Fortunately it is not Peter the door of the Father

My phone Thursday evening very late rang. The voice on the other side was tender and very sore. "Will aids minister over buried my brother." I said I would like and it does not matter that I knew him not. I know this woman crying to me on the phone. Funeral is for the living moss. The living should be comforted and encouraged. aids I see the sister Monday and we talked about how he died and today I realized that we were not really that day in his life came out. I am getting more aware of a deeper disease aids which I do not know. I think she evaded the questions. Maybe I did not ask. So come Thursday, 10 hours. 's aids Funeral. I do funerals little different. I go to the resignations and then I preach. This time the resignations changed my sermon. The thin man stood up. He came the acknowledgments. He thanked all those who need to be thanked. aids When he finished, he said his sister wants to say something. His sister came and read a letter. A love letter that the man who wrote acknowledgments to the man we buried today. Twenty years his partner. I looked over the small group of people at the funeral. I see hurt that lies deeper than any pain I have in a very long time seen. I see a 82 year old father from whose eyes the tears just will not stop flowing. I see the sister whose shoulders just can not quit while. I see a man who is not in my eyes could because he was not sure if he can show that she probably hurt the most painful yet. I was called to comfort. I was called to the troosloses comfort. Flashed aids through my mind all the texts on homosexuality and all the opinions and the extreme sensitivity of this matter. But I do for the moment not. For me, broken people who need to be comforted aids and encouraged to be. I changed my sermon there on my feet. Pslam 23 today will not work. I said something about that there are many things we do not understand. I say something about that every man should allow his grief.
I hit the 82-year-old father's hand at the grave. He said: "I will miss him as minister. He was good to me. "I went to the one we buried sister and tell her strength. She said: "Thank minister aids understand." I went to the bedanker then. I do not know who's aids the deepest sadness lies not. The 82 year old father sense, aids or the man that has been a partner of 20 years buried. I said I was sorry about his friend who died, because I'm really sorry. He said: "We were the only gay couple in our circle of friends, but we were the happiest couple in our circle of friends. He was my life. "I do not know what more to say. I invited him over one day with me to discuss. He rolls up his sleeves, he wanted the love of his life 'grave inundate.
I walked away and I still do not have the final answer on the gay issue. I have not even bought myself a final answer. But today I do not care that I do not have an answer for the questions that people ask. I am not called to answer questions. I was called to tend sheep. I walked back to the car. I was angry with myself about the tears from my eyes sprouting. I'm aids angry because I let people hurt me so deeply touched. I am angry because the last two times they managed not with people crying, now today ... When will I do not have to cry. The ride home was quiet. Renate says nothing. She asks. She was there. She also heard the letter.
I said nothing. I think netw honor to egdagte during the sermon came to mind - I believe it was the Holy Spirit: We are not the gatekeepers at the door of the Father's house not. My thoughts are also with the mind. I'm just the one who signed the road map. The route indicated. Give the address. The business aids card heave. Everyone will have his own way to find his chances must be daring and see if he can come.
Fortunately it is not Peter the door of the Father's house will open as many think. It is the Father's house. I think the Father himself will open the door. Or maybe it's more like that parable of the prodigal son - our Dad would sit on the porch and we from afar came, and he will meet us running.
At home I threw a strong cup of coffee and I'm going to crawl a few minutes away in my study. For some reason, my eyes focus on the tree in the garden and the pesky dog the window. Seems like everything swimming. I pray, I speak only just. "Thank God that the final decision on a room in Your house gets, not Mine. Father, I have your business card off at the broken ones. I know they know your address. Actually I think all of them know where you live. I hope there are these people who are going to contact you so that you can help them. Will you please with them as beautiful work as