Sometimes we preach through words; sometimes we preach through laughter; sometimes we preach through tears.
So it is, as I leave the community with whom I have dared to be vulnerable and the community who has dared to be vulnerable with me. It is hard to speak words of parting, particularly when we know the words of parting will be the last on this side of life.
To one of my parishioners whose cancer will likely claim her life in the next several months, I wrote: "The day you told me you had cancer, I told you, 'Give it hell,' and I meant it. Know you don't travel alone. Christ goes before to guide you, behind to protect you, and beside to encourage you. His cross stands as witness that, though the night be long, it gives way to glorious eternal light."
To write these words is one thing. To believe them is another. Sometimes, the power of Christ knocks the wind out of me, reminding me that these are not mere words, that preaching is not merely an office, that the body of Christ is not merely a metaphor. It is more, rendering us speechless; instead of giving us a sermon, it gives us breath. I am merely a steward of the mystery, standing breathless as I motion others to look with me as we watch the birth of life.
So it is, as I leave the community with whom I have dared to be vulnerable and the community who has dared to be vulnerable with me. It is hard to speak words of parting, particularly when we know the words of parting will be the last on this side of life.
To one of my parishioners whose cancer will likely claim her life in the next several months, I wrote: "The day you told me you had cancer, I told you, 'Give it hell,' and I meant it. Know you don't travel alone. Christ goes before to guide you, behind to protect you, and beside to encourage you. His cross stands as witness that, though the night be long, it gives way to glorious eternal light."
To write these words is one thing. To believe them is another. Sometimes, the power of Christ knocks the wind out of me, reminding me that these are not mere words, that preaching is not merely an office, that the body of Christ is not merely a metaphor. It is more, rendering us speechless; instead of giving us a sermon, it gives us breath. I am merely a steward of the mystery, standing breathless as I motion others to look with me as we watch the birth of life.
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