Dear friends:
One of the cardinal rules of preaching is never, ever start a sermon with a poem. It's good advice, unless, of course, the poem is particularly captivating, a dilemma I faced this week. So instead of losing you in the sermon, I invite you to read it here. I found it in a small devotional book I use on occasion, and it addresses this week's 'Partial Truth:'
I, you, us, them, those people
wouldn't it be lovely if one could live in a constant state of we?
some of the most commonplace words can be some of the biggest dividers
they, what if there was no they? what if there was only us?
if words could be seen as they floated out of our mouths
would we feel no shame as they passed beyond our lips?
if we were to string our words on a communal clothesline
would we feel proud as our thoughts flapped in the breeze?
(Marilyn Maciel, "clothesline," Life Is a Verb: 37 Days to Wake Up, Be Mindful, and Live Intentionally)
As a person of voluminous words, I'm humbled by the notion that our words might flap in the breeze, because in reality, they do. The important question is, "What influence will their flapping have?" Will they do the hard work of constructing a world of dignity and hope? Will they demolish and destroy? How will they flap?
We'll conclude our series on Partial Truths by looking at the power of words, how they shape us and our world, and how we might acknowledge their power in our lives.
You can read this delightful passage - and maybe even print it out and put it on your refrigerator - in preparation.
I look forward to seeing you this weekend.
Warmly,
