Monday, April 30, 2012

A story.....Bleeding on the floor....

Disclaimer: This is a story that is about all churches and no church.  My current church home which I adore happens to have the statement The hurting, the hopeless, the hungry.  So I'm using that but I'm thinking of churches I have attended from my childhood up.  I'm thinking of churches that I worked at.  I'm thinking of the body of Christ.  In an effort to move our hearts to be uncomfortable so ministry can happen in the church universal. (which is just a little funny since there are only a handful of you reading this.)  I guess it comes out of my own story as a prodigal and all the others I have seen bleeding.  May God help us all to be Christ like and to not to have to answer why we looked away or why we were indifferent or even hostile.  .

Now to the story....

I lie bleeding on the floor and you walk around me, pretending I'm not there.  You pray, God send us the hurting people, the hopeless, the hungry.  Than you pull back so I don't get blood on you from my bleeding broken heart.  You whisper in the corner about me, about my sin, forgetting how your own sin looked and forgetting the mercy that was given you.  I've lost hope but I show up.  But no one talks to me, no one smiles.   I'm hungry for more than food.  I would love a crumb of friendship?  Maybe just a sliver of a smile?  A kind word? Maybe not acceptance but at least not rejection.  I'm sorry for all the blood seeping but my life is a mess and I heard this was a spiritual hospital.  Was I wrong?  Was I misinformed?  Maybe I could sit here a little while.  I love the stories of that man.  Jesus?  I think that's His name.  They tell me He is the most wonderful man I will ever meet.  I'll leave soon.  I know the pain is too raw on my face but if I could just rest for a moment.  I'll be on my way I promise.  But I heard the singing was beautiful and this was a peaceful place.  A shelter from the storm my life is in.  As I sit I hear your laughter.  I cringe.  I hope you aren't laughing at me.  I can't tell.  Your voices sound just like out there.  But I pull into myself and try to hide.  I can't quite understand it all but if I could stay just a bit longer.  I know this place is yours and I'm trespassing.  But I'm hurting so.  I think the answers might be here.  What?  My time's up?  I didn't cover the pain and the blood and the rawness quick enough?  I'm not welcome.  I needed to become perfect  quicker?  Wait! I remember that man up front...he said there was none perfect, no not one.  Only that Jesus person.  That savior guy.  Okay, okay I'm going.  But before I leave I just want to point out that the smell of sin seems to still be coming from you.  Did you get healed or just cover the wounds?   I heard that real healing took place here.  Maybe they were wrong.

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