Friday, June 18, 2021

Sing, pray against the dying of the light

 May be an image of sky, tree, twilight and nature


Wearing a tiara with pink fluff, she stands by balloons, smiling. It’s her 95th birthday, and she bought cake for the whole congregation. Her whole demeanor is one of joy and gratitude. 

Later in Sunday school, pastor-daddy says “I’m not sure I’ll be that giggly when I'm 95!” and I quip, “Hun, you’re not that giggly NOW!”

How can this be? 95 years in this broken place and she shines with joy!
She has buried friends, seen dreams crushed, lived upheavals and yet still she laughs, she smiles at the future!

Another dear saint, this one “only” 93, tells me she’s decided it’s time to move into a home. I offer her words meant to acknowledge the grief that must go with this big move, but she just smiles and pats my hand. “The Lord carried me through the war. He will go with me in this.”

This is the work of God, surely. To take those who have every reason to be crushed by this world and hold them up, make them smile and sing even in the face of tragedy. 

This is no small miracle. 
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Earlier this week, I read this poem and I was captivated by the rhythm of it:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-- Dylan Thomas

The passion of these words resonates: but rage… rage is not the right word, not for the faithful saint at close of day. Rage is for those who do not know their maker, who fight the horrible wrongness of death alone and are crushed by it. Rage is removed for the Christian, melted into trust, because of Jesus who absorbs it on the cross. The resurrection cancels rage and rewrites our natural song into something like this….

Do not go grumbling into that good night,
Old age can shine and say at close of day:
Pray, laugh against the dying of the light.

So Christians at their end know dark is bright,
Because the Word says “it is finished,” they
Do not go hopeless into that good night.

Women, with decades by, alive by His might 
Their frail deeds in His hands like piles of clay
Pray, smile against the dying of the light.

And you, dear sisters, there on the lofty height,
Guide, bless us now with faithful songs, we pray
Do not go hopeless into that good night.
Sing, laugh against the dying of the light.

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photo by Eldon Cook, Ohio River 2020

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