An old pastor lay dying in his bed.
He was beloved by the congregation,
and surrounded by two generations of children,
who adored this frail man.
Hours passed with the soft strokes,
that cradled his weathered fingers.
Weepy-eyed visitors exchanged silent glances.
Not so many days remained in the hour glass for him.
He could no longer respond to their questions,
but he heard every sound uttered in the room.
He was surprised at those who came,
to give respect to their spiritual leader.
He recognized the young boy in his congregation,
who at the age of 12 declared he was openly gay.
Now at 22, he looked more like a man than a boy,
as he knelt beside the pastor and began to cry.
“I used to hate you, for the words that came from your mouth,
‘preaching’ of hate and intolerance for people like me.
I felt alone and confused while listening to the words that said, ‘God hated me’.
But how can God hate, when God is Love?
How can God judge in vain what He created?”
The pastor was stunned by the words that rung in his ears.
He realized they were alone,
no audience to hear this diatribe,
only his confused soul.
Now he couldn’t retort back verses,
that validated his belief.
Now he couldn’t run away,
and escape this tormenting grief.
The boy wiped the tears from his cheeks,
and began to share his story.
“I realized that the only judgment I feared,
was not the judgment of God,
but of men and their glory.”
“I forgive you and so does God,
because in forgiveness is the understanding,
that you were raised to this belief,
without seeing it from my view;
so there’s nothing left for me except to forgive you."
"And for the years I wasted hating you,
I pray the judgment that separated us,
becomes a bridge of understanding,
and there’s nothing more to discuss."