Dear Friends,
On Sunday we will observe All Saints’ Day. This is a necessarily difficult day in the year as we bring to memory those who have died over the last year. I thought I would like to mention that in my newsletter today, since I believe a day like this calls for some preparation. Perhaps you would like to slow down, light a candle, and bring to memory those whom you have lost over the past year. How do they live on in our world through your memories?
Perhaps you would like to extend your list beyond your personal circle – deliberately remembering those who have died in war; those who took a stand for what they believe in; refugees dying at sea or in trying to reach a safer destination (a full list of their names will also be read at 15:00 on Sunday in the Mozes en Aäronkerk); femicide; those who suffered terrible and sometimes preventable illnesses; addiction. All Saints’ Day calls us to open our hearts to remember them all.
When I tried to do this over the last week, I listened to Eva Cassidy and Chuck Brown’s version of the famous Over the Rainbow. I can certainly recommend this song as a meditation coupled with our reading for Sunday, Revelation 7:9-17: “They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the centre of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
Someone shared this beautiful poem, I never wanted to be born, with me, which is fitting as we prepare our hearts for Sunday:
I never wanted to be born.
The older I grew,
the fonder I became|
of my mother’s womb
and its warmth
and its safety,
I feared the unknown:
the next world
about which I knew nothing,
but imagined the worst.
Yet, as I grew older,
I sensed in my soul
that the womb was not my home forever.
Though I did not know when,
I felt sure that one day
I would disappear through a door
which had yet to be opened,
and confront the unknown
of which I was afraid.
And then,
it happened.
In blood, tears and pain,
it happened.
I was cut off from the familiar;
I left my life behind
and discovered … not darkness, but light;
not hostility, but love;
not eternal separation,
but hands that wanted to hold me.
I never wanted to be born.
I don’t want to die.
The older I grow,
the fonder I become
of this world
and its warmth
and its safety.
I fear the unknown:
the next world
about which I know nothing,
but imagine the worst.
Yet as I grow older,
I sense in my soul
that this world is not my home forever.
Though I do not know when,
I feel that one day
I will disappear through a door
which has yet to be opened.
Perhaps having come so safely through
the first door,
I should not fear so hopelessly the second.
Marius