Tuesday, March 1, 2016

and then moves on.

For the first time in the year we’ve loved and owned this condo and been living here, the bayside windows are this morning covered with salt spray, so covered that the view is blurred. I’ve wondered how and whether this is addressed. Maybe it’s left to nature, to rain. Whatever has worked, because up until this morning’s moment the view has been splendid. Maybe the windows tilt in to be washed, I don’t know.

I love, well everybody loves Carl Sandburg's poem "Fog"

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches

and then moves on.

It reminds me of Life, sort of, or maybe opposite, eh. Not silently, Life generally comes shrieking to get it's first breath, stays a while, and then moves on to whatever God has in mind for us after this. Which we know by faith alone. I don't know. 

There’s a lot I don’t know. In fact, I don’t know most things. Last night as I was at the church office preparing my handout for our Tuesday Morning Bible Seminar, the phone rang and I was asked to come to hospital. When I walked into the room, just minutes before eight o’clock, it was clear that Our Lord was at bedside for His saint, and that they would be leaving soon for another world. They left together within the hour, to our quiet sound of psalms and prayers. I was stunned, because earlier in the day, when I visited yesterday morning, we’d had a brief and clear conversation, John and I, concluding with prayer and laying on of hands. 

He died a week short of his 66th birthday, and I’d known him all that time, our families 
members and dear friends together, of our little Body of Christ at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church since 1950. And friends again years later as we served and sang together at Grace Church, Panama City Beach. 

John Benton, Jr. May his soul and the souls of all faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. 

Thomas Carroll Weller, Jr

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.