Sitting with the dying
Sitting with the dying I feel is a privilege, to be able to do simple things for them.
To place their hand on top of mine, to give little sips to help fight off thirst, or to wipe a fevered forehead with a cooling clothe; yes just simple things.
Or to sit in silence, or reading from the psalms, or saying some prayers and talking when they seem to need it; which they seldom do in their last days and hours; for in the end they are waiting. They are enclosed by the in-between, a land of grey mist and desert surroundings, where one world is fading and another slowly coming into view. It is the middle place, the inner desert that the waiting takes place. Their own private Gethsemane, where with Christ the chalice must be emptied, all dregs imbibed The final stripping after a long journey of slow diminishment, the loss of so many things, now the final letting go is soon at hand.
Sitting with the dying I feel is a privilege, to be able to do simple things for them.
To place their hand on top of mine, to give little sips to help fight off thirst, or to wipe a fevered forehead with a cooling clothe; yes just simple things.
Or to sit in silence, or reading from the psalms, or saying some prayers and talking when they seem to need it; which they seldom do in their last days and hours; for in the end they are waiting. They are enclosed by the in-between, a land of grey mist and desert surroundings, where one world is fading and another slowly coming into view. It is the middle place, the inner desert that the waiting takes place. Their own private Gethsemane, where with Christ the chalice must be emptied, all dregs imbibed The final stripping after a long journey of slow diminishment, the loss of so many things, now the final letting go is soon at hand.
It is as if they are hanging over a dark abyss, their souls being healed of their life long journey. For who does not have wounds deep that make life constricted and painful, pulling the strings at the most inopportune time, keep the fullness of life at bay? So, it is the waiting for release that is witnessed by those who simply sit and accompany the dying.
In sitting, we see our own deaths, for in the end what we do, all of us (at least I think so), is wait for our turn. Each day we have little deaths, losses, diminishments, preparing us for the final death and all that implies. To face that is freeing, though at times it can bring terror, for the place of in-between is one of ruthless stripping, the final cleansing by infinite love, that is beyond all our exalted and yes petty ideas, of the ultimate mystery we call God.
What lies beyond, I have no idea, could death be the end, yes it could. If it is, well we still need to sit with dying, hold their hands give them drink and wipe their foreheads and pray with and for them; well at least I think so. For we live in a world where I think we are not supposed to know, but to live in trust, hard as that may be.
In sitting, we see our own deaths, for in the end what we do, all of us (at least I think so), is wait for our turn. Each day we have little deaths, losses, diminishments, preparing us for the final death and all that implies. To face that is freeing, though at times it can bring terror, for the place of in-between is one of ruthless stripping, the final cleansing by infinite love, that is beyond all our exalted and yes petty ideas, of the ultimate mystery we call God.
What lies beyond, I have no idea, could death be the end, yes it could. If it is, well we still need to sit with dying, hold their hands give them drink and wipe their foreheads and pray with and for them; well at least I think so. For we live in a world where I think we are not supposed to know, but to live in trust, hard as that may be.
No comments:
Post a Comment