The wails that come with death have quieted down to the sobs that come with griefs exhaustion. I sit alone in the home of my friends as they make the final plans necessary to bury a loved one,a young son,gone all too soon. What can you say at a time such as this? What can you do to ease the pain of a mother? a father? a brother?a wife caring for a newborn baby...wearing a widows black grief as she rocks to sleep new life? The truth is there is nothing anyone can say at a time like this. As a friend of the family I have no words to ease their pain. As a minister here to assist with the funeral I dare not belittle their pain with trite religious remarks. I am as empty of words as young Brandons grave will be of the real Brandon once buried.At times like these I turn to others words,those whose lives have proven pens of lasting peace. None for me have meant as much as Bunyans telling how Christian came at last to the river separating this life from that Eternal. When I think of these words I think of young Brandon Hayslip. You earned these words son. Remember our last words,and your promise. ---taken from Pilgrims Promise,...he called for his friends,and told them of it. Then said he,I am going to my fathers,and though with great difficulty I am got hither,yet now I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I am.My sword,I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage,and my courage and my skill,to him that can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me,to be a witness for me that I have fought his battles who will now be my rewarder.When the day that he must go hence was come many accompanied him to the River side ,into which,as he went,he said,Death,where is thy sting ?And as he went deeper,he said,Grave,where is thy victory?So he passed over,and the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.
Posted on: Sat, 27 Sep 2014 18:05:58 +0000
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