Published in the Fowlerville News & Views on Nov. 22
In the midst of grief, a way ahead. In the
midst of darkness, a guiding light. In the midst of despair, hope.
The Book
of Common Prayer used by the Anglican Communion since 1549, contains this passage
for the “Order for the Burial of the Dead.”
Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full
of misery. He cometh up and is cut down like a flower; he flieth as it were a
shadow, and never continueth in one stay. In the midst of life we be in death.
It’s hard to read (or hear) anything more
forlorn, or seemingly more hopeless about the human condition. The words echo
those at the beginning of Ecclesiastics:
“Meaningless! Meaningless!” says the Teacher. “All is meaningless!… What does a
man gain for all the toil at which he toils under the sun? One generation
comes, and another generation goes: but the earth abides forever… (and) All
things are filled with weariness. . .”
But the “Order for the Burial of the Dead”
continues on, past that bleak outlook, and concludes with this exaltation:
“Behold, I show you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all
be changed, and that in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye by the last trump.
For the trump shall blow, and the dead shall rise incorruptible, and we shall
be changed….Death where is thy sting? Hell where is thy victory?”
The longtime Washington Post book critic, Michael Dirda, in an essay discussing
the English Religious Traditions that include the Book of Common Prayer, the King James version of the Bible, The Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan,
and the hymns of Isaac Watts and Charles Wesley that helped launch the
Methodist Church, described this sort of language—and the meaning it conveys—as
keeping “us spellbound with its deeply felt nobility and seriousness.”
Dirda adds, “The solemn harmonies of such
prose are largely ignored in these days of text-messaging and political newspeak.
Nonetheless, sometimes only the full organ roll of liturgical English can match
the sacredness of weddings, funerals, and religious holy days.”
EARLIER THIS YEAR, OUR FAMILY DEALT with the illness and then death of my step-father, Bob
Bartz. A few months later we gathered to witness the wedding of our son Bradley
and Lindsay and then of our grandson Andrew and Becky.
In the midst of loss, new beginnings. In the
midst of sadness, celebration.
The details of a funeral or a wedding are
unique to the given occasion and the persons involved; still there is a
commonality, a familiarity of words and ritual that, as we grow older, are both
anticipated and desired.
How
many times have we gathered around a freshly-dug grave and listened to the pastor
recite the words of the 23rd
Psalm: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”?
Yet, even so, the passage remains eloquent and comforting. The funeral would
not seem proper—would not provide its purpose of closure and
reconciliation—without this recitation.
Likewise
the passage that highlights a marriage ceremony: “Do you take….?” followed, as
we know, by a series of questions, starting with “To have and to hold” and
ending with “Till death do us part?’
The ensuing answer “I do” is as simple as it
gets when it comes to language. Two words, a noun and a verb. But in the context
of this ceremony, they possess a depth and breadth of meaning and significance.
Two people, by answering “I do” have vowed to share their lives, facing
whatever fortune or misfortune comes their way, and have also promised to be
faithful to each other. Commitment, loyalty, and trust are all part and parcel
in their affirmation.
Perhaps as important, as they stand at the
altar, they are
telling
themselves, each other, and all in attendance that the future is not
meaningless, but full of promise and
great expectations.
“A generation comes, and a generation goes,
but life abides.”
OUR
SEGMENT OF FAMILY WILL GATHER TOGETHER this Thursday—as will countless
other families across the land—to observe and partake in Thanksgiving. We’ll do
so, well aware that a familiar face is no longer among us. We’ll miss Bob’s
presence, his conversation, and his thorough enjoyment of this holiday.
At the same time, we’ll be joined by two
young ladies, Lindsay and Becky, who, while they have been with us at recent
get-togethers, are now part of the family.
“Though much is lost, much is gained,”
wrote the poet Tennyson of this mortal journey, referring to the ebb and flow of
that we come to know as the years accumulate.
In the coming days, we’ll experience another
Christmas season. Familiar rituals and traditions will abound. None perhaps
more so than hearing again the words from the Gospel of Luke, as found in the King James version of the Bible.
“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from
Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed… And Joseph also went up
from Galilee, out of the City of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David,
which is called Bethlehem (because he was of the house and lineage of David),
to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was,
that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be
delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped
him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room
for them in the inn.”
Michael Dirda, in his essay, noted that
“Toward the end of December, year after year, these words are spoken aloud from
pulpits and alters, and, for most listeners, they never fail to deliver a
shivery thrill of pleasure. Why is this? The plain sentences don’t possess any
narrative excitement, as we all know the story already, indeed we probably know
it far better than any other in all the world, But the language—like that of so
many other passages from the Bible—keeps us spellbound with its deeply felt
nobility and seriousness.”
Luke’s narrative, as most of us know, does
not end with the baby being “wrapped in swaddling clothes” and “laid in a
manger.” The passage goes on:
“And
there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, and keeping
watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them,
and the glory of the Lord shone around about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings
of great joy, which shall be for all people. For unto you is born this day in
the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord”. . . “And suddenly
there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and
saying “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men.”
Of course, the Luke’s story does not end with
this birth at Bethlehem. It continues on to Calvary, the agony of the cross, followed
by the Empty Tomb and all it signifies.
“Death where is thy sting? Hell where is thy
victory?”
In the midst of crucifixion, resurrection.
In the midst of despair, hope. In the
midst of death, the Light of Original Glow.
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