I Am Sure You Will – SONG, November 18, 2025

Hup sat across from the young pastor of mother’s church. He looked around the study to the massive number of books on the shelves. He was a bit uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he wore a tie, and cinched it down a little tighter than necessary. Still, he thought the occasion warranted the neckwear – whether prepared for a noose or a show – he didn’t know. Why did he go to see Pastor Wainwright? He finished his meditations on Chapter Three and realized the true body of Christ could only be known by the character of those who followed Jesus, and quite frankly, having gone through experiencing the anger of mother’s children – Deacons Jones and Wilder – he acquired a dim view of mother and her brood. They weren’t poisonous vipers as those who cried, ‘Crucify! Crucify! Still they were quick to coil and ready to strike at any moment they felt offended.

 

“Ready to strike? What do you mean by that?” Pastor Wainwright asked.

 

“Thin skinned… quick to justify themselves. Misinformed as to what it means to judge someone, as opposed to discerning the spirit and calling them out,” Hup responded.

 

“From what I’ve seen and heard, you aren’t a snake charmer, Mr. Marchuck,” he countered.

 

“Granted, I’m not, and I’m not by nature a John the Baptist, but there are times – supernaturally – I’ll spy out the Pharisee and they’ll expose the inside of their dirty cup.”

 

“You told everyone that they made you the keeper of our vineyard.”

 

“I also confessed, I am black; discolored… weather beaten. I hadn’t tended to my own vineyard – that’s on me,” Hup said and smiled. “You weren’t here. I am accountable for my actions. It’s a matter of addressing the plank in my own eye before the speck in others.”

 

“So, you addressed your own, as well as ours?”

 

“Yes. I had hoped to encourage the right things… stirring up each other in love, not anger. You do agree, right?”

 

“With your wine tasting?” he pressed in close to ask, all the while ignoring the Biblical basis in Hup’s appeal. 

 

Hup leaned back in his chair. “Really?” He didn’t understand Pastor Wainwright, but for just a second, as the afternoon light hit the dust motes drifting above the pastor’s desk, Hup saw it—the locked garden, the sealed fountain, the orchard of pomegranates right there in this tired little study. His righteousness was here too. He almost smiled. Hup then looked at the pastor: “You know, I didn’t come to dispute or concede the idea of combining a home Bible study with a wine tasting. I’ve talked about that already with Deacon Jones and Wilder. I thought they talked to you.”

 

“Why did you come then?” Pastor Wainwright asked, again dismissing Hup’s question.     

 

Hup wasn’t about to challenge him. He decided to answer his question. “Just to say that I need to be mindful that Christ died for his bride… the true body, not the brick and mortar but the flesh and blood. 

 

“And you’ll know them how?”

 

“They’ll at least make an effort to recognize my sincerity. I’m not here to judge. Christ loves his bride, and she’s beautiful to him – flawless because of him. I came to tell you that, and to whatever extent I can tend to my vineyard here in service to you and my brothers and sisters, I’m more than willing to make a go.”

 

“Well, that’s quite nice, Mr. Marchuck. I’m sure we’ll find something for you.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure you will.”