He is our Peace- It is Well with my Soul
He is our peace, who has broken down every wall
He is our peace, He is our peace
Cast all your cares on Him,
For He cares for you
He is our peace, He is our peace
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, Thou hast thought me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul
Cast all your cares on Him,
For He cares for you
He is our peace, He is our peace
It is well (It is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well, with my soul
(He is our peace)
HE IS OUR PEACE - *insert song writer*
IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL - Horatio G. Spafford, P.P. Bliss
~*~*~*~*~
The note echoed throughout the building. It was the pitch. A soft, steady 'Do'' from the piano keys.
Footsteps. Coughs. A beat. One, Two, Three...
It started soft, almost a hush, as the first line escaped their lips. 'He is our peace...' The audience was silent. The voices of the sopranos and altos- in unison, filled the air. Soon, the bases and the tenors joined. 'He is our peace' the song repeated, four voices all of the same notes. Unified. Together.
'Cast all you cares on him'. The blending began. Sweet harmonization reached the audiences' ears.
All too soon, the song ended. It was lovely. Certainly music to the ears. Though one of the choir members might spot someone singing out of tune for a single note, it didn't matter. It was beautiful.
They returned to their seats, only to be greeted by silence. There was no need for an applause. They were in mourning, after all.
~*~*~*~*~For once, a chill went down my spine. It was the first time that that particular song had so much of an effect on me. The message, the tune, the delivery- It was all too perfect for the setting. A wonderful tribute to the human body that lay stiff on the casket.
Even after the song, my hands continued to tremble. It was just stage fright, one might argue. Then again, on a normal performance, it would have been long gone even before I stood up to go in front. But now, even minutes after the whole performance, as I tried arranging my hair (it was something to distract myself with), I had to quickly fold them back in my lap. It was embarrassing to let others see my shaking fingers.
Deep breathes. In, out. Stay calm. Listen to the sermon. It was all right to cry, I guess, even though I've done enough of that the other day. But I didn't want to. Deep breathes.
It was all too moving. The previous messages from his friends and coworkers, the song that we gave, the sermon of the pastor. It was all too overwhelming that I couldn't help but tear up. In the end, though, we were still Christians. Death was something that was expected. We were prepared for it. It was welcomed.
Countless times, these past few days, that I've heard the word 'Congratulations'. Yes, it was a greeting for the person that passed away- often said after the condolences. No one commented about it. We all agreed. We were Christians. Dying meant peace for the person. Dying meant the chance to go to heaven. Dying meant being with our God. It was a blessing that comes at the right time. It doesn't mean that we weren't sad about our beloved's departure. We can be sad. He will be missed. Definitely. But we knew that one day, we'll all meet up again. Just we wait.
In that light, I have yet to offer my own greetings to him. So, congratulations, my dear grandfather. You have done your purpose. Rest. And live forever.