five years
of loving companionship. Sex has not
even been part of their relationship for much of that time. Servants of God. Deep people of faith even though many don’t
accept them or who they are.
Yet week after
week, she set the table for communion.
It was a place of belonging for her.
Will you love my
people?
Age can be
cruel. Golden years are sometimes golden
only because of the gold that is required to live through them.
Alzheimer’s is a
living death. A body still strong, still
too strong. A gentle soul rendered
combative beyond recognition. Where is
the man we loved all these years. We see
his body. Where is his mind and
spirit. That one we knew and loved is
somehow now gone even though his body remains.
Will you love my people?
One after another
saints and sinners make their way from life to death.
Baptisms. Weddings.
Confirmations and Graduations. Vocations
and service. Hospitalizations and death.
People of God on
a journey, through every triumph and tragedy.
Will you love my
people?
“Lord, grant us
to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”
Will you love my
people?
You who would
walk with me, will you love my people as I have loved you?
Intimacy is the
greatest gift. To become one with them in
their living and dying.
Vulnerability is
the ultimate price. For as we walk with
them, we suffer with them, as well.
You who would
walk with me, will you love my people as I have loved you?
Like James and
John, I desired to walk with Jesus, to be at his side.
But I had no idea
what was to come.
These are but the
tip of the iceberg.
I could spend
thirty more years telling you of the thirty years of people I have known and
sought, as best as I was able, to love.
People of every
stripe and color.
People who
succeeded at this enterprise we call life.
People who failed
miserably.
Sometimes I
responded to them well.
Sometimes I fell
so far short of the mark that I am ashamed.
“The cup that I
drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will
be baptized;”
Throughout it
all, I have become ever more aware of the forgiveness and love with which
Christ embraced me.
Christ only asks
that we love, as we first have been loved.
That we serve as
he first served us.
And that leads us
to this motley crew we call the Church.
You who would
walk with me, will you love my people as I have loved you?
More than
anything else, the one thing I least expected was how much grief I would feel for
to love is to become vulnerable, and to suffer with those who suffer, and to
grieve with those who grieve.
You who would
walk with me, will you love my people as I have loved you?
Jesus suffers
with us. He so loves us that as we
suffer he suffers too.
Surely he has borne our infirmities and
carried our diseases; yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and
afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our
iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises
we are healed.
You who would
walk with me, will you love my people as I have loved you?
Are you willing
not only to rejoice with those who are rejoicing, but to bear the wounds of
those who are afflicted?
This is our
calling. To love Jesus’ people.
God help us.
Amen
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