Weaver of stories

Thirty years ago today, I was 'licensed to preach' by the then Greenock Presbytery of the Church of Scotland. During the discernment process, I was unable to answer affirmatively the question "Do you have a desire to preach?" posed by the men who were assessing my call. 
In 30 years of ministry I can't say I have ever experienced a desire to preach.
Back then I wasn't able to articulate it but now I know that the role to which I felt called was more akin to that of a story weaver. A role that involved more listening than speaking, allowing folks to hear their own and others' stories and to make connections with one another and with the God who created each of us as storied beings. Forging connections with a God who beholds humanity through tear filled eyes, extending love filled arms, imploring us to look at one another and to listen to one another's stories. For only in hearing one another's stories and, through them, holding one another sacred, will we be able to protect the fragile light from being snuffed out by the darkness of conflict.

Story Weavers

The heavy threads of fear and grief
are borne gently
their weight acknowledged as they are interspersed
with gossamer light filaments of love
whose strength belies their fragility
They are laid out in an intricate pattern
that extends an invitation to draw near
to see better
to hear better
tales of war and violence
and hunger and greed
interrupted by incidents
of reverence and kindness
that offer some salve
to the hurt and anguish
And while the darkness is barely diminished
a thread of hope begins to emerge
to infiltrate despair
as stories are held with sacred regard
bringing transformation in their sharing.

Liz Crumlish August 30, 2024