loyd.net

“Let us now praise famous men,”
Then recite a litany of giants,
Legends of a time and place far removed from ours:

Enoch, who walked with God
And was no more, for God took him;
Noah, who preserved life despite disaster;
Abraham, by faith sojourner in a strange land;
Moses, who beheld the glory of God.

Ancients,
Who march across the sacred page,
These do not belong to our disillusioned age.
We look back,
Yet they were looking forward—
They saw the future and led the way.

We remember their names,
We know their stories,
But their humanity is hidden in the shadows of time.
The dust to which we all return has obscured their memory.

————
One winter I sat in a concert hall,
The chorus sang of lilacs and death.
Later that night I listened to Black Angels.
Death and war and heroes were in my thoughts.
In dismay I cried out,
      “All are liars.”
In my despair I said,
      “No one lives whose death to mourn.”

Too often since I have been reminded of the foolishness of those words.

I have mourned the passing of those I respect,
Musicians, artists.
Ones I have never met,
My grief made greater knowing I now shall never meet them.
All of them flawed,
None of them with whom I would agree,
But they left a legacy,
A body of work
That enriched this world.

I have mourned the death of my father—
God knows,
Each day I mourn anew.
I struggle to reconcile my faith with the awful fact
That my father is gone.

Yes, there are those whose deaths I mourn:
None of them counted among the powerful;
Certainly none of them among the politicians.
For I am a cynical person,
Born in a cynical generation,
Living in a cynical world.

In cynicism I cried out,
“All politicians are liars.”
There is none who does righteousness.
The presidency continues its descent into disgrace,
Most of the people are apathetic,
Those who vote do so capriciously,
And those we elect only seek their own benefit.
No one serves the public good,
But we only serve ourselves.

————
When holiday lights in the city gleamed,
The ancient star recalled that rose in the east,
We mourned.
In the midst of celebrations and lights and music,
The one whom I respect lay fallen.

Three days before he died,
I heard him on the radio,
I almost called,
Several times I began to reach for the phone.
I would have said that I respected him,
Would have said how rare that was for me,
Would have (jokingly?) suggested he not retire
But begin a campaign for the presidency.

As usual I left it unsaid.
Thank God others did not.

————
A spring elegy is a sad thing.
Death is ever in the midst of life,
Yet it somehow seems worse in spring
As the rest of world awakens.
It is not fair.
My father died in spring,
      In Lent.
That Easter the Alleluias came reluctantly to my tongue.

Yet death in winter is worse,
Perhaps because we fight against it too hard.
In the darkness of midwinter we celebrate light,
      Birth,
      Life.
When it is darkest we most need the light of life.
When it is coldest and we most need the warmth of each other
It is harder to deal with the cold touch of death.

Pray that it may not be in winter or on the sabbath.
It was both when the one I respect died.

————
You had accomplished all you had set out to do,
And even more.
You had surpassed your original dreams,
But you never stopped dreaming.

It was a time of transition:
After a long life a service,
Your task was done—
Only the ceremonies remained.

You were saying your goodbyes,
But we did not expect them to be so final.

We recalled your accomplishments,
Your tenaciousness,
The fights you fought.
You spoke up for the children,
Saw us through disasters.
You walked with us.
You worked for justice.
After forty years in the wilderness
Arguing with stubborn people
You caught a sight of the promise.

You held power,
But never let it hold you.
You never lost yourself.
You have earned your rest,
But we expected it to be retirement.

You did not come to stay, you said,
You came to make a difference.
You were merely a sojourner,
And you did make a difference.
Yet you stayed,
Not because you were reluctant to leave,
But because you never got the chance.

————
A coffin,
A simple, pine thing,
Passes along the highway,
From the state border to the Capitol
To lie in state.
The path it traces,
      Retraces,
Is one its occupant had traveled long ago.
The crowds come,
Surely more than were there for that famous walk,
They watch,
They remember,
They say goodbye.
With pomp and ceremony guards process,
Flags wave, flags dropped low.
The cortege winds its way through the forest,
Along the coast,
Through, perhaps, the last of the old Florida.

That first journey traveled further,
South, past the orange groves,
Past the cane fields,
Past the Everglades,
To the Keys.
Through lands that have changed much since then,
Through a people that has changed much since then.

The one I respect was from a State alien to me:
A land that hardly exists anymore,
Paved over and dammed up and polluted;
A people replaced by people like me,
From other states, other countries—
We are a numerous people.
He spoke a language foreign to many of us,
A language rich in metaphors and wisdom.
I feel like an outsider,
      A newcomer,
Like one trespassing on ancient ground.
Yet he was my governor,
I claim this heritage as my own,
And no one shall deny me.

————
Politically, your timing could not have been better.
You still held the title, the office,
But no longer the power.
You were well-respected,
      Well-loved.
You said your good-byes,
Your family had gathered,
Your bags were packed.

You gave your friend the chance to succeed you,
If only for a few weeks.
He had fought for the office, and failed—
Now he holds the title, but never wanted it this way.
He knows: you left us too early.

You left in what was to be a season of joy,
Our time of celebration you turned into a time of mourning.
Now ever-returning Christmas will bring thoughts of you,
      Of your death.
How could you do this to the children you loved so much?
How could you do this to the State,
      The people,
You loved so much?
You gave us so much,
Yet you still had so much to give.
We wanted the chance to thank you.

————
How often I have driven the street behind the mansion.
I've even walked around past it, around the corner, once or twice.
I never met you, but we were neighbors.
One time I visited the place
(The public areas, of course),
Your touch, and the touch of your wife, was there.
When I would drive past I could catch glimpses of buildings, grounds.
I've often wondered what life there must be like.
How a family could live a normal life hidden in the midst of such a place.

You seemed so close to your family,
Somehow the fact you had political disagreements made you seem closer.
You seemed like a normal person.
That is, in part, why I respected you.

How could you be so surrounded,
By staff, guards,
By family,
Yet die alone?

Did we drive you to extreme solitude?
In our media-driven world no one has privacy,
The powerful least of all.
Did we force you to build up those walls around you?

No, I can understand,
I require solitude
(Though I've never yet inspired media frenzy).
To live with others you must first be able to live with yourself.
To remain faithful to the many people you served,
You had to carve out a private place.

But you were never alone,
You knew that,
For you walked with God,
And God took you.

————
We see so much,
Too much.
Instant updates
Followed by lengthy analysis—
Yet so little substance.
We know too much about each other,
Yet we hardly know each other.
We see so much,
Yet are so blind to greatness in our midst.

Yes, there are those to mourn,
They walk among us, not as legends,
Not as giants among the stars,
But as the he-coon walks before the dawn.
They walk down our highways,
They do justice,
Love kindness,
And walk humbly with our God.

Perhaps, if we walk with them
We will be given the vision to see them
Before God takes them.

Perhaps, if we walk with them
We will be given their vision.

Perhaps, if we walk with them
There will always be someone left
Whose death will be mourned;
There will always be someone left
To carry on the walk,
To turn our funeral march
Into a dance of celebration.

Come, let us walk together,
Following those who have walked this way before,
Until together we walk all over God's heaven.

A moment of Silence Portraits Peaceful transition