"Oh! That Will Be Joyful!"

This New Year's Day, for me, was crowned at the end with a special event: a Harmonia Sacra singing held at our church building, but attended by hundreds of people from various congregations. (I've previously written here about a singing like this.) The building was packed, the harmony was exquisite, the variety of ages and "degrees of Mennoniteness" was impressive--from "regular" people like us to horse-and-buggy Mennonites and lots of in-between ones. :)

I knew that this New Year's Day singing was a tradition in "these here parts," but I had no idea that it is as longstanding as it really is. 106 years. That's a long time for people to be gathering to sing these songs, many of which are "out-of-date" and not commonly sung in congregations anymore. But, wow, what a glorious evening. I loved it--and would not have wanted it to end, except for the fact that the hard wooden bench I was sitting on was contributing to that severe left leg/hip/abdomen pain I've been having the past few days. I could hardly walk out to the car when the singing was over...but my spirit was soaring!

The song that we ended with is called, appropriately enough, "Parting Hymn"; and it includes these lines:
Oh! That will be joyful,
To meet to part no more...
On Canaan's happy shore,
And sing the everlasting song
With those who've gone before.

That got me thinking about heaven...and preparing for it...and saying goodbye to loved ones here...and longing for the bliss that we'll experience there. And that reminded me of some thoughts I had towards the end of my pregnancy with David. I think I've either mentioned this already somewhere in this blog, or someone else has made a comment along these lines...as this blog increases in length, I find myself unable to remember exactly what I've written, so I may begin to repeat myself a lot! :) Anyway, for me at this stage of life, this is significant enough that I want to write about it again...

The ninth month of pregnancy is tough. Still a blessed time, it nevertheless has its difficulties; and I think that's intentional in God's plan. After all, if we women were still coasting along easily after 40 weeks of pregnancy, we might find ourselves unhappy at the prospect of labor and delivery. As it is, the aches and pains we endure as we approach the end (as well as the prospect of meeting our beloved new baby, of course!) make us look forward longingly to the time when our bodies will be delivered of this precious alien who has taken possession of us! Does that make sense? The difficulty preceding the transition and the joy that we anticipate after the transition makes the actual transition itself much less intimidating.

In the same way, I'm becoming increasingly convinced that one of the purposes of the suffering that most people endure as they age is to help us look longingly toward heaven--and not fear the transition that will get us there (death). From my experience watching my grandparents and other relatives and friends age...and especially now from seeing closely my parents' aging process...I realize more and more that, as so many people say, "it's no fun to get old." Now, it's important for me to emphasize something, and that is that my parents and the other older relatives I'm thinking of are NOT complainers! But, with my own eyes, I see my parents deal with aching backs, sore knees, lack of energy, etc., and I know that it's not fun to feel like their bodies are betraying them. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak"...and that's a hard situation to deal with.

However, just as the difficulties of the ninth month of pregnancy turn our thoughts towards the joy of the next phase, including the hard work of labor, I believe the difficulties of aging, if properly considered, can do the same thing. Turning our hearts towards our true home, heaven. Easing the fear of death. Making it seem worthwhile to go through that dark door (and, of course, it is unutterably worthwhile!). Helping us focus, not on the unknown shadows, but the glory of the unknown light. Increasing the desire deep within us to see our God face to face. Making us long for that day to come.

Writing this so confidently makes me realize my need for humility (after all, I feel like I have untold YEARS before I approach death's door, so of course, it's easy to take death lightly)...and it brings to mind a thought-provoking song by Sara Groves, called What Do I Know. Here are the lyrics...

I have a friend who just turned eighty-eight,
And she just shared with me that she's afraid of dying.
I sit here years from her experience
And try to bring her comfort.
I try to bring her comfort.
But what do I know?
What do I know?

She grew up singing about the glory land,
And she would testify how Jesus changed her life.
It was easy to have faith when she was thirty-four,
But now her friends are dying,
And death is at her door.
Oh, and what do I know?
Really, what do I know?

I don't know that there are harps in heaven,
Or the process for earning your wings.
I don't know of bright lights at the ends of tunnels,
Or any of those things.

She lost her husband after sixty years,
And as he slipped away she still had things to say.
Death can be so inconvenient.
You try to live and love.
It comes and interrupts.
And what do I know?
What do I know?

But I know to be absent from this body is to be present with the Lord,
And from what I know of him, that must be pretty good.
Oh, I know to be absent from this body is to be present with the Lord,
And from what I know of him, that must be very good.

I hope and pray that, no matter when my time to die comes, whether I see it approaching or it snatches me unaware, I will walk forward confidently, feeling the hand of Jesus holding mine, and having the thought in my heart, "Oh! This IS joyful!!!"