09/16/09
"I press on, guided not by an inner light;
not by vision or by sight,
but following the trail --
cut and marked
by men who have gone before me."
All of humanity seems to be swallowed up in one attitude:
"We are human, and we are gods."
I readily repeat the speech, but rewrite the sentence:
"We are human, and we are God's."
Driven by Death
Up at 5:15am, left around 6:30am. True to form (and amazing that such a long journey consistently returns such scientific exactness), just inside of 6 hours, I was at my destination. Greatly aided by a lack of sleep (I netted about 4 hrs), mixed with long-term exhaustion compounded by recent inactivity, the trip was largely uneventful, thoughtless, and mellow. A book of Scripture, a few good mysteries, and some high-society essays by Francis Bacon carried the otherwise silent and mentally spastic trip. The trip was prompted by death, as I return to pay honor and my respects. Berlin Wilhelm, founder of Aldersgate Camp, and a man I rapidly learned to love, admire, and respect.
"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." (Psalm 116:15)
It is a blessing to attend the funeral service of one whose heavenly destiny is unquestioned by all. In a real sense, sorrow was supplanted by rejoicing.
Thoughts Upon Death
Those who pass on before us have somewhat of an advantage over us. Their race is complete; their journey is done. They have nothing left to fear or face in this unforgiving world. They have survived; they are saved. They have faced their trials and agonies, and they are done.
We are those who are left to face the uncertain future. It is we who must peer trembling into the fear of the unknown. We are left to face the enemy, trials, calamities, disasters, woes, and persecutions. They won. Will we?
King Solomon said in the book of Ecclesiastes, "It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth." (Ecc 7:2-4)
I say, live close to life. Be present always in the house of death and mourning, for it is man's end. We will all conclude there, and that on level ground. It puts one's life into rapid perspective, for all our works will be tested by fire (1 Cor 3:13). It is the face of the end.
But lest one be torn down and become useless by never-ending introspection and nagging despair, let him frequent the place of new birth. For it provides hope and joy. Fresh life has come, with new hopes, new dreams, new energy and vision. As death takes away, so God gives more. Let one visit the tabernacle of marriage, for it is the joining of lives, of joy, happiness, and promise. It is a place of dedication, and a level, firm, and resolute challenge to life. Know well the place of sickness and of tragedy, for reflection, a new perspective, and loving care are sure to result. Never get so absorbed in the man-made world that you forget our beginnings and our endings. Live close to life.
After the Funeral
After the funeral, I attended the committal, and the dinner following. Public Relations must have stowed itself away in my backseat, for it met me there, and we spent significant time together. I did have the pleasure of visiting with friends, some of whom I have not seen in some time.
And Then to a Swamp
Later, indulging a desire for solitude, quiet, and adventure, I ventured to what is known as the Cranesville Swamp -- a habitat preserve. Whatever would possess a man to go traipsing about a bog, still in formal attire, I can only conjecture. This I do know -- it happened, and was no worse for the wear. (On a slightly more practical note, the mountains of West Virginia are already quite cool at this point of September, and as I had neglected to pack a jacket, the formal coat suited me nicely [no pun intended]. I never even broke a sweat, which is much more than could be said for the funeral chapel.) The place was wonderfully still and quiet, where every sound dropped dead on the soft ground. The cool cloudy weather produced a singularly morosive effect, and much to my delight, kept the mosquitoes down a bit as well (I have killed more while sitting here writing this than I saw in the swamp). The flora is somewhat artificial, as evidenced by the expansive rows of tall, straight pines; and yet unnervingly unnatural, as demonstrated by the short, scrubby trees and bushes in the marsh, and the variety of strange plants, tinged with dull, but uncommon color. All was short and stunted, as though struck by an early frost, and seemed to hover above the surface of the stagnant, stinking water. The forest floor (at the side of the swamp) appeared to have years of needles all piled into a thick soft bed, yet not decaying, as though they had been frozen when once they hit the ground. The dry peat of the swamp path also gave the same effect, softly cushioning each step, but strong and binding if one tried to dig in it.
Evaluating Vacation
Today is day 1 of vacation, and it has placed me in touch with life, with death, with feeling and impression, and put me again back to the elementary principles. It has also made me to see humanity as people; each one as a real person, and I wish for God to reach them all.
(Editor's note: This is the incomplete version of this blog)
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