The same night awaits us all, was said by poet Horace back when Latin was spoken on the streets. So that's 2,000 years ago. (Okay, not counting the Vatican.)
Are you sensing I am detouring again away from Travel Planning. Yes. Good job dear reader. I just can't help it. Too much else on my mind. Sorry. This blog is what it is. I will do some travel planning. Not yet. Horace's quote needs some thinking on.
This was the first line of the sermon yesterday by Ted Sinn at New City. The verses were from Luke 2. Where Simeon was waiting at the Temple for Jesus to be brought in, so he could see his Messiah and then die in peace. We have all heard these verses oodles of times. Yes, yes, Simeon recognized Jesus. He was looking for Jesus. And Joseph and Mary, props to you for raising Jesus as a good Jewish boy. Taking him to the Temple to be dedicated.
But this sermon focused on a different part of the story. On how Simeon viewed his own death. Because it doesn't say he was old, or ill and achy. Or that he was a priest and really really holy. Just that he went to the Temple that day, with the Spirit moving him, and recognized His awaited Messiah in Jesus. Whom he knew he would see before he could die.
There's a topic we don't discuss much. A real conversation stopper at cocktail parties, What are your thoughts on your own death? How do you feel about dying?
Yet, what is a more important topic than our personal thought on our death. Not on your death or death in general, but in my own.
Stop the presses, I don't want to die yet. I have so much I want to do still here on earth. Like everything. Yes I whine a bit about this and that, but really don't take me yet Lord.
On went the sermon, revealing that Simeon wasn't exceptional, but he was exemplary. Death for him was a promotion. A freedom. A peace, sweetly anticipated. He walked with God, stayed in step with God. As he walked, he increasingly saw more of Jesus. The Holy Spirit helped him.
I was in tears during the hymn that followed. What a gift I was given during my parents' deaths. For both of them, I saw them peaceful about dying. Both told me (they died 11 years apart) they were ready to die days before they did. Both told me I had done a good job as a daughter. I was able to talk openly with both that I loved them, to forgive all those things that might be lingering. That they were good parents, that I loved them. Mom talked openly about being in Heaven with Jesus. She was so ready to go. Dad more round about.
What a gift I have been given. How this helped my grieving. What a boost for my faith. And what a solid foundation for my thoughts when I in the distant future reach that "same night." I realized the last lesson both my parents taught me was a gift. I saw them pass from earthly bodies into the immortal world... and they were peaceful. Not joyful to die. But peaceful.
Why the tears? Because Sunday the hymn that followed the sermon had words of the saints singing at the foot of the throne. I pictured my mom and dad. And Mike's mom.
WAIT! That's really Mike's MOM!
The three of them were happily singing with hundreds of other saints, white light glowing around them all singing at the foot of an impressive huge towering throne. Helen died three years ago. She wasn't a church-goer. Had her reasons. But there she was. Singing and glorying away. What a feeling of pure joy I had. Hence, onslaught of tears.
Happy tears. Tears of joy. What gifts...
Are you sensing I am detouring again away from Travel Planning. Yes. Good job dear reader. I just can't help it. Too much else on my mind. Sorry. This blog is what it is. I will do some travel planning. Not yet. Horace's quote needs some thinking on.
This was the first line of the sermon yesterday by Ted Sinn at New City. The verses were from Luke 2. Where Simeon was waiting at the Temple for Jesus to be brought in, so he could see his Messiah and then die in peace. We have all heard these verses oodles of times. Yes, yes, Simeon recognized Jesus. He was looking for Jesus. And Joseph and Mary, props to you for raising Jesus as a good Jewish boy. Taking him to the Temple to be dedicated.
But this sermon focused on a different part of the story. On how Simeon viewed his own death. Because it doesn't say he was old, or ill and achy. Or that he was a priest and really really holy. Just that he went to the Temple that day, with the Spirit moving him, and recognized His awaited Messiah in Jesus. Whom he knew he would see before he could die.
There's a topic we don't discuss much. A real conversation stopper at cocktail parties, What are your thoughts on your own death? How do you feel about dying?
Yet, what is a more important topic than our personal thought on our death. Not on your death or death in general, but in my own.
Stop the presses, I don't want to die yet. I have so much I want to do still here on earth. Like everything. Yes I whine a bit about this and that, but really don't take me yet Lord.
On went the sermon, revealing that Simeon wasn't exceptional, but he was exemplary. Death for him was a promotion. A freedom. A peace, sweetly anticipated. He walked with God, stayed in step with God. As he walked, he increasingly saw more of Jesus. The Holy Spirit helped him.
I was in tears during the hymn that followed. What a gift I was given during my parents' deaths. For both of them, I saw them peaceful about dying. Both told me (they died 11 years apart) they were ready to die days before they did. Both told me I had done a good job as a daughter. I was able to talk openly with both that I loved them, to forgive all those things that might be lingering. That they were good parents, that I loved them. Mom talked openly about being in Heaven with Jesus. She was so ready to go. Dad more round about.
What a gift I have been given. How this helped my grieving. What a boost for my faith. And what a solid foundation for my thoughts when I in the distant future reach that "same night." I realized the last lesson both my parents taught me was a gift. I saw them pass from earthly bodies into the immortal world... and they were peaceful. Not joyful to die. But peaceful.
Why the tears? Because Sunday the hymn that followed the sermon had words of the saints singing at the foot of the throne. I pictured my mom and dad. And Mike's mom.
WAIT! That's really Mike's MOM!
The three of them were happily singing with hundreds of other saints, white light glowing around them all singing at the foot of an impressive huge towering throne. Helen died three years ago. She wasn't a church-goer. Had her reasons. But there she was. Singing and glorying away. What a feeling of pure joy I had. Hence, onslaught of tears.
Happy tears. Tears of joy. What gifts...
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