I hear the sound of breaking hearts.
Tender, young hearts, open and hopeful,
Facing betrayal from the church which formed them.
Scarred, resilient, older hearts,
Once-healed wounds torn open by hatred and prejudice.
I know the pain of a breaking heart.
The shock, the sadness,
The emptiness that has no end.
You are held,
You are loved.
Your wounds are tended
By the One who knew you before you were imagined,
The One who whispers,
“I created you,
And I love you
Just the way you are.”
Henri Nouwen said it this way:
Long before your father, your mother, your brother, your sister, your school, your church touched you, loved you, and wounded you — long before that you were held safe in an eternal embrace.
—Henri J. M. Nouwen
Our First Love