061105 John 11:32-44 Death Be Not Proud

John Donne, a 17th century Catholic martyr in newly Protestant England, wrote many poems. Some of his most famous poems are his Holy Sonnets and number 10 of those Holy Sonnets sounds like this:
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones and soul's delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
Margaret Edson now lives in Atlanta and teaches kindergarten. Before that, she was a nurse on a cancer ward and won the Pulitzer Prize for her stage play, later filmed under the same title: “W;t”.
It’s about a brilliant single 50 year old professor of 17th poetry at an unnamed university who painfully dies of ovarian cancer. Most of the play is monolog reflection by the heroine on her life long search for significance and meaning.
At one point (p. 69) Vivian reflects on the on her nurse Susie’s intimate conversation and sharing of half a popsicle:
“That certainly was a maudlin display. Popsicles? ‘Sweetheart’? I can’t believe my life has become so . . . corny.
“But it can’t be helped. I don’t see any other way. We are discussing life and death, not in the abstract, either; we are discussing my life and my death, and my brain is dulling, and poor Susie’s was never very sharp to begin with, and I can’t conceive of any other . . . tone.
“(Quickly) Now is not the time for verbal swordplay, for unlikely flights of imagination and wildly shifting perspectives, for metaphysical conceit, for wit.
“And nothing would be worse than a detailed scholarly analysis. Erudition. Interpretation. Complication.
“(Slowly) Now is a time for simplicity. Now is a time for, dare I say it, kindness.
“(Searchingly) I thought being extremely smart would take care of it. But I see that I have been found out. Ooohhh.
“I’m scared. Oh, God. I want . . . I want . . . No, I want to hide. I just want to curl up in a little ball. (She dives under the covers.)”
The lights on the stage go out and then come back up to a later time as Vivian wakes in horrible pain. She then reflects on her pain before Susie comes in and gives her morphine. They have a brief laugh after Vivian hopes for its “soporific effect,” and Susie’s comment: “Well, I don’t know about that, but it sure makes you sleepy.”
Maybe this sermon and even the whole tone of this memorial service have a soporific effect on our horror about the pain surrounding death. Perhaps the simple logic of our folkways expresses how we collectively chose to soporifically sooth each other about the memory of proud death. Halloween comically and theatrically apes our fears of death through confusion, horror and even trick-or-treating derision at death. Then after All-Hallows-Eve we are sobered up while suffering the hangover from our sugar highs the night before.
Perhaps the pain and loneliness while grappling for a last thread of wit or meaning is what we are do without the compassion, hope and community we find in Jesus Christ and His Church.
Dear Heavenly Father, please bless us with Your peace that passes all understanding and wit. Teach to become eternal like You, while still showing compassion and hope to our meager existence here on earth. Bless us with this celebration of life here in this shadow of death. Bless us beyond this brief play where we strut across our life’s stage. Thank you for everlasting life and the foretaste of glory divine that we are about to partake. In the blessed name of Jesus the Christ, Amen.