Some years ago a friend of mine shared a poem about an intimate and life-shattering moment. I responded, attempting to encourage her.
Many of us are raw and vulnerable now. Loved ones, family, friends, have died or are dying. Or we are afraid.
Such are the realities of life. And death.
We are exhorted to ‘Be happy with those who are happy,’ and let us also be quick to ‘weep with those who weep.’ (Romans 12:15)
There is no coming back, only
There is blue
in your face, in your hands and feet.
A cool cloth is on your head.
The nurse appears precisely on the hour.
I understand the compassion of precision
for the first time:
there will be no moment in this interminability
when you are in pain.
I play all the most beautiful music
I can think of
on my phone:
Bach’s solo cello sonatas,
Lauridsen’s Lux aeterna.
(By the Rev. Jane A. Beebe, used with permission)
Coma, an Answer
Man is red, but Heaven is blue.
Man is hot, hot and bothered;
Christ is cool, cool and relaxed;
Relaxed in invitation, “Follow me.”
Blood is red, but Heaven is blue.
In the violet of blessed sleep,
We lie between,
For a time.
Sleep is abandonment,
A time in which all must trust in the Lord.
Sleep or go mad.
Trust, or go mad.
The Great Commandment
Continues after death.
Love is happy duty,
And duty, happy love.