Robert Burns and more Musings on Life and Death

 

 

‘Our monarch's hindmost year but ane

Was five-and-twenty days begun,

'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win'

Blew hansel in on Robin.’

 

From the song by Robert Burns ‘Rantin’ Rovin’ Robin’ (to the tune ‘Dainty Davie’)

 

 It was the 25^th of January a couple of days ago, and so it was Burns’ Night. I must say I have mixed feelings about Burns’ Suppers (and not simply because I really intensely dislike haggis and neeps!). While I have been to some excellent ones, I have also been to some utterly dreadful evenings. And I hate it when the songs being sung are sung to ghastly tunes of little musical worth rather than the tunes suggested by Burns, and which were often old tunes which he was seeking to preserve. (And the one I have quoted above is one such! ‘Dainty Davie’ is the intended and proper tune, unlike the dreadful, but more popular tune to which it is – sadly – more usually sung).

However, I do very much appreciate much of the poetry of Burns, and the insight and wisdom that some of it contains.

When I was first ordained as a Minister, and inducted into my first charge in the east end of Glasgow in the early 1980’s, one of the members of that congregation was terminally ill. I used to visit Dod, sitting in the dense fug of cigarette smoke as he sipped at his dram, and always by his chair a book; the Poems and Songs of Robert Burns.

Dod would talk about Burns, sometimes quoting from memory and at other times turning to a page and reading.

I was already familiar with some of the poetry and songs of Robert Burns, but as I sat through these months and listened to Dod reciting, my appreciation grew.

In due course, and after a somewhat difficult struggle, Dod died. When I spoke to his daughter in preparation for the funeral service, she passed the book of Burns poetry to me, saying; ‘My dad wanted you to have this’.

I was both moved and grateful.

On returning home and looking more closely I realised that his bookmark was still in the book; the familiar bookmark which I had seen over the months marking the poem which he had just read or which he intended to read to me. I opened at the place and read:

 

‘O Death! The poor man’s dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour my agéd limbs
Are laid with thee at rest!
The great, the wealthy fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn;
But oh! A blest relief to those
That weary-laden mourn’[i]

As I was saying in my previous post on this blog, I have been pondering life and death a bit lately, not least because of recent losses of friends. Of course, as a Minister I have, over the years, very often sat, and watched, and prayed with, and ministered to those who are dying.

And I know that there are times when those facing death feel ready to go, and ‘welcome the hour my aged limbs are laid with thee at rest!’ (not that it is always or only those who have attained old age who welcome death as ‘the kindest and the best’.)

We often talk of living to a ‘ripe old age’. And who wouldn’t value that… unless, of course, we are seriously ill, our life is severely compromised, or the quality of our living is extremely limited.

As someone once said, ‘Living beyond your time is sometimes worse that dying before it’.

And as I said in my last post, the significance, worth, and influence of a life are not to be measured simply in terms of the number of years which that life lasts.

So, perhaps sometimes death is a ‘dear friend’.

 

‘The great, the wealthy fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn;
But oh! A blest relief to those
That weary-laden mourn’

Now, I am not for one minute suggesting that we don’t all seek to have a full and fulfilling life well into old age. Of course we do! And, for the record, I do rather think that Burns is somewhat overstating the case (poetic licence?). It is good that we can seek (and when the end comes, celebrate) a long life, well lived. And no-one in their right minds would doubt the pain of loss felt by loved ones when someone dear to us dies, and especially if that death is ‘untimely’.

But there are also situations (sometimes occasioned by age, and sometimes by disease) when death may be (in Burns’ words) a ‘friend’ and a ‘blest relief’.

In all of these musings and ponderings,  I am not necessarily coming to very many conclusions; just wondering and thinking and reflecting….

 

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[i] From the poem ‘Man was Made to Mourn’