There is a story in the Old Testament that recently came to mind. It is called The Book of Job – a story about a man who seems to have it all and is a faithful servant of God. Following a conversation with Satan, God agrees to test Job’s fidelity and strips him of his worldly goods. He loses everything: wealth, social status – even his family! After all his suffering, Job does not understand why God has inflicted so much pain on him, and his life. He has 3 extensive conversations with his friends, and they insist he is missing something. He must indeed have done something offensive for God to be so disappointed in him that he decided to strip him of all his worldly possessions, right down to his family.
At the end, God chastises Job, demanding how dare he challenge His will. Really? I found myself reading an interpretation of what I just read, and was surprised that the answer was simple. Shit happens. Often, there is no direct reason, or cause. It is not because you are a bad person, or have done something profoundly offensive before humankind and God. It is simply the nature of life. Not all things are pleasant. Not all outcomes are desirable. Quite simply, shit happens.
I suspect Job came to mind given my ongoing thoughts about Covid and how it has impacted life as we know it. Many have suffered great losses. Many have lost loved ones. We have been cut off, and shut in. We cannot fully see each other because of mandated face covering. It has truly upended life as we know it. For a very long time. Who remembers what normal looks like, let alone what it feels like?
In short, it is essential that we continue to fight the good fight. I have chosen to do it with words. There are days when sanity eludes me. Somehow, words come to make sense of the madness. I recall the words of a poem – Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night (1947) by Dylan Thomas that continue to be a profound reminder of what it means to hang in there, to fight the good fight. Job is devastated by his losses. Yet somehow, he manages to keep faith. To keep fighting the good fight. It is a critical life lesson – and inspiration.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning, they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
