Journeying Into Mystery

“Father, they are your gift to me. I wish that where I am they also may be with me, that they may see my glory that you gave me, because you loved me before the foundation of the world.”  (Jn 17:24)

With the Feast of the Ascension  moved to the 7^th Sunday of Easter in most Catholic dioceses of the United States, we no longer hear the readings from the 7^th Sunday of Easter. In this Gospel verse from the 7^th Sunday of Easter, we hear Jesus’ intimate prayer to the Father, asking the Father to protect his disciples,  and to allow his disciples to dwell with him forever.

Jesus speaks of the Father loving him before the creation of the world. Do we feel similarly loved by God? The psalmist writes in Psalm 139, that even before we were conceived in our mother’s womb, we were named and loved by God. Our self worth is measured in how much God loves us, and is not defined by how the world sees us.  As Jesus was a gift from God to our world, so we, too, are gifts of God’s love to our world.

To be “God’s gift to the world” does not imply that we think the whole world revolves around us. That kind of narcissism is the antithesis of being a gift from God. Rather it is measured by humility, realizing the gifts God has given us are meant to be shared, and by serving others as Jesus served. Jesus is the gift that keeps on giving. As his disciples, we, too, must be gifts that keep on giving. In this way, we will be one with Jesus in his glory.

While they (the disciples) were looking intently at the sky as he was going, suddenly two men dressed in white garments stood beside them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why are you standing there looking at the sky? This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven.”

Think of the extraordinary events that the disciples experienced. They traveled with Jesus as he taught, healed, and performed miracles like the feeding of the 5000 and the calming of the storm at sea. Then they witnessed  Jesus’ arrest, torture and execution. And, then, the crème de le crème event, Jesus rises from the dead and interacts with them again. Is it any wonder, that as Jesus ascended into heaven, they stood their gawking into the sky? Yet, the angels gently reprimand them by saying essentially, “Quit your gawking and twiddling your thumbs. You’ve got work to do.” The angels’ gentle reprimand is addressed to us, as well.

I remember arriving at the hospital shortly after my father had died. My dad was the wisdom figure of not only my own family, but of all our extended family on the East Coast. Dad was constantly being called and asked for his counsel. As I sat next to my dad’s lifeless body, I thought to myself, “The wisdom figure of my family has died.” Then it suddenly dawned on me, “Oh my God! Now I am suppose to be the wisdom figure of the family! Man, everyone is so SOL!” The torch my father had carried in life had been passed on to me at his death. The time had come for me to grow up and carry on the legacy of my father.

It falls not only to a small group of individuals to carry on the saving mission of Jesus. The mission of Jesus  has been passed on to all of us! It is now our responsibility to allow God’s Reign to enter our world through us. Our “mission field” is our homes, our places of work, and our communities. Jesus has no use for “lazy” disciples who sit around “twiddling their thumbs”. The Feast of the Ascension reminds us that it is time for us to “grow up” and carry on the saving mission of Jesus.

A new poem for my bride.

Great literature is filled
with the quests of people.
These quests sometimes
thrust unwelcomed upon
humans who seek only
the bland and mundane,
or the unwilling who
flee from quests as if
they were the bubonic plague.
And,  there are those
who eagerly seek out
adventure, quests
merely a way of life.

You, my love, are
among the latter,
your fate sealed
fifty years ago today,
when you reached out
took my arm in your arm
and we set out into
that cold, driving rain
on that 29^th of May.

We were a couple
driven by a single purpose,
the life fulfilling quest
of growing our lives together,
a quest of mythological dimensions.
With the tenacity of Odysseus,
nothing could stop us in our quest.
Poverty, homelessness, and illness,
modern times’ Sirens, Hydra,
and Cyclops tried
 … and failed.

We grew our lives together
and in doing so,
grew four more lives
as beautiful and as mysterious
as our own.

So here we are,
fifty years later,
our bodies no longer
as nimble as our younger
selves of yore.
My body, pieced together
with spare parts like
an old beater of a car
that teens drive
until it falls apart.
Your body, hampered
by fractures waiting to heal.

As with Odysseus,
this is just a mere pause,
a respite from our adventure,
in which bodies heal,
and rest provided until
once more, we venture forth
into the greater quest
that still beckons to us
that still waits to be fulfilled.

You remain as vibrant and
beautiful as the girl with
whom I fell in love
fifty years ago.
And, I, marvel
at how Fortune has blessed me.
I  thank God every time you reach out
and willingly take my arm
as together we  walk
into the future that awaits us.

This reflection is not an endorsement of the HBO series, The Game of Thrones. There is much within the series the viewer will find objectionable. There is a lot of explicit violence, salacious nudity, cursing, and behavior that will shock the viewer. I am not to be numbered among the ardent fans who have followed this series over a period of 8 years, for precisely the reasons stated in the third sentence of this paragraph. However, as difficult as it may be to view this series, there is much to be gained by viewing it if you watch it as an allegory of human society, not only in the fantasy world of Westeros, but presently in our own nation and in our own world.The following is my reflection on what stood our for me as I watched the series.

I have spent much of my early life reading the literary legends of human history, e.g. The Canterbury Tales, The Decameron, The Tales of Beowulf, Homer’s Iliad and The Odyssey, The Peloponessian War, the Divine Comedy of Dante (Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso), Paradise Lost. Many of these are brutal in detail about the inhumanity and folly of the human race. I have been a great fan of the fantasy worlds of Tolkien, and C.S. Lewis, Ursula LeGuin, Anne McCaffrey’s dragon world of Pern, the Mars series by Edgar Rice Burroughs, and many more. Having studied human history and the religious history of the Dark Ages through the Renaissance, read Machiavelli’s “The Prince” (in high school much less), and the horror that the Borgia family, Caesar and Lucretia, and the popes of that family perpetrated upon their world, in addition to the political and religious violence of Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England, entering into George RR Martin’s fictional world of Westeros was not much of a stretch.

Ruthie and I finished watching Games of Throne last night. Unlike others, I was not disappointed with the ending. What will be more interesting is how George R R Martin will conclude his series of books upon which the television series is based.

As one who has studied world history, the violent brutality of the series is hardly farfetched. The true reality of intrigue and politics of the royal courts of real human history make the brutal exihibition of violence in the series seem like child’s play.

The portrayal of rival religions inflicting untold horror upon non-believers is nothing to the real history of world religions torturing, burning at the stake, slow dismemberment of humans (e.g. The Spanish Inquisition) all in the name of God. The Faithful Militant is nothing compared to the English Oliver Cromwell who butchered and killed many innocents in the name of Jesus Christ. The red witch’s burning people alive to purify them for the god of light, is nothing compared the the Christian Churches penchant for burning people at the stake, including St Joan of Arc, to purify the world for God. We are still butchering people in the name of God, whether it be in a mosque in New Zealand, a aynagogue in San Diego, or Christian Orthodox churches in Syria.

Much has been made of the salacious treatment of women as sex objects in the series (could there be any more brothel scenes?). However, we have only to be attentive of the disparaging and patronizing treatment of women in our present culture, from the evidence of the Me Too movement to the recent slate of legislation against women passed by male dominated legislatures, and the role of women in world religions, to see that women are still only meant to be seen, preyed upon, used sexually and discarded, rather than be heard and have an influence impacting our culture, our religions, and our world. The series treatment of women as commodities reveals in cold, brutal truth the reality in which women are held in our world today.

What I enjoyed the most in the series was the portrayal of strong women characters (I am likely to get their names misspelled here). Brutal and failed as a person Cirsei was, she was up against many threats from the many powerful males and one particular female around her and persevered. There was a little bit of the real Queen Elizabeth I in the way she schemed her way in life. Daenerys, as shamefully treated as she was, overcame great odds and rose to be a powerful ruler. It’s just too bad she descended into madness, though, that was projected as likely to happen early on in the series. Sansa went from a frightened wall flower raped by men in body, mind and soul to a woman of great strength and wisdom. Arya, a little child, who through adversity became a most formidable face changing assassin. Brienne, a woman of integrity and skill besting the best of men on their own terms. Melisandre, the red witch, flawed as she was, ultimately gave of herself for the common good. Yara Greyjoy, fierce in loyalty and battle, and the list goes on and on.

The only two male characters I found as fascinating as the women were Tyrion, the dwarf, and Varys, the eunuch. Like the female characters mentioned above, these two men, had the odds stacked against them, and used their gifts of intelligence to rise to prominence. Though they made many mistakes, somehow, they were able to admit the mistakes and maintain their personal integrity.

Ultimately for me, the series ended up being a lens through which to reflect on the world in which I live. We may have sanitized our killing, chemical weapons to lethal injections, out bloodletting not as visceral as slitting throats, and chopping off heads. However, the brutality of human nature has not changed much from that of our ancestors in the distant past and in our present time.

The golden rule present in all world religions continues to be ignored and dismissed by many who belong to those religions. As a Christian, we have yet to live Jesus’ command to “love one another as I have loved you.” As brutal and difficult to watch, the Game of Thrones is an allegory of our present day human society and reveals, that for all our boasts of how human society has improved, human society has not evolved much at all. Amidst the dim flickering of goodness in the human psyche, the darkness of the human heart still prevails.

The 50th anniversary about which this post is about is NOT our wedding anniversary, but the anniversary of our first date, May 29, 1969. During the school week, Ruthie lived with her Uncle Harold and Aunt Ev on Marion Street, about 3 blocks from St Bernard’s. Every now and again, on the weekend, she would go home to the family farm in Scandia, Minnesota.

The weather that May 29th was very rainy and cool, much like the weather we have been experiencing of late. There were no real shopping malls at that time (the only one I knew was Har Mar Mall by my house). If you wanted to see a movie, you drove downtown St Paul.

I remember knocking on the door of her Aunt and Uncle’s house. She opened it and I was so taken by how beautiful she was. Her hair smelled of Herbal Essence. We drove downtown St Paul and went to see the movie, Charly, starring Cliff Robertson (previous to this film, he played John F Kennedy in the movie, PT 109). It was a good film, a bit bittersweet. And, no, I didn’t kiss her on the first date. I was just ecstatic taking her out on a date. After all, I was merely a junior in high school and she was a senior. I could not believe the incredible fortune I had in her saying yes to going out on a date with me. I didn’t want to do anything that would prevent future dates. I, also, had and to this day have only the greatest respect for her.

Here is the poem I wrote about that night.

FIRST DATE

Pouring down rain drenching the night
as I climb the steps to your  home.
With one knock,
light from within greets me,
and there you stand,
the scent of herbal essence from your hair,
your brown eyes looking deep into my soul.
You bid farewell to your Aunt and Uncle,
open the screen door
and step outdoors.
The drenching rain suddenly
frozen in time
as your hand touches mine
and you laugh,
aware of the secret
I have hidden deep within.

© 2011. The Book Of Ruth,  by Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

By July, I finally had the courage to kiss her for the first time. Her response could be summed up by the question, “What took you so long?”

FIRST KISS

You wonder why
it took so long
for my lips to brush
against your lips.
Like a young child
searching for words,
I lack the vocabulary
to communicate
my feelings for you.
It is not because
you are not appealing
nor a question of
my sexual preference.
Rather, it was
respect for the dignity
embodied within
your womanhood
that makes me hesitate
Aware of my lust for you,
who am I to sully
with my wanton desires
your beauty and integrity
knowing that once our lips touch
breached would be the dike
that long I took to build.
Little did I know
you were waiting
for that dike to crumble.
© 2011. The Book Of Ruth,  by Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

Here is the first song I composed for Ruthie.

Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid. (John 14:27)

FEAR. Of all the weapons in the world, fear is the greatest of them all. Throughout human history, fear has been used to inflict horrific atrocities on groups of people. Wars and the genocide of peoples are all products of fear. Unscrupulous politicians manipulate and prey on the fears of people to get votes.  It matters not what political ideology or party to which they belong.

There are healthy fears, for example, look both ways before crossing a street to avoid getting hit by a car. Or, don’t accept rides from strangers. Each and everyone of us has something we fear, be it spiders, snakes, heights, enclosed spaces to name just a few. The Church has used the fear of Hell to prod us into being good. It was a favorite teaching tool of my 2^nd grade teacher, Sr. Angeline, who believed that if we were not willing to go to heaven voluntarily, she would scare us into heaven.

However, fears can paralyze us. I remember, shortly after 911, attempting to assist a woman paralyzed by her fear of terrorists. She refused to leave her home for fear that a terrorist would kill her. It mattered not explaining that it was highly unlikely a terrorist would target a southwestern suburb of Minneapolis, much less her as a victim. She was so consumed by fear that she eventually needed hospitalization.

Jesus tells his disciples and us that if we are one with him and the One who sent him, we have nothing to fear. If we truly believe in him and love as he loves, our fears will neither possess nor paralyze us. Paul expresses this in his letter to the Romans. “What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword? No, in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8: 35-39).  Jesus’ message is clear. Be not afraid.

I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another. Jn 13:34

These words of Jesus to his disciples are from the Last Supper discourse (chapters 13 through 17) of John’s Gospel. Having just washed the feet of the disciples, Jesus teaches them one last time before he goes to be arrested, tortured, and executed. I urge all to read and reflect on the teaching that Jesus presents in these chapters. Jesus doesn’t instruct his disciples to revenge his death. He orders them to love. If they love him, they MUST love one another as he has loved them.

Jesus commandment to love one another is not just isolated to John’s Gospel. Paul writes in his 1^st letter to the Corinthians (chapter 13) that we can be the most gifted of speakers; we can prophesy and possess the knowledge of the universe; we can have faith that will move mountains, but, if we do not have love, we are worthless. In his 1^st letter, John writes that we must love not just in word but in action. “Beloved, if God so loved us (that he sent us his Son), we also must love one another.”

Our lives have only one purpose, to love as Jesus loved. Our home and family, our community, our places of work are nothing more than one grand classroom in which we learn to love. This assignment is not for sissies or the weak. For Jesus calls us to love not only when it’s easy and convenient, but to love when it is hard to love. We must love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.

Even though we will never love as perfectly as Jesus loved; even though we may fail to love time and time again, we must continue to persevere and never quit practicing how to love. Every morning offers us another opportunity to love as Jesus loved.

Fr Richard Rohr states that Christianity must be more than just another organized religion. IT MUST BE A WAY OF LIFE. In a world filled with such great suffering there is no place for those who say they believe in Jesus as their own personal savior but are warlike, greedy, racist, selfish and vain. We will only be known as Christians in the way we love.

In the Spring of 2011, it was time to get my left hip replaced. Genetics (I was told by an Irish Aunt that I inherited the Swedish genes for bad joints), along with a horrific head-on collision in 2002 greatly accelerated the replacement of that hip. In April of 2011, I had to have the femur nail removed from my left hip (a souvenir of the car accident). That was a complicated recovery. Finally, in mid June of 2011 I had the hip replaced only to find within a week I had a MRSA infection. Long story short, the infection never went away and in the beginning of August I had to have the artificial hip removed. Since, I was allergic to the majority of antibiotics that kill MRSA (Vankamycin shut down my kidneys), it took the contagious disease doctor a while to find a combination of antibiotics that would kill the MRSA infection. In the meantime, I would have to go in for more surgery to drain the infection, a total of 4 surgeries on the same spot. Since I had no hip during this time, with the aid of a walker, I hopped around the house, from bed to bathroom, bathroom to my chair, chair to bathroom, and so on. I was without a hip from the beginning of August to the end of January 2012, when I received the second hip.

It was Christmas 2012, I was on medical leave from church ministry, and I didn’t know what I could give my beloved Ruth for a Christmas present. I ended up doing two things: 1) shaved my mustache (she always hated that mustache), and 2) I began writing poems about our courtship, our wedding, and the family we created together. I called that first installment of poems, “The Book Of Ruth”. I combined those early poems with some photos of Ruth and I and our kids, made a PDF of it and sent it to my daughter-in-law, Olivia to print and put into a binder to give to Ruth for Christmas. Since that Christmas in 2011, I have continued to compose poems for Ruthie and add them to the collection.

Two of the poems I have placed here cover the early part of our marriage. The first is about the time in which my teaching position had been cut, and we were homeless with a 1 1/2 year old son, and a newly born son. The second about how we coped with little money, and still managed to court one another. The third from a more recent time. Ruthie is an RN and has worked the night shift as a nurse from the time our fourth child was born. That way she could be home with the kids during the day, and I would be home with the kids throughout the night and get them off to school. Many times, as she would be walking in the door, I would be going off to work. And, when I would be coming home at night after a 12 hour day (church work goes from morning to evening), she would be leaving to go to work.

AT HOME WITHOUT A HOME

The semi-trailer sits at the farm,
a gift from your dad,
holding everything we own,
except some of our clothes,
and that of our sons,
and Pampers.
Homeless, my pride beaten down,
humility or is it humiliation, it’s master.
Your pride is not a self-consuming
passion, the first of an
ever-growing realization
that I’m not the educator of our family
but a merely a student
learning at your feet.
Your pride is measured
in our sons, in our marriage,
our homelessness not a
defeat, but a mere fact.
Your own family’s past,
family falling upon family
during times of difficulty and duress,
defines what is important.
Shuffling between families’ homes
an inconvenience of love,
not acts of desperation.
As long as we and our sons are together
no longer is home narrowly defined
to structures above or below ground,
but only defined by relationship.
You are at home in our homelessness.

(c) 2012, “The Book Of Ruth”, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

THE COURTING NEVER ENDS

Two weeks before
we share our vows,
in my Miller Hospital
x-ray scrubs, I sit,
a lull in the activity
of the morning exams
with Helen, a fellow
wheel chair jockey.
Closely she examines me,
“Do you want to have
a happy marriage?” I
nod in affirmation.
“Do you know the secret?”
“No,” slips quietly from
my lips, “Do you want
to know?” “Yes, of
course.” Her eyes
flash behind her
glasses, accentuating
her words, “The courting
never ends. The
courting never ends.”

She reads the puzzlement
that paints my face,
with exclamation points
behind each word
she emphasizes, “You
must never stop
dating your wife.”
Stories of Friday night
steak dinners, with
her deceased lover
of many years,
during a shared
lifetime peppered
with want and plenty.
Her words repeated
until locked in my
subconscious, our
brief, intense encounter
interrupted by the
needs of another
hospital patient.

I sit here with you
on our date night,
our baby in a high
chair, our two
very young sons
at their places
around the small
rectangular table
in our kitchen.
Two Dairy Bar pizzas,
a pepperoni for the
boys, the supreme
for you and me,
Gerbers for the baby,
a poor substitute
for steak on a
Friday night, but
one meal you will
not cook, just enjoy.
Date night
is not what it
once was, but
our love requires
some small gesture,
even in poverty,
of just being with
each other, two
lovers with the
evidence of their
love around them,
enjoying a piece
of locally made
pizza, with the words
of an old German
x-ray aide echoing
from long before,
“The courting never
ends. The courting
never ends.”

(c) 2015,”The Book Of Ruth”, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

AT 2 AM – A POEM FOR RUTH

Quietly
you enter,
and with feline
stealth, pick your
way through the
darkness of
our bedroom.
My senses,
honed
over the years
like radar to
hear the pings
of children’s cries,
pukey wretching,
and troubled
hearts and spirits
detects you
as you silently
remove your clothing,
the wisp of your
nightgown falls
with a slight breeze
over your
outstretched arms,
you slip within the
sheets. “Are you
sick?” I quietly
ask, as I turn
my warm body
to embrace the
coolness of yours.
“They were overstaffed,”
you softly reply,
and I slip contentedly
back to sleep,
our marriage bed
complete.

(c) 2015, “The Book Of Ruth”, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

Last but not least, I have composed much music dedicated to this incredible woman. For our wedding, I composed a song. Over the years, the song got lost, but I remembered the melody vividly. In the Spring of 2016 as the anniversary of our first date drew near (May 29th), I reset that melody into a new piano composition and then gave it to Ruth. I would like to say that she remembered that song from our wedding. However, many years had passed since our wedding, a little over 41 years at that time, and it sounded brand new to her. Granted, I did add a middle section to the song that wasn’t there in the original.

The primary melody retains the great passion I feel toward Ruth. It starts simply in the lower register like one lover expressing his love to his intended. It is restated in the higher register, his lover reciprocating his affection than moves to a middle section where the couples love for each grows until the primary melody returns in chordal octaves, a passionate expression of love consummated, then peace as the lovers begin life together.

The middle section is the dance of the couple as they work, have children, raise their children, and the demands of life attempts to pull them in all directions. However, in the midst of the hustle and bustle of that dance, the love and the passion the couple have for one another does not fade as the primary melody is joined into the dance.

The song concludes to a simple restatement of the love that began many years before, intact, and filled with nothing but gratitude of a life together. Here is the song.

The fourth Sunday of Easter is usually designated “Good Shepherd” Sunday. Over the three year cycle of readings during Easter, we often hear Jesus speak about his role as the Good Shepherd of humanity. He is the one who will leave his flock to go look for the lost sheep. He is the one ready to lay down his life for his sheep. He identifies those qualities that make a good shepherd and warns us not to follow those shepherds who would abandon their sheep to the wolves.

Universally for Christians, Jesus is the Shepherd of all humanity. Roman Catholic Christians will assign the Pope the role of Shepherd of the Church. Cross denominationally, most Christians will see the pastors of their parishes as their shepherds. It is a mistake to isolate only the ordained as being shepherds. Historically in the Christian Church, and recently within our own Archdiocese, there are some we assumed to be our Good Shepherds who have been revealed instead to be wolves dressed in shepherd’s clothing.

Baptized into Christ, we were intimately joined to Jesus, the Good Shepherd. The DNA of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is a major part of our own DNA. St Paul writes that when we put on Christ at our baptism, our bodies were absorbed within the Body of Jesus. Our bodies are His Body. It is the breath of Jesus we breath. His blood flows within our veins. As the living and breathing Body of Christ on this earth, we are all called to be Good Shepherds to one another. As Good Shepherds, we are to love, to support, to guide, to protect, and to provide for the needs of all humanity, who are the flock of Jesus.

Under this umbrella of Jesus the Good Shepherd, parents, be Good Shepherds to your children. Children, be Good Shepherds to your parents, and, brothers and sisters. Within our parish, priests, deacons, parish staff be Good Shepherds to your parishioners. Parishioners, be Good Shepherds to your priests, deacons and parish staff. Within our community, neighbors, be Good Shepherds to those in your neighborhood. For our mayor, and all occupying responsibilities within our city (council members, employees, police, firefighters, EMTs) be Good Shepherds to those you are called to serve. Citizens be Good Shepherds and fulfill your civic responsibilities to those who serve you. This is what we do as Good Shepherds.

Over the past two weeks, we have had 2 more shootings of students at American schools, one at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte, and another at Stem Schools in Colorado. Just prior to that gun violence, a Jewish synagogue was attacked by another gunman. In all three attacks, 3 people died by throwing themselves in the line of gunfire to save the lives of those around around them. The time for strict licensing for gun ownership and gun control is now, before many other innocents get massacred.

A threnody is a song of lament. I began composing the music heard here on February 15, 2018, the day after the horrific slaughter of students at the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. It is meant to be a prayer of lamentation for the many men, women, and children who have been massacred by assault weapons in the United States. The little to no response from the manufacturers of those weapons or the NRA other than to arm more people with the same weapons, in my opinion, make these groups complicit in the murders of these innocent people.

This scriptural passage from the Book of Wisdom is what I used as an inspiration for the music I composed here.

But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God,
and no torment will ever touch them.
In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died
and their departure was thought to be a disaster,
and their going from us to be their destruction;
 but they are at peace.
For though in the sight of others they were punished,
their hope is full of immortality.
Having been disciplined a little,
they will receive great good,
because God tested them and found them worthy of himself;
like gold in the furnace he tried them,
and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them.
In the time of their visitation they will shine forth,
and will run like sparks through the stubble.
They will govern nations and rule over peoples,
and the Lord will reign over them forever.
Those who trust in him will understand truth
and the faithful will abide with him in love,
because grace and mercy are upon his holy ones,
and he watches over his elect. (Wisdom 3)

Four images were prominent in my mind as I composed this music and reflected in the four sections of this song.

The first image is that of the many feet walking in cemeteries, over these many years of gun violence, to bring their dead loved ones to be buried. The countless children from the wee ones to college students, girlfriends and boyfriends, fiancés, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, mothers, fathers indiscriminately slaughtered at school, universities, movie theaters, shopping malls, places of businesses, even Fort Hood.

The second image is that of the relentless chaos of the shooting. People scattering everywhere to escape the hail of bullets, bodies slaughtered left and right by the gunfire. The look of disbelief and horror on the faces of the dead, the dying, and the wounded as they lie where they have been slaughtered.

The third image is that of the victims’ loved ones visiting the graves of those they lost. The utter senselessness of their deaths. The cutting off of their lives before they could even begin to live.

The fourth image is that of the heavenly peace of the victims, held in the loving arms of the God who created them.

The form of the song is ABAC.