Share My Bread

On my back they plowed the furrows,*
On my back they sowed the seed,
On my back grew loneliness and fear,
On my back grew want and need.
 
Irons joined my hands together,
Irons joined my feet as well,
Irons kept my heart from dancing,
Irons drove me into hell.
 
In the shadows of the dungeon,
In the dampness of the pit,
There is darkness all around me
With no hope of candles lit.
 
Can’t you see my bleeding furrows,
Can’t you cut the cords of death,
Can’t you help me fill my lungs now,
Can’t you help me take a breath?
 
Then, there’s a voice before I end it,
There are words on printed page,
There’s a message from another,
There’s a chance within this cage.

    “This is what you’re missing brother,
   This is what you’re searching for,
   This is truth and mercy kissing,
   This is peace outside your door.
 
   “Long before you ever heard me,
   Long ago I pitched my tent
   In the garden of your longing,
   In the pain that you now vent.
 
   “I was not the one who marked you
   With the evil of the plow,
   Rather I am here to heal you,
   Ease your pain both here and now.
 
   “May you know that you are welcome,
   As my table full is spread,
   For all people who would gather
   Are welcomed here to share my bread.”

*See Psalm 129

—Don Theomann published an article in the now extinct Christian Living in April 1980. After struggling over 40 years to reject his homosexual orientation, finding truth and mercy kissing outside his door has allowed him to invite peace to rule his heart and accept the gifts his orientation offers.