John 19:25-27 Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home. (“The disciple whom he loved,” also known as the “Beloved Disciple,” has been understood to be John since the end of the First Century.)

“Sometimes I’m John”

Sometimes I’m John where I.V. poles cast shadows rivaling those that graced Golgotha.
Sometimes I’m John standing in cramped corners on tired legs a witness to saviors in scrubs and saints in green gowns.
Sometimes I’m John holding both mothers and Marys when the move to comfort care is anything but.
Sometimes I’m John a silent solitary ear to sobs in search for succor.
Sometimes I’m John starting and stopping, stammering and stuttering, struggling for words.
Sometimes I’m John who knows full well words won’t work.
Sometimes I’m John finding family with those bound by G-d’s word and our circumstance.
Sometimes I’m John wanting to hold till they be healed all those cursed to hang on a tree.
Sometimes I’m John worried if you have forsaken them.
Sometimes I’m John unable to thank You for this Friday.
Sometimes I’m John waiting under the weight of uncertainty born of being at Baptist.
Sometimes I’m John asking, “how long, O Lord? How long?”
Sometimes I’m John sharing Saturdays in ERs and ICUs companion to those suffering and seeking.
Sometimes I’m John and am there to see a shift change with a new dawn.
Sometimes I’m John when Sunday’s shadows are only in empty tombs and discharged rooms.
Sometimes I’m John and the stone is rolled away not to let him out, but to let mothers and Marys in.
Sometimes I’m John and hear them wondering, “Why were we crying?”
Sometimes I’m John and laugh with those who were patient and those who were patients how with a word a gardner became G-d.
Sometimes I’m John who knows Fridays become Saturdays and those Saturdays become Sundays and Sundays will always come.
And I pray that sometimes I’m John there able to share this truth.

Shared during a worship service with patients/families/caregivers at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center (7/19/15). The words are a reflection of my experiences as a pastor and a chaplain.