It was All-Saints Sunday yesterday and there was a long list of those members who departed this past year. In a solemn ceremony, Pastor Tim read them aloud. Each name was punctuated by the single toll of a handbell. One by one the names echoed around the room as we stood to honor those especially close to us. Some stood over and over, dragging weary bodies from chairs again and again. Too many lost too many.
Somewhere along about the middle of the list, a baby started to cry. It was a newborn cry - that distinctive warble that jolts you from slumber in a split second. The daddy stood up and commenced to bounce and shush along the side aisle. Cradling the little blanket-wrapped-divine-interruption up close to his face. She was not to be comforted so he quietly slipped from the room - bearing her away gently.
I could hardly breathe. There it was. This year. These saints. Every year. All saints. Cradled and shushed and gently moved from the room in the arms of the loving Father.
The cry faded down the hall, the names rolled on and the bell tolled on. Tears slipped down and collected in the folds of my mask. Jolted from grief-slumber, interrupted by life and all the glorious agony it holds.
The final note that rang out yesterday was for those who weren't on the list at our church this year. Dear ones from other places whose names were spoken in other sanctuaries, other rooms, other hearts. I stood and remembered. All the saints. All the grace. All the hope.
May the Lord bless us and keep us. May the Lord pull us up close to his face so his breath is our comfort. May the Lord cradle us in his arms and be our Peace. Until he bears us down the hall -bouncing and shushing... Selah.
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