Monday Morning Musing: Sing You Home

Earlier this week I learned of the death of the son of a dear friend. He was only in his mid thirties and, from all accounts, struggled with much in life. Those same accounts also describe how brightly his light shone in the world. My friend and I were close in the season of life that is filled with children in elementary school and navigating life in a small Southern town. Together we led an ecumenical Bible study, consisting mostly of Southern Baptist and Episcopal women. We were in a social service club together and enjoyed sharing the dailiness of life. Eventually, moves and the progression of life meant that our friendship lived on social media and in Christmas cards. All week my prayers have been for her and for her family and for those who mourn. The loss of one's only child must, I imagine, be a unique grief.

I also presided this week at the memorial service of a woman who found love late in life. Her husband speaks of the "grief bursts" that sneak up on him unexpectedly. But this stoic former Marine doesn't resist them. It's holy ground to watch him accept the emotions and sit with them, even when they interrput conversations with others. The quiet around him in those times seems to hold space for the great joy their life together brought them, which has yielded to this grief for now.

Grief. Loss. It's been the theme of this week. To accompany others in their grief is to stand on holy ground and to do so vocationally is a a holy privilege.

On Saturday evening we attended a truly wondrous choral concert that was held in the congregation where I serve. The chorus is formed of current and retired music educators who meet for one long weekend in August to rehearse a full program and then offer it in two locations over a September weekend. One of the pieces from the program was Sing You Home (Hillman, Ennis, Forrest, Arr. Mark Murphy). As I listened to the music my eyes went to the people in the room whose grief I know of. My heart went to my friend.

Sing You Home

Too soon to leave this earth. How could all your work be done?

Ash to ask and dust to dust, seems to me you'd just begun.

When grief invades my soul there's comfort in a prayer, I find.

Though these candles honor you, they burn for those you left behind.

I'll sing for you because I need to. Right now this is all I know.

I'll sing so we will not forget you. I will sing you home.

Know that you will live on the lips of those who knew

what it was you had to give, and what it was they learned from you.

This is our prayer for you: Maybe someday we will know

if it helped your journey home or if it helped me let you go.

I'll sing for you because I need to. Right now this is all I know.

I'll sing so we will not forget you. I will sing you home.

We're born unto this earth, generations one by one.

Ash to ash and dust to dust, there is nothing left undone.

I will sing you home.

(Here is another choir singing this lovely piece....)