There were about 400 people at the 10:30 Mass on Sunday
and we all came to church
with our own histories, our own stories,
tucked and stored within our hearts...
Some of those stories are decades long
and others so much shorter, Lord,
but each one has a tale to tell
known better by you than the teller...
You know the pain that we hold fast,
you know the hurts we've long forgotten;
you know all we hope and pray for
and the gifts we missed when,
too busy or too angry,
we failed to see what fell into our laps...
You know the secrets in our stories:
our sin and shame and all the things
we wish we could forget but don't -
though it was long ago that you forgave
and washed away what haunts us still...
You understand our stories, Lord,
and with compassion
you retell them with your mercy woven in,
gracefully amending and redeeming
any selfish pages in the chapters of our lives...
You invite us, one and all,
to weave our stories tight with yours:
your words becoming ours and our stories
more and more become a telling of your love,
an accounting of our faith in you,
a narrative of peace offered, made and shared
with all who have a place
in the history of our lives...
You know our stories well, Lord:
help us shape and write and tell them
with a truth that brings to each
a peaceful end...
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