where love is

I know of a place
where friendship means something beyond the shallow norm
where friends sacrifice their lives for one another
where love is pure
where love is not a mere empty word that leads to betrayal

I know of a place
where love is
and I often like to go there

I know of a place
where a mother's love
causes her to lay down her life for her child
her life for his
her blood to seal his fate

I know of a place
where love compels a child
to lay down his life for his friends
to end the reign of evil
it is a place where the blood of the courageous is shed
because there are people courageous enough to love
and it is so different from the cold, heartless, piercingly empty world I know

I know of a place
wicked, some call it
evil, dark...
oh, but that is what they call me
and there is love there
love, even for the outcasts

I know of a place
where the young have courage
to stand and fight
for all that is right
and against all that is wrong
there are cowards, yes
but heroes, too

I know of a place
where love lives

Where is this place, you ask?
The Harry Potter books

Strange, isn't it
that a story about witchcraft
would contain more morals, more truth, more courage, more sacrificial love
than your own

Strange, isn't it
that the place where the outcast, the hungry for love, the child of the world
can find these things they so persistently seek
is not your home, your church, or among your religious friends
where the "witchy" curse, harm, and destroy
free from the hinderances of those with sacrificial love
but in a "place" you call evil

Strange, isn't it
that you call me the same things
you label this "place"

Strange, isn't it
how your religiosity simply doesn't measure up
against people, places, books
marked by
known for
love
the harsh, stark, unyielding truth of it

Could it be
that you are missing how things were meant to be
that this "threat" merely outshines your religion
that love really is crucial
that you could miss it
and that those you think so wrong might be the ones
to someday find it, rejoice in it, and die for it
as you never could?

I knew a place
where "love" was spoken
but their words were without life
where grown men were too cowardly to die
that love might live
and I will not go there again

May the children never, either

May they seek love
may they spread their arms wide and feel the piercing pain
may they pay the price

Witchcraft is an abomination to God
and those who practice it will not see eternal life
but neither will those who love not

Take my life, my blood, oh God
that Your Love would mark those
who know You not
and may look in all the wrong places
but who seek, desire above all, would die for Love
crucify the dead words, the fragments of religion, all that ties me to that which is not love
create among us the "place"
where Love is

alexander and alan

Once upon a time there was a small army in a very small kingdom named Purcellville. The young men of this army were known to be very brave. They were a "band of brothers," in a sense, always spurring one another on when they thought one of their members needed a little push — "like iron sharpening iron" one of the young men described their blessed fellowship.

All the young maidens of the land thought these young men simply the height of manliness, the perfection of all that is courage and morality. Every day, they would come and sit at their feet and listen as the young warriors stood at the city gates and shared the recent victories won against injustice in the land.

One young man in particular would specially charm the young maidens by adding how afraid he was, quoting song lyrics that had filled his heart with courage and love of country, and talking of sunsets and sunrises witnessed on his journey that had simply stolen his breath away. All the maidens thought he was particularly brave and strong.

One day, a small homeless girl approached their party at the gate. Alexander, one of the more famous warriors, saw her first and tapped the friend next to him on the shoulder. The little girl was afraid of what they would say to her when she got closer — and ashamed about what they must be saying about her as she approached with her ragged and too-large clothing and dirt-smudged hands and knees.

All she ever had to do was approach somebody and the lies and rumors would start, so there was no use trying to hide her appearance, and yet she was so very weary of being "known" before even speaking — or being given a chance to speak.

But she had been watching and listening from afar to the charming warrior who talked of color-painted skies and stirring songs and overcoming terrible fears like she often felt and she thought that maybe he was different than the rest — gentler, nobler, compassionate and yet fierce at the same time and for the right things. His name was Alan, she was pretty sure. And she was now standing directly in front of him and he was looking down at her with a kindly expression.

"Sir Alan?" she began, her words coming out barely above a whisper. "Yes?" he responded, smiling. She gained courage from his kind look and felt stronger and less ashamed as her voice grew louder. "If all that you have said of yourself is true, then I believe you are different than the rest of these men, and the one to tell of this serious matter of injustice we outcasts have been dealing with which no one else cares of or does anything to stop.

"Your fellow soldiers have been taunting and abusing us, hurting us. I understand you have no reason to listen to a poor girl like me, of bad reputation and lowly appearance, but I am not bad like some say that I am, and my hands and my knees are dirty because I was struck down, my clothing torn because they hurt me. Please help us, sir. I am tired of being oppressed when I have done nothing wrong, and am too weak to fight..."

Her voice trailed off as she saw his eyes growing wider and his expression changing. "This has nothing to do with me!" he stood up and exclaimed in anger. "It is not my responsibility to deal with this and you are gossiping about my friends!"

The young girl was disappointed, but unsurprised. The fierce "band of brothers" claimed to be accountable to each other lest they become malicious or cowardly, but it was a hoax. The brave young men loved to talk of victory and fighting injustice while flexing their muscles for the young maidens, but it was all a sham.

She had not meant to gossip or ruin one man's reputation to another. She had only wanted the pain and oppression to stop, her own unearned bad reputation to be corrected by someone the people loved and would trust so people would no longer treat her as worthless and evil without even knowing her, and to find out if there were any men or women of the sort of character that loves justice and hates all injustice and offers real compassion that can be felt to those in need.

In truth, the young warriors fought no battles of their own. They loved to talk of banishing all injustice from the land, but tell them of it right in their midst, stand before them face to face and ask for help, and their words were empty and dead.

And so she decided that she would hide in silence. There were no heroes in the land. There was no hope that she would ever be "one of them" someday — respected, loved, not despised. She recoiled at the thought of such a hope — she hated the thought of being such. She would rather be hated.

disgrace

Once upon a time
there was a woman
who loved
and loved
and loved

"Why does she love me?"
some wondered
for they had been told by others
that they were unlovable
yet she loved them
somehow

Why did she love?

Wrong
some called such love
shameful, even
for she loved the poor
the criminal
the unclean
the friendless

Why did she love us?

Maybe we will never know
for she could not stay
that woman who loved
and loved
and loved
passed away
last Fourth of July

Why did she love me?
Why did she stand beside me and squeeze my hand
when I was friendless and alone?
Why did she defend me
when others shamed me?
Why did she smile and hug and welcome me like family
while others stood by and scoffed and lied and waited to crucify?
Why did she love me?

Unlovable
I am
once more

Unlovable
I am
to those who knew her well

Unlovable
I am
to those who loved her

Or am I?

Can one who knew her well
miss the reason she loved
everyone?

Can one who truly loved her
let her love die?

Would they not know how it would grieve her
to live as they do?

Would they not have filled their hearts up with the love she offered them
and never, ever let it die
if their love were real and true and faithful?

She loved me
and you disgrace her
because you let her love die

Why did she love me?
Because she knew she had been loved
and she filled herself up to overflowing with His Love
so that all would know
the great love she had been shown
though ever unworthy she often felt

He Loved her
and she honored Him
she never let one pass her by without telling them, showing them how He Loved

Why do you not love with her love?
I know that she loved you
no less than she loved me
but you turn and walk away
and those who never met her
do not know
how she loved you
how she would have loved them
though ever unworthy

You disgrace her

"Many called her beautiful
for the way she dressed,
the way she smiled,
the way she danced—
merely the way she looked.
But that she reached to cool My forehead when I was sick,
that she said a kind word when I was discouraged,
that she hugged Me when I cried,
that she loved Me—
I thought that was most beautiful of all.

Great men of the times
rose up and called her great
because of things she had done
or said—
mere accomplishments and wise words,
the world acclaimed.
But that she took My hand when I was afraid,
that she stood by Me when I was alone,
that she was not a mere fair weather friend,
that she loved Me—
I thought that was greatest of all.

Many loved her
for so very many reasons they often liked to say,
and talk of,
and praise—
and wonderful
were the things they listed.
But that she asked nothing,
that she awaited no gift,
that she demanded no merit when I was poor and friendless and weary of trying,
that she loved Me—
I loved that most of all.

And she still looks beautiful
and they still say great things
and there are many who love her
but now there is fear in her eyes—
for now she stands before the Throne
and the things of earth are but a peasant's cloak, a pauper's disguise.
But then I step forward
and take her hand
and smile
and say, simply,
'She loved Me.'

'But Lord . . . when did I do these things—
Lord, when were You sick,
or discouraged,
when did I hold You in my arms while You cried?'
she exclaimed
in surprise.
And I replied,
'When you did it for your child,
for a stranger,
for one who could give nothing in return—
it was then you loved Me.'

And many call her beautiful
and many call her great
and many love her for the things she said and did
and I know she will not be forgotten—
but remember most of all,
remember how she loved.
Remember how she asked nothing,
how she awaited no gift,
how she demanded no merit from the poor and friendless and weary of failing—
remember that she loved Me,
remember that she loved Me."

Matthew 25:31-46
'She Loved Me' — For Sono Sato Harris