Transparent Christian Magazine

HE PARTED THE HEAVENS AND CAME DOWN; DARK CLOUDS WERE UNDER HIS FEET. HE MOUNTED THE CHERUBIM AND FLEW; HE SOARED ON THE WINGS OF THE WIND. Psalms 18:9-10

IN LAST WEEK’S COLUMN, I began a story I did not finish, the story of a beautiful young woman who died, leaving a husband and a small child behind. I’d like to tell the rest of the story now, or at least the small part I had in it. As I mentioned last week, Carissa’s pastor was the first to come out of the room where she had just died. What I didn’t tell you was that her husband, Don, came out of the same room shortly after. His pace was a bit slower than the pastor’s. There was no halleluiah in his steps, or on his lips. He didn’t walk over to his parents, or to hers. He didn’t go to his pastor, or to any of his friends who were there. He came directly to me. His first words were, “Carissa would want you to sing at her funeral, and at her wake. Would you mind?” I could see the weight upon him, the lost thing in his eyes.

Of course I agreed. And as a songwriter, I remember thinking to myself, “maybe I’ll write a song.” But as quickly as the thought came to me, I dismissed it. Again, the wound was too fresh, too exposed, too unreasonable, and the last thing anybody needed was another song. It was foolish of me, I thought. I considered, instead, the usual funeral fare: “What Wondrous Love is This?” or “Amazing Grace”. This was all happening in the early hours of that same morning, probably around three a.m.

The next afternoon, our pastor called me with the arrangements for the wake. Just before hanging up he said, “Maybe God will give you a song.” I responded immediately. “Maybe, pastor, but I’m not looking for it. I won’t pursue it, either. It doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

He hung up, and within the hour I had written a new song. Okay, it happens. But I didn’t go looking for it. It came looking for me. It was too powerful, too irresistible, once I submitted to it. And I discovered that a song is exactly what was needed. I also wrote it with travail, with weeping, and not so much for the loss of a friend. We had history with Don and Carissa, but with all my travelling, and his travelling, and though we enjoyed their company very much, the history we had with them was limited. No, I wept because of the God she loved so intensely, the God who loved her family enough to allow her to speak to them a word of comfort, and in a language they would understand. To say, “I am okay. I am with him that I love.” [After the wake, some of her friends told me the song expressed certain things the very way Carissa had expressed them concerning her own impending death. I knew nothing of these things beforehand.]

So, for a moment, imagine yourself at the wake. It’s deep afternoon, a church full of people, a dark rainy cloud over the entire assembly. The family, on the front row, unsuspecting, their hearts full to excess, were not ten feet from me. The first verse of this song was to Carissa’s mother, the second verse, to her father, and the third, to her husband and child. Typically, I close my eyes when I sing, but on this one occasion, there was something else directing me. The presence around them was rich, sweet, cradling.

As I sang the first verse, I looked directly into the mother’s eyes. It was the same with the father, who, by that time, was overcome with emotion, and hardly able to see anything at all. By the time I got to the third verse, to the husband and child, I felt as if I was somehow set aside, that Carissa was there, in radiance, husband and wife together, in one last benediction, and in a dimension as alive as it was indescribable. The entire room was witness to this event. The sorrow rich, but not unkind, the room was sweet with tears, and with the presence of God.

I will leave it at that. Here is the song I sung that day. And I know it is a bit unfair without the music to accompany it, the candlelight, or a grieving mother. The words are powerful, but it was the moment itself that had the greater power. It was, after all, a private exchange.

Do not weep for me, I’m not alone
The pain and suffering is far behind me, I am home
If you could see the things I see, what I have come to be
I am truly free, Mother, do not weep for me

Do not weep for me, Daddy I’m all right
I’m safe here with the father in this beautiful light
If words could somehow tell you,
It still would not be enough
But I thank you for the love, Daddy, do not weep for me.

Do not weep, I’m standing in his presence
Do not weep for me, I stand before my Lord
Do not weep, I know the beauty of the mystery
Christ alone is my reward

Do not weep for me, it won’t be long

The nights will make you lonely, be strong
Some things still remain forever, there is no goodbye
But I can see it in your eyes
Husband, do not weep for me

And the child that I once carried
May she now carry me,
Somewhere deep within her heart
And tell her do not weep for me

‘Cause only love remains forever, there’s just no goodbye
But I can see it in your eyes,
I can see it in your eyes
I know what’s in your heart, but do not weep for me…

I was allowed to be part of this. I still don’t understand it all. Maybe I never will. What I do know is that love is stronger than death, that it has a longer reach than the grave. I know that the song was a gift and a kindness. And though something precious was taken, something perhaps even more precious was given back in return, something they will always remember. God made himself known to a family in a time of unspeakable loss. He parted the clouds and came down, and by means of something as simple, and as fleeting as a song.

Editor’s Note: To Listen to David’s Song, check out the music player on the right sidebar of Transparent Christian Magazine.

© Do Not Weep for Me. From In The Mourning by David Teems (©2002 David Teems, Penn Avenue Publishing, BMI).

To Purchase a copy of David’s In the Mourning CD, click the image below.