Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do goe,
Rest of their bones, and souls' delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better then thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
John Donne, Holy Sonnet X
Tomorrow morning I will put the body of a dear friend in the ground. Tomorrow morning I will help a man say goodbye to his wife, children say goodbye to their mother, grandchildren say goodbye to the woman they called Grandma. It will be a holy moment. I am honored to have any part to play in this funeral at all.
Helen lived 84 years on this earth. As I hear the stories about her life, as I gather the facts so that I can deliver the eulogy, I can only conclude that she is a remarkable woman. I use "is" on purpose -- Helen's soul may have been torn from her body by death, but she lives still in the presence of her Savior. She is remarkable. Married 63 years to the same man. Mother to two children biologically and to 23 foster children, two of whom came permanently into her home and were embraced into her family as her own. Faithful servant and woman of prayer. A baker of legendary lemon meringue pies.
I never got to know that Helen. When I met her almost three years ago, Alzheimer's had already gripped her body and mind. But some things run deeper than a disease can reach. Her joy, her stubbornness, her generosity were all plain to see. After six months here, my wife and I realized that Helen was one of our best friends. From her we received an unconditional love that far too often is missing from our churches.
Watching her decline was horrible. For the past few months, we could only pray that God would be merciful to her. Last Saturday, they thought she had a kidney infection. On Sunday her kidneys failed. Early Tuesday morning she was finally at peace. But now her family and friends have to learn to go on living without her.
I hate death. I loathe it with a passion I cannot convey through this keyboard. It is a visceral hatred that only intensifies upon further reflection. My only consolation is that God hates it even more than I do, and that one day Christ will conquer the last enemy and throw it into a lake of fire (I Cor 15:26; Rev 20:14). One day I will see Helen again, and her body will not be wracked by age nor her mind eroded by disease. She will be fully alive, her soul aflame with the joy of seeing her risen, triumphant, glorious Lord.
John Donne was not a Puritan. But his poetry speaks to my soul, and Holy Sonnet X expresses my feelings about death as well as any non-inspired writing. It is of some comfort to think on these words: "Death, thou shalt die."
Tomorrow morning I will put the body of a dear friend in the ground. Tomorrow morning I will help a man say goodbye to his wife, children say goodbye to their mother, grandchildren say goodbye to the woman they called Grandma. It will be a holy moment. I am honored to have any part to play in this funeral at all.
Helen lived 84 years on this earth. As I hear the stories about her life, as I gather the facts so that I can deliver the eulogy, I can only conclude that she is a remarkable woman. I use "is" on purpose -- Helen's soul may have been torn from her body by death, but she lives still in the presence of her Savior. She is remarkable. Married 63 years to the same man. Mother to two children biologically and to 23 foster children, two of whom came permanently into her home and were embraced into her family as her own. Faithful servant and woman of prayer. A baker of legendary lemon meringue pies.
I never got to know that Helen. When I met her almost three years ago, Alzheimer's had already gripped her body and mind. But some things run deeper than a disease can reach. Her joy, her stubbornness, her generosity were all plain to see. After six months here, my wife and I realized that Helen was one of our best friends. From her we received an unconditional love that far too often is missing from our churches.
Watching her decline was horrible. For the past few months, we could only pray that God would be merciful to her. Last Saturday, they thought she had a kidney infection. On Sunday her kidneys failed. Early Tuesday morning she was finally at peace. But now her family and friends have to learn to go on living without her.
I hate death. I loathe it with a passion I cannot convey through this keyboard. It is a visceral hatred that only intensifies upon further reflection. My only consolation is that God hates it even more than I do, and that one day Christ will conquer the last enemy and throw it into a lake of fire (I Cor 15:26; Rev 20:14). One day I will see Helen again, and her body will not be wracked by age nor her mind eroded by disease. She will be fully alive, her soul aflame with the joy of seeing her risen, triumphant, glorious Lord.
John Donne was not a Puritan. But his poetry speaks to my soul, and Holy Sonnet X expresses my feelings about death as well as any non-inspired writing. It is of some comfort to think on these words: "Death, thou shalt die."
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