In Bob Dylan’s pensive ballad, “Not Dark Yet,” he reflects upon a once great relationship that is not quite over and, at the same time, muses about the end of life or our relationship with human existence. He suggests that, even at the tail end or waning moments, we can do things to save ourselves or make the departure less emotionally painful. As he ruminates over “shadows fallin’ and time runnin’ away,” his soul, and the scars he endures, he acknowledges that he must eventually surrender to inevitable demise but doesn’t want it to be totally negative; he hopes it is redemptive. Similarly, in Leonard Cohen’s final song, a loving prayer called “You Want It Darker,” he begins by admitting that he doesn’t understand the purpose of life, hates the suffering of humanity, including the excruciating sacrifice of Christ, and questions divine motives but, in the end, he submits to God and concedes to death, the final darkness.
Both these spiritual folk artists had Jewish upbringing and an attraction to Jesus upon whom they often mused. Their deep poetic contributions are mystical inspirations to many of us who seek a more profound union with the immense mystery of God and higher realms. Though neither of them overtly aligned themselves to Saint Francis of Assisi, they both imitate his spiritual quest for finding grace in things that are broken, including hearts, relationships, and even life itself. In Saint Francis’ “Canticle of the Creatures,” he welcomed death, referred to it as his sister, and sought to embrace her with the same fervor by which he loved life.
His is a magnificent example for all, I think. We are here for a limited time; life is short and death is certain. To cope with diminishment, many of us turn to humor: “You know we’re getting old when most of the names in our contact list have the first name ‘doctor’.” “At my age, I longer buy green bananas.” When bidding parents or other loved ones farewell at the end of their earthly life, we don’t want to let go and we even get frustrated that they want to give up, cease eating, or stop trying to do anything. My advice is to love them and let them go; don’t add to their struggle or misery by begging them to stay for you. On the other hand, many elderly people are eager to die and wonder why God has not yet come for them. We often tell them that they’re still here because we need them, our family needs them, the world needs them to stick around longer. They may not think or feel that they are contributing; but they contribute love. From their death bed or diminished existence, they personify love. Through their mere presence they give and receive love—and that is the greatest of gifts.
During the holiday season, many people are sad because their loved ones died at Thanksgiving or Christmastime. It is good for us to acknowledge that, amidst happiness and good cheer, a pall of sorrow blankets many people; but it is also good for those who are wrapped in holiday darkness to realize that their sadness is the result of loving. When we recognize that truth, we also realize that greatest of gifts—for we were given it in the ones we love and miss so dearly. One more song to consider is Nick Cave’s “Into My Arms.” He was a disciple of Leonard Cohen and, like him, uses biblical and spiritual themes to reminisce about levels of loving. Though his song alludes to holding on to someone we love (in his case, a girlfriend, his father who died when he was young, his two sons who died in separate tragic ways…), he also suggests that we will one day be in the arms of God who loves us more than we can imagine. We will only fully understand this after the light goes out on us in this world and the darkness envelopes us. Though tough to consider, our ultimate spiritual task is to embrace the final darkness, welcome sister death, and feel the loving arms of God.