The Cross and The Stone

The benediction pronounced,
the last hymn sung,
greetings exchanged,
sad farewells shared,
we drove away from the church
leaving behind pieces of our hearts
and the body of my father.
Only in our memories would we
ever again smell the fragrance of
his aftershave lotion, hear his laugh,
see him at his desk crafting a sermon
for preaching next Sunday.

Dreary days passed before I could muster the
courage to open his desk drawers
and rummage through things he had
touched and treasured.
He wrote with a fountain pen…who
uses fountain pens anymore?
As I pushed scribbled notes aside,
I uncovered a small cloth bag,
a draw string at the top. It was not empty.
I looked at it for several minutes
before gently pulling the draw string
open, turning the bag upside down and
watching the contents tumble onto
the dark wood.

A slip of paper, a small pocket cross,
and a rock, a common backyard rock,
ordinary in every way.
I think I skipped a breath when I saw my
name on the folded paper,
addressed to me, left for me to find,
waiting to be discovered.
Here’s what I read.

My son, I left this little bag
for you. Maybe in time you will find it
and appreciate the contents. These two
items will influence how you live the
rest of your life. I carried the cross in my
pocket to remind me that love is so much
more than sentiment. Love is the will power
to sacrifice for the welfare of the other,
willing sacrifice for the welfare of life. Willing
sacrifice…say those words right now. Less
than that, love is a marketplace commodity.

The rock has worn holes in my pockets over
the years. It’s like the stone the man carried when
he was about to fling it at the woman caught in adultery.
Do you remember the story? Just when he was
poised to throw it at her pitiful body, he heard a
voice say: “Let him who is without sin cast the
first stone.” In sudden shame and embarrassment,
he dropped it on the ground, turned and walked away.
What you don’t know, my son, is that same voice
was heard again…”Come here my brother.
Yes, brother…lift your head, don’t be ashamed.
You are forgiven. You are a child of my Father.
You are my brother, and you are forgiven.”
As he said these words, Jesus slipped the
stone back into the man’s trembling hands
and told him to carry it as a reminder
of the moment when anger and hate
were overcome by grace and mercy.
They embraced and the man
walked away weeping.

There were times, son, when I wanted to use
that rock for revenge, but each time I reached
into my pocket to find it,
I felt the little cross
and I became the man whose anger turned
to shame and whose shame became rejoicing.
All because of a pocket cross and a rock.
Imagine.