Sitting in the pew at church,
a pew I’d sat in so many times
through so many years,
I got a message.
Not one I expected.
Not one that was relevant to the liturgy or the text or a song or the sermon.
A promise that I heard,
with surprise,
and with gratitude.
“When I die, it will be beautiful.”
Beautiful!
The promise showed up,
unexpected, and without urgency.
There was no sense of immediacy or anxiety.
It came with a sort of a picture,
an “a-visual picture” (my phrase);
a sense of the components present at that future time,
without a real image.
Just an understanding of environment and participants,
and meaning, atmosphere, impact.
Beautiful, somehow, I know it will be.
Surrounded by at least a few who I love.
Transcending fear. Transmitting love.
There will be joy. There will. be peace.
Not soon, I hope.
I want more time.
But when it’s time,
I know,
it will be beautiful.