For Nelson…

“Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better than thy stroake; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.”
–John Donne, Holy Sonnet X.

Tomorrow we gather to bury one of our fellow seminarians, one Nelson Hill by name, one who’s acquaintance I made only in passing as we shared but one class. His death came rather suddenly, nigh on a week ago now (in fact, should you think of it, remember also his mother who is now shouldering the financial burden of his untimely death in your prayers). Nevertheless, O Death, be not proud, for Christ has overthrown you and it is God, the Father of that same Christ, who will speak the final word.

Requiescat in pace, Nelson. May you find boldness before the Lord and intercede for us in prayer. Memory eternal.