A little over a year ago, a one-time colleague of mine died, although I can't say I knew him well. He was older than I am, much older, and his tenure at the college where I teach had ended many years earlier. The psalm he wanted read at his funeral was 121...
--The Professor's Death Song by James Calvin Schaap
I've been reading my favourite story again. This time round, these opening lines have also taken on much more personal relevance for me.
I've already heard Psalm 121 once in a funeral. I wonder how many more times would I hear it being read again in funerals?
and, at the end of the day, would I want it read at my own? (I know, I am being morbid again)
Strangely, every time I read this story again, there is something new I can take home.
I've been working amongst a much more elderly population lately and in many ways I am frequently reminded of the professor, of the fragility, the fall, the sweet disposition, of stoicism and mantras to make everyday a beautiful day.
In fact their histories are often so vague that they resemble obituaries. even the medical histories are hardly ever complete. As I tried hard to find out from that sweetly smiling elderly man sitting across the room why on earth could he have diminishing renal function and ongoing hematuria without a past history, his daughter called eureka:
"yes! i remember he had this thing with his kidneys 30 years ago..."
with my own diminishing medical knowledge I never managed to find out what that "thing" with his kidney was. His GP 30 years ago almost certainly have long rested in his grave. My patient had a transient expression of slight annoyance as he really couldn't understand why I made such a fuss of nothing as he was feeling fine and surely his kidneys shouldn't cause anybody else so much trouble...
then he went back to smiling sweetly at me.
I could not recall how many psych histories I took lately which contained the following lines "happy childhood and upbringing" "very good marriage" "supportive children". it is almost as if unless they grew up in an orphanage or the husband/wife committed suicide or the children have SCZ themselves--
such are the only appropriate and right things to say.
when they were not able to smile so sweetly I looked at them in their pitiable prostrate states, with outpouring of tears which spoke of intense emotional pain. They were often greatly anguished that they had no idea why they were crying so much. They also invariably felt the strong need to reiterate to me multiple times through their tears that "there is really nothing in my life that I should be depressed about"---and I watched on as my consultant dispensed amounts of benzos which I was not entirely comfortable with--
I think I felt a similar anger to that felt by Prof Schaap as he heard his colleague's obituary.
There was so much in their lives that needed to be said, and acknowledged, which wasn't.
Just as how Prof Schaap came to a turning point in his thoughts when he heard the funeral preacher read Eugene Peterson, In a similar way, I think the Lord also wanted me to hear something to soothe my anger after all. some time ago some thoughts from a 前辈's blog reminded me of how Jesus spoke about the return of the unclean spirits:
When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first. That is how it will be with this wicked generation. -Matthew 12: 43-45
I do not wish to go into the links of spiritual evils with mental turmoils but here I am merely drawing a parallel of things frightfully similar.
I am just amused that throughout the ages, there probably has not been a shortage of busybodies like myself.
and that inappropriate unsurfacing/cleansing of deep buried secrets and pains at inappropriate times (esp with busybodies barging in and prodding around--) would have similar disastrous consequences.
This is very convicting for me, but at the same time, liberating.
then I remembered, what Prof Schaap was really trying to say...almost paradoxically, with this story about his colleague, the devil in the details, and the death song.
no, my own experiences need not be compulsively generalized to others and it is not my call of duty to go around shaking secrets out of my poor patients' aging bones.
I am to have the confidence that He will indeed watch over their struggles as they carry on their hard work of dying. their brokenness and woes may one day securely go down with them to their graves, and then, to Him.
and at the very same time, i am not to shrink away when i am called to play a part in anyone's unravelling, trusting that He has prepared me(and will continue to do so), personally and professionally, enough for whatever arduous journeys ahead.
but most importantly, that regardless where we are at, He is and will always be our shade at the right hand. He will keep us from all evils and preserve our lives, for the sun not to harm us by day, nor the moon by night.
How He fulfills these promises for all who come to Him, in this wicked generation, remains a beautiful profound mystery to me.
I finally memorized Psalm 121, on the train on my way to the coroners. Heightened agitation i think really helped me coming to terms of the sheer weight of these words.
Though I really pray that in this season I can rejoice in the Lord more as He has commanded. quoting Mark Galli, less of this Brothers-Karamazov-brooding-making-me-feel-I'm-being-profound-business~ lol (have a feeling tho it will not completely go)
and pray I do not need to hit another point of utter desperation like training in to the coroners to love His words enough to memorize them.
Psalm 121
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
he will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.
