memory eternal

I don't know what I can say that hasn't already been said (and much better than I ever could) by my sister and my cousin, so I decided to post this poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  I've used parts of this poem in a previous post, but I felt today warrented the entire piece.  The last three stanzas hit me especially hard (italics are mine).


Christmas Bells
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;
God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!


May their memory be eternal.

trampling down death by death

O Death, where is thy sting?
O Hell, where is thy victory?
Christ is risen, and thou art overthrown!
Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen!
Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is risen, and life reigns!
Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave.
For Christ, being risen from the dead,
is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep.
To Him be glory and dominion unto ages of ages.
Amen.

- St. John Chrysostom (from his Paschal homily)

Christ is Risen! Truly He is Risen! A blessed Pascha and joyous Bright Week to all!

the present moment

I have been seeking to live in the present moment.

Well, it might be more accurate to say that I have been thinking about it. Which defeats the point, I know. But I have this problem of "living in my mind". I have a very active imagination (not vivid, mind you. Active. There is a difference) and I usually play things out in my mind. Including what I'm writing now. This is actually the third or fourth draft, although the previous drafts never made it this far.

This "living in my mind" can and does cause problems in real life. In some ways, it's a family trait. We tell each other things in our minds. It works like this: I need to tell my sister something, so when I think about what I have to tell her I imagine how I will tell her and what her reaction will be. And then, I think I have told her so she never actually gets the information. There are some important things I didn't know about until after the fact because someone told me about them in their mind.

So, "being here now" (to be trite and commercial about it) could be considered a coping technique for me. But the reason I really want to live in the present moment can best be summed up by the following passage from "Bread & Water, Wine & Oil" by Archimandrite Meletios Webber:

"We can only make decisions in the present moment. We can only enjoy sights and sounds in the present moment. We can only love or hate in the present moment. The present moment is the interface between ourselves and the rest of the universe, and, more importantly, it is the only point of contact between the individual and God. Of all the possible points of time, only the present moment is available for repentance. The past cannot be taken back and remade. The future remains forever outside our reach."

The past cannot be taken back and remade. I think living in the present moment might heal those things in my life I regret. It'll be a struggle. But I think everything worth having is worth struggling for.

What I'm struggling for can best be summed up in a poem I first heard sixteen years ago. It's by Edgar Lee Masters and is part of his "Spoon River Anthology". (I supposed "dramatic monologue" might be a better description than "poem" as I first heard it as part of the only theatrical production I was a part of in high school.)

Fiddler Jones

The earth keeps some vibration going

There in your heart, and that is you.

And if the people find you can fiddle,

Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.

What do you see, a harvest of clover?

Or a meadow to walk through to the river?

The wind’s in the corn; you rub your hands

For beeves hereafter ready for market;

Or else you hear the rustle of skirts

Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.

To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust

Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;

They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy

Stepping it off, to “Toor-a-Loor.”

How could I till my forty acres

Not to speak of getting more,

With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos

Stirred in my brain by crows and robins

And the creak of a wind-mill – only these?

And I never started to plow in my life

That some one did not stop in the road

And take me away to a dance or picnic.

I ended up with forty acres;

I ended up with a broken fiddle –

And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories.

And not a single regret.

So, on this journey I've started I'm praying for this: for no regrets, for no anxiety about the future, and to meet God in this present moment.

You're welcome to come with me.