Holy Tension
In one room the church clergy laugh as they discuss many important matters whilst in the room next door the guests arrive to say goodbye to a loved one. Joyful laughter clashes with lonesome tears in the spiritual realm. As the organ artist forces out each note out of the pipes of the organ the tears role on easily over the cheeks of the guests. The artist seems a bit like those weirdos in the movies. Shaking with each press of the key. Shivering of joy each time she presses out the last long note that rings long after it has stopped.
Life. Tension. Death.
An averagely dressed man walks up unto the pulpit. His hand lifted to proclaim that God is present. Sensitive silence. His voice clearly heard above the rest as the first song is sung. The tears can be heard falling on the mat floor of the church. They wept. Tension as the power point doesn’t automatically starts playing. The man switches back to a different story. Telling of how the deceased used to make all feel welcome.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Looking at photos? Of good times. Bad times. Past times. A sad song rings. Sobbing can be heard with each new photo. An awkward silence when the guests are asked to say something about her. The lump in their throats are withholding them from saying what they really feel.
The words read out of a black Book bounces of the roof of the building and takes time to enter the hearts. For a moment the guests forget that they are at a funeral. These words entices them for a while. Then the averagely dressed man focusses on what the black Book said about woman. He delivers an above average interpretation. A woman is a helper. Representing God as Helper. Made out of the rib bone. The place where the man is not protected in battle as he is holding his sword. The woman thus fills the man where he is short. The woman is not an addition to but an upgrade of.
How does one end this space?
Sweat salt mixing with tear salt. Sticky stories spoke into our hearts. A prayer thanking the inspiration behind the black Book. Comfort comfort thee.
Someone once said: "Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God."
Commenti