Monday, January 24, 2005

Sonnet 10

Well, tonight Laura and I watched a movie called Wit. It was an amazing journey through life, into death. As I sat there it dawned on me just how much I've been a part of people's transitions, from life, into death. I've always held it to be the highest honour, to be there like I was on Sunday night. I feel a deep responsibility to walk with people well, as they change worlds. This film was as real as I've experienced it in life. 


In all my stories of being with people when they die, I have concluded that there is an amazing difference, when there is hope. When God is welcomed, or even sought out by the person walking through the valley of the Shadow, the difference is day and night. Trusting in the One who conquered death and made it a slave gives a peace that is real. And for those who are left behind, we do not grieve as those who have no hope.


Anyway, Linea dropped it by so we watched it tonight. A bit of good medicine I think. Lauralea sat in the corner weeping for most of the film, and I just sat with a stunned look on my face. Thinking about Sunday. Thinking about the fact that tomorrow is my Dad's birthday, (63 I believe.) And how he's been given 7 extra years so far, thanks to two liver transplants.


But I guess my thoughts were mostly with my uncle tonight. He's in a hospital room in Portage La Prairie with the "C" word raging through his body. He wasn't expected to make the weekend, but the body is an amazing thing and does what it will. Mom has arrived there and they wait for more family to arrive. His journey will be done soon, and he goes, filled with hope.


Tonight I needed to see that film because it fills me with hope. The theme of hope in Christ comes through again and again but not through the doctors, nor the one who suffers, but through her words. Or rather, the words of her hero, John Donne.


Rev. Donne has long been my hero too:



Death, be not proud, though some have call?d 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 yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul's 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 than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.


Sonnet 10



1 comment:

  1. It's one film that's going in my collection -- the Pulitzer-prize winning play, too.

    ReplyDelete



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