I could tell you of my time. Times. I could tell you of my darkness depressing, oppressing. I could tell you of pills and booze and cuttings and just any way out. I could tell you of my escape, my salvation. I could tell you how I live now, what I feel, what I believe.
I could tell you endless stories of death and resurrection.
But there are far too many tellings right now, too many voices. There’s such a cacophony of voices in their tellings that no one can discern a single story, a single voice. We can’t single out a single voice in this great tide of tellings.
Could we, please, in this sorrowful moment, not debate and postulate. Could we not speak of right and wrong, could have, should have, or might have beens. Could we not build platforms for judgments and agendas that divide embittered already aching hearts. In this moment, could we, please, not board bandwagons that rail upon lives and hurts and reasons no Man knows.
Could we, please, not stand on a body barely free of breath, a life not long gone. Could we, please, be still and silent as soul seeps from flesh, holding our thoughts and tongues in the sacred enormity of the moment. Could we, please, step outside ourselves for a mere moment, long enough to lock our lips and bow our heads in pure reverence of a life lived; a life lost.
Must we always make everything, every thing, about us?
Must we always have the last word?
Can’t we just Be.
Could we, please, just Be, here, now, in this moment, with nothing more than ours selves together
in reverential silence
despite our human Selves.
Could we, please, just Be, here, now, in this moment, seeing not our Selves, speaking not our minds, telling not our stories.
Instead, could we, please, simply gather our human selves amid this sorrowful moment in nothing more than Sacred Grace and Holy Honor.
Just Be here, now, in this moment, still and silent and shoulder to leaning, aching shoulder, a little warmer, a little closer, a little more lovingly.
If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13 NIV