Old Year Ending ~ New Year Beginning


Of all sounds of all bells, the most solemn and touching
is the peal which rings out the Old Year.

— Charles Lamb

We do get rather nostalgic at the end of a year, on the cusp of a new year. Perhaps we have regrets from the passing year. Perhaps the old year brought losses and grief. Perhaps we have fear at the thought of what the year ahead might bring. Nostalgia just seems to go along with year end and year beginning. I have been known to get teary-eyed during the singing of “Auld Lang Syne” in spite of the fact that I had no idea what “Auld Lang Syne” even meant.

Robert Burns wrote “Auld Lang Syne” in 1788. The poem soon became a song that was traditionally used to bid farewell to the old year at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve. It was a ritual song that gave people a ceremonial way to express the discomfort of ending/beginning as well as to speak of the value of old friendships that should not be forgotten.

Another poem written by Robert W. Service (1874-1957) was entitled “The Passing of the Year.” Its seven poignant stanzas come across as a lament of the passing year, and yet the poet also expresses a juxtaposition between a somber response and an expression of fond farewell. Here are some excerpts:

My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,
My den is all a cosy glow;
And snug before the fire I sit,
And wait to feel the old year go.
I dedicate to solemn thought
Amid my too-unthinking days,
This sober moment, sadly fraught
With much of blame, with little praise . . .

And You, deep shrinking in the gloom,
What find you in that filmy gaze?
What menace of a tragic doom?
What dark, condemning yesterdays?
What urge to crime, what evil done?
What cold, confronting shape of fear?
O haggard, haunted, hidden One
What see you in the dying year?

And so from face to face I flit,
The countless eyes that stare and stare;
Some are with approbation lit,
And some are shadowed with despair.
Some show a smile and some a frown;
Some joy and hope, some pain and woe:
Enough! Oh, ring the curtain down!
Old weary year! it’s time to go.

My pipe is out, my glass is dry;
My fire is almost ashes too;
But once again, before you go,
And I prepare to meet the New:
Old Year! a parting word that’s true,
For we’ve been comrades, you and I —
I thank God for each day of you;
There! bless you now! Old Year, good-bye!

As for New Year’s Resolutions, the same poet wrote an expressions of regret in the year past and the resolve inherent in a phrase we know so well: “Just do it.”

RESOLUTIONS

Each New Year’s Eve I used to brood
On my misdoings of the past,
And vowed: “This year I’ll be so good –
Well, haply better than the last.”
My record of reforms I read
To Mum who listened sweetly to it:
“Why plan all this, my son?” she said;
“Just do it.”

Of her wise words I’ve often thought –
Aye, sometimes with a pang of pain,
When resolutions come to naught,
And high resolves are sadly vain;
The human heart from failure bleeds;
Hopes may be wrecked so that we rue them . . .
Don’t let us dream of lovely deeds –
Just do them.

Now that I have shared more poetry than you ever wanted to read, let me conclude with this thought: As a new year approaches, we greet it with all the regrets and losses and emotions of the old year still pressing on our spirits. That affects our attitude about the unknown year ahead, and when we look at the path that leads us into 2020, all we see is darkness. It is for us a journey into the unknown with no instructions for moving forward. We are sometimes not sure we even want to move into the new year.

That may be the very reason for the ball drop in New York, the champagne toasts with all the hugging and kissing, the elaborate party decorations including metallic pointy hats and horns blowing in the night. Maybe we celebrate so hard because we are so hurt, so filled with regret, so shamed, so afraid of the future. We stand at the gate of the new year holding all that we brought from the old one. Sometimes the burden we are carrying is a heavy, heavy burden to carry, but we simply don’t believe we can throw it off and start on the new year’s unknown path, unburdened and free.

Yes, we do leave all our memories behind in the year that has passed, and in the new year, we hope to realize fresh, new dreams. A wise person says that around us, we have those who love us and within us, we have all we need. But the most eloquent advice I know that addresses our old year/new year dilemma comes from yet another poet, Minnie L. Haskins:

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.

And he replied: “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.”

From the Rising of the Sun

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Just after sunrise on Arkansas’ Mount Nebo. Photography by Brad Burleson.

Praise the Lord!
Praise, O servants of the Lord;
praise the name of the Lord.

Blessed be the name of the Lord
from this time on and forevermore.

From the rising of the sun to its setting
the name of the Lord is to be praised.

The Lord is high above all nations,
and his glory above the heavens.

Who is like the Lord our God,
who is seated on high,
who looks far down
on the heavens and the earth?

He raises the poor from the dust,
and lifts the needy from the ash heap,
to make them sit with princes,
with the princes of his people.

He gives the barren woman a home,
making her the joyous mother of children.

Praise the Lord!

— Psalm 113 (NRSV)

The Palmist assures us that the sun rises and sets. The Psalmist speaks to us of the comfort of sameness, of something we can count on. But this Psalm says more. The Psalmist pictures God, not only as One who is to be praised, but also a God who is the helper of the poor and needy. This is a God-image that we need in these troubled times. The Psalmist’s story sings with praise to God, but then continues on, showing us a God who raises up those who are poor and lifts up the people whose needs are great. And nestled in the words of this Psalm are the words we have long heard:

From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same,
the Lord’s name is to be praised. (KJV)

What a comfort it is to know that when the sun rises, God will be God, and when the same sun sets, God will be God — a constant, divine presence. The sun will sink into the horizon, leaving darkness around us. Yet, the next day will dawn, the sun will rise as it always does and God will still be present, ever watching over us.

There are times when I have needed to know that God was in place, times when I was poor in spirit, needy in heart. There are times when sadness and worry have silenced my praise. In such a time, I was unable to speak, unable to even name my silences. In those times, my silences were deep. They were hidden, unspoken places of pain.

What I now know is that my pain would ease, that my spirit would again rejoice, and that my silences would find words. That knowledge enables me to lift my eyes to the sunrise of God and to rest in the assurance of God’s abiding presence with me. 

When storm clouds threaten, God is present. 

When the earth beneath my feet quakes, God is present. 

In sunshine and in shadow, God is present.

Blessed be the name of the Lord
from this time on and forevermore.

From the rising of the sun to its setting
the name of the Lord is to be praised.

 

 

 

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On another note, please pray for me as I look toward my kidney transplant on November 15th. I am grateful that you are walking with me on this journey that often felt so frightening. Your thoughts and prayers mean so much. If you would like to read the story of my illness, please visit the Georgia Transplant Foundation’s website at this link:

http://client.gatransplant.org/goto/KathyMFindley

A “Go Fund Me” page is set up for contributions to help with the enormous costs related to the transplant, including medications, housing costs for the month we have to stay near the transplant center, and other unforeseeable costs for my care following the transplant. If you can, please be a part of my transplant journey by making a contribution at this link:

https://bit.ly/33KXZOj

 

 

On Loneliness

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Photo of an Arkansas dawn by Steven Nawojczyk

I have always hated feeling lonely. Being alone meant sorrow for me, and in my younger years, I did everything I could to avoid spending time alone, trying to keep loneliness at bay. The more people I could have around me, the more alive I felt.

And then I began to experience the deep loneliness one can experience even when surrounded with people. That is to me the most painful loneliness of all — being lonely in a crowd, suddenly coming face to face with my emptiness, discovering that no one is ever truly present with me.

Growing older has taught me that being alone is actually life-giving. Sometimes being alone brings the kind of silence we need to draw closer to God, hearing the sacred whispers that reach the depths of the soul. Silence can bring a more intense awareness of the bursting life all around us, the rise and fall of the cicada’s song in the summer, the sweet music of birdsong, the delightful sound of fluttering hummingbird wings, the silence of the night broken only by the sounds of katydids and crickets.

I recently read these words from the children’s fantasy novel, The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster.

Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.

― Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

It truly is beautiful . . . being alone with silence complete enough to listen and to truly hear. It is one thing to be alone, but quite another to be alone with God. Being alone with God is being in the silent, sacred place where the soul meets its creator. It is finding the quiet, holy place of falling into the arms of a God who abides and protects. It is coming near to the “mercy seat” where disconsolate seekers bring their wounded hearts. It is sitting in the place where we learn that “earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.” *

I have learned, even in my loneliest times, that there is abiding truth in the words of philosopher and theologian, Paul Tillich.

Loneliness expresses the pain of being alone; solitude expresses the glory of being alone.

Being alone taught me that, even when not one human soul is around me, I am never truly alone. And I rest my hope in these words, “In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God.”

Amen and amen.

 

“Come, Ye Disconsolate,” Lyrics: Thomas Moore (1779-1852); Altered by Thomas Hastings (1784-1872); Music: Samuel Webbe (1740-1816)

Please enjoy this beautiful hymn presented by the Baylor University Men’s A Cappella Choir at this link: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mNqzhfB4y1I

Stronger than My Sadness

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I am stronger than my sadness. Because of that, I don’t dread sadness so much anymore. I just take it in as a part of living. Some days for me are just sad days. Yesterday was one of those days – Mother’s Day – and I spent it without my child or my grandchildren. So I figure it was most appropriate to feel sad.

I have learned, though, that sadness passes and brighter days are just around the next bend. That reality keeps me going and reminds me that I can take whatever comes in this thing we call life. Life brings all sorts of emotions, happiness, joy, pride, elation, peace, excitement, and yes, sadness too.

I love the poetry of Khalil Gibran who wrote “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

 

And when I am sorrowful, I always return to Gibran’s writing on joy and sorrow:

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being,the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

And that’s that! I am stronger than my sadness.

Healed of Sad Memory

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The anniversary of my brother’s death was in late March. I did not allow myself to emotionally mark the actual date, and that was probably a mistake. The loss has hovered over me since the day I chose to largely ignore it. And there is a cloud of sadness over my head. Pete was our baby brother, and he certainly did not leave us in the right order. He was the youngest, so he should have outlived his two older siblings. But that was the thing about Pete. He didn’t follow rules and expected practices.

I survived his death emotionally. My brother and my cousin also survived it. His young wife and his two beautiful daughters did too. But there was a special kind of love that made it possible to survive. Pete loved lavishly and graciously. It is that kind of love that still watches over us and heals us of the sad memory. It is God’s love that carries us beyond the sadness and brings us into the light of hope. The words of Steven Charleston describe it perfectly.

What gracious love is this, that watches over us without ceasing, that allows for our frailty, that lifts us up when we have stumbled, never wavering in hope for us, never despairing at our shortcomings, but believing in us, defending us, calling forth our better nature, until we are healed of sad memory, restored to live in the fullness of our life, set free from the snares of what can harm us, to be who we were made to be, long ago, by this same gracious heart, the one that formed us before the first dawn, and that will carry us safely beyond the golden light.

This blog post is for Pete, and is dedicated to Shelli, Kristen and Kaitlyn.