The Benediction

It is now my turn, my child. It is my turn to sit with the callings of your troubled heart and send you out into the world. You are our gift to the 21st century. And with the words of my mother, I am reminded of the love I come from, and the love with which I am sent into the world...I return to my community this weekend...I leave from one home and go to the home of my sufferings...
And I continue to reflect:

I sat next to you. Your silver coffee canister sitting off to the side of your papers and pen. An air of silence settled upon our hearts, as we averted our gazes. Your eyes beckoned to us- look up and see the cross. My head lifts, my eyes meet yours as a tear rolls down my cheek. Your tears pour forth from the windows of your soul. We breathe in, we breathe out. We sit at your feet, we sit at the foot of the cross. We sit, we hold white flags high to disease. We surrender to ourselves, we see you. What can I do? What can I do? The glory tries again. It seeps into my pores as the air into my lungs. Yet all the answers I can utter are in vain. They are in glory. Help me to despair, O God.

What can I do for you now? Now you stand and stare death in the face. You have unfinished work, you have thriving love, you have seven students at your feet. To breathe the words back to you that you once spoke to me. To speak to you in the way that you taught me to speak. This is what I must do.