The following was read to close the sermon:
A poem by Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Sure enough, God, I haven’t murdered anybody.
Not one.
But I have felt it,
the heart’s assault,
the desire to hurt another,
my furtive suffocation of their humanity.
Gentle my heart, Loving One.
Ease my violence into its grave.
Wash my fury clean with compassion,
to see the other as your wounded child.
Turn my anger into courage to love.
Even the most awful person
has a story, a wound, a soul—
perhaps so shrunken in fear and pain
it has become a stone—but still
a soul, your Beloved.
Give me wisdom to understand,
and grace to meet pain and fear with healing,
to be angry at injustice but not at people,
to resist evil with love,
to act boldly, but only with love.
God of resolute gentleness,
help me
not to murder,
even in my heart.