This photograph was taken from an art work in a church in Bolivia. photo by PJ Furlong06 / flickr |
--Luke 23.26
We move on, we pilgrims. Station Five,” someone whispers. We know that Jesus fell under the weight of the cross. He met his mother in the hardest place she or he had ever been. The Priest stops. “Look up,” he says. “Simon helps Jesus carry his cross.”
Anybody helped you carry your cross?
Maybe a Mother.
Maybe a friend.
Maybe a partner in marriage.
Maybe even a child.
But somebody or several some bodies came forward
and helped you lift
whatever it was.
I’d preached with some success for years.
I’d stumbled but never really failed.
And then the bottom dropped out.
And then the bottom dropped out.
My poor wife reached out in desperation and
tried to comfort.
I wasn’t listening.
And one night there was a knock at the door.
“Can I come in?” he said.
He was friend. He was a church member.
But he was mostly a
friend.
“I know you are having a hard time
and I want to
help.”
“What do you want to do—stay or leave—
I can help either
way.”
My wife said, “I
want him to leave—
if he stays here he
will die.”
I simply nodded.
He said, “OK—if you want to leave
You’ll need a good
severance.”
And he ticked off, as good businessmen would
a long list of
needs.
“I’m going to task the church to do this
for you.”
And then he said: “If the church won’t do this—
I’ll pay the
severance out of my pocket.”
But he wasn’t finished.
“I will do this because I believe in you...”
I needed that word of grace.
It got me through.
I think you know his name.
I think you know his name.
Looking up at Simon helping Jesus bear his cross—This is what I remembered.
--Roger Lovette rogerlovette.blogspot.com
No comments:
Post a Comment