Monday, July 11, 2011

The Oldest Enemy

Sometimes Death appears without warning,
Pouncing on a loved one unawares,
Leaving us stunned and confused.

Our prayer is a question – Why?

Sometimes Death’s tread is measured and deliberate.
Long is its coming, slow its approach.
Preparations are made.
We brace for the blow.

We pray for courage.

Sometimes Death gnaws at its prey;
unhurried and unmoved by the plight of its quarry
‘til in the end we embrace our common Enemy,
clutching at the very thing we dread.

We beg God to take us.

For those beyond asking we plead for mercy—
Death for the Not-Still-Living-Not-Yet-Dead.

Dying is that most private rite of passage.
Surrounded by family and friends,
Still we cross alone.

As witnesses we would comfort.
We would lend our courage to the fearful.
We would grant our peace to the troubled.

So we cradle the trembling hand…
Kiss the fevered brow…
Stroke the head past caring…
Whisper love in ears no longer hearing...
Bless, and believe we are a blessing…
...Hope we are a blessing

If dying is lonely so is grieving.
Your pain is yours. I cannot feel it.
Though we grieve side-by-side,
We grieve alone.
All that we can share is love.

So we love the dying.
We love the grieving.

In Love we place our hope.

Hope for One Who…
Shares our grief…
Heals our grief…
Removes our grief…

…One Who is the Resurrection and the Life.


Bobbi Laird said...

My goodness Glen! Who wrote that? It was painfully true but comforting.

Glen Land said...

Well, actually I wrote it a few days ago.