For Everything a Season
I've been thinking a lot about our reading from the Old Testament this week. It's probably the most famous section from the book of Ecclesiastes, and many of us probably know it as a pop song, rather than a quotation from the Bible - from the song 'Turn! Turn! Turn!', made famous by The Byrds in the 1960s.
The concept that there is a season for all things under the sun has been what's got me thinking this week. In the past four days, I've been to two funerals. I've absolutely been thinking about there being a time to weep, a time to mourn, and a time to die.
For one of the funerals I attended, that idea of 'a time to die' was fitting. Marion was 91 years' old. She and her husband Philip had raised a son, of whom they had excellent reasons for feeling proud, seen their two granddaughters grow into successful and strong women, and lived to see and enjoy the presence of four beautiful great-grandchildren, the latest being Miriam, my daughter. Shortly before Christmas, her husband and absolute soul-mate of over 70 years passed away. Everyone who knew Marion and Philip knew that neither one would long-outlive the other; neither wanted to. And so, although we were all extremely sad, none of us were truly surprised when Marion died only a month after Philip. It was, as the writer of Ecclesiastes stated, her time.
For the other funeral, though, it was not. Sarah was fifty years old; my work colleague and friend. Only ten years older than me, I sat next to her for several years in our office in Wythenshawe. It was only just over a year or so ago that she was diagnosed with cancer. She had recently started a new relationship with another of our colleagues, and it was beautiful to see two people so perfectly matching find each other after being by themselves. Sarah had three children in their twenties, and, in late 2018, was thrilled to become a grandmother. She died three days into 2020, with so many plans for the future unfulfilled.
None of us felt it was Sarah's time to die, but this is the way of our fallen world - our time to die is often not fair, and is often not right.
But here's the odd thing I realised this week; we think these times are distinct. The writer of Ecclesiastes contrasts them as such - a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to be born, and a time to die - but that is not what I have seen.
At both funerals, there were, of course, tears, but there was also laughter. There was mourning, but, whilst there may not have been any dancing (although I cannot speak for Sarah's... I left before the end, and I'm sure, had Sarah any say in the matter, the eighties tunes would have been cranked up and people would have been up and out of their seats!), there certainly was rejoicing - rejoicing in the lives Marion and Sarah led, and the very great impact they had on those they left behind. And there, even in the presence of the deceased, was the formidable persistence of human life; reminders of our time to be born, with 6-month-old Miriam, and Sarah's one-year-old granddaughter, Alice.
I have realised that these seasons, times for everything under the sun, are intertwined. Even in our happiest times, we still have reasons for sadness, friends and family who cannot be with us. And, in our times of despair, when we may not be able to see any joy or light, there are always reasons to hope; our Christian faith speaks of life everlasting, and I know that one day, I will see Marion and Philip, and Sarah, and all those I have loved and lost again.
As the writer finishes our passage tonight, God has set eternity in our hearts - we long and yearn for the world that is to come, a world in which all these times under the sun will change - where there will be no more mourning, but just a time for dancing; and there will be no more crying, but just a time of laughter; and there will be no more pain, but just a time of health and comfort. And God will wipe every tear from every eye, and death will be no more, and the time that is will be one of ever-lasting life.
Amen
The concept that there is a season for all things under the sun has been what's got me thinking this week. In the past four days, I've been to two funerals. I've absolutely been thinking about there being a time to weep, a time to mourn, and a time to die.
For one of the funerals I attended, that idea of 'a time to die' was fitting. Marion was 91 years' old. She and her husband Philip had raised a son, of whom they had excellent reasons for feeling proud, seen their two granddaughters grow into successful and strong women, and lived to see and enjoy the presence of four beautiful great-grandchildren, the latest being Miriam, my daughter. Shortly before Christmas, her husband and absolute soul-mate of over 70 years passed away. Everyone who knew Marion and Philip knew that neither one would long-outlive the other; neither wanted to. And so, although we were all extremely sad, none of us were truly surprised when Marion died only a month after Philip. It was, as the writer of Ecclesiastes stated, her time.
For the other funeral, though, it was not. Sarah was fifty years old; my work colleague and friend. Only ten years older than me, I sat next to her for several years in our office in Wythenshawe. It was only just over a year or so ago that she was diagnosed with cancer. She had recently started a new relationship with another of our colleagues, and it was beautiful to see two people so perfectly matching find each other after being by themselves. Sarah had three children in their twenties, and, in late 2018, was thrilled to become a grandmother. She died three days into 2020, with so many plans for the future unfulfilled.
None of us felt it was Sarah's time to die, but this is the way of our fallen world - our time to die is often not fair, and is often not right.
But here's the odd thing I realised this week; we think these times are distinct. The writer of Ecclesiastes contrasts them as such - a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to be born, and a time to die - but that is not what I have seen.
At both funerals, there were, of course, tears, but there was also laughter. There was mourning, but, whilst there may not have been any dancing (although I cannot speak for Sarah's... I left before the end, and I'm sure, had Sarah any say in the matter, the eighties tunes would have been cranked up and people would have been up and out of their seats!), there certainly was rejoicing - rejoicing in the lives Marion and Sarah led, and the very great impact they had on those they left behind. And there, even in the presence of the deceased, was the formidable persistence of human life; reminders of our time to be born, with 6-month-old Miriam, and Sarah's one-year-old granddaughter, Alice.
I have realised that these seasons, times for everything under the sun, are intertwined. Even in our happiest times, we still have reasons for sadness, friends and family who cannot be with us. And, in our times of despair, when we may not be able to see any joy or light, there are always reasons to hope; our Christian faith speaks of life everlasting, and I know that one day, I will see Marion and Philip, and Sarah, and all those I have loved and lost again.
As the writer finishes our passage tonight, God has set eternity in our hearts - we long and yearn for the world that is to come, a world in which all these times under the sun will change - where there will be no more mourning, but just a time for dancing; and there will be no more crying, but just a time of laughter; and there will be no more pain, but just a time of health and comfort. And God will wipe every tear from every eye, and death will be no more, and the time that is will be one of ever-lasting life.
Amen
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