The men sat in the round.
Shoulders wearied by unwelcome burdens.
Faces etched with lines time can’t erase.
They pass a cup from one to another,
a cup overflowing with
unwelcome disappointments,
unfulfilled dreams,
unmet expectations,
un-asked-for problems,
unacceptable demands, and
unprocessed fears.
An unwanted cup.
Oh, how many times have they asked and cried out:
“Take this cup away from me.”
Yet, they drink this cup together for no man should drink alone.
And the tears begin to fall.
And these tears do not fall
red or blue,
progressive or traditional,
Christian or atheist.
No. These tears are not partisan.
These tears are the colour of brotherhood.
One man raises the cup:
“My name is Dad. I am a recovering control freak.”
And another:
“My name is Dad. I am a recovering shame-giver.
And another:
“My name is Dad. I am a recovering explosion of anger.”
And another:
“My name is Dad. I am simply recovering.”
And in that shared moment,
where time seems to slow
and the shadows retreat,
where the holy makes space…
In that moment, they find the will to drink deep,
a courageous act of hope
worthy of honour and admiration…
and heaven pauses to watch.
They drink this cup together for no Dad should drink alone.