Well Meet Again Dont Now How

"Behold, I tell you a mystery. We shall non all fall asleep, just we will all be changed, in an instant, in the blink of an heart, at the terminal trumpet." (ane Corinthians 15:51-52)

It has been a quarter century since my mother died, her soul having returned to God for judgment and everlasting life in the arms of her loving Father in Heaven. I practise not absolutely know this to be true, of grade, only that the certainty of my hope allows me to believe that it may be so. Knowledge and faith are not the same thing, after all, otherwise the eternal outcome of every life would exist every bit certain equally the sum of two plus two. And, yet, despite seeing her lifeless body laid out before our grieving family unit, her fluids carefully drained away co-ordinate to exact mortuary science, I tin still vividly remember the whispered balls I felt that this was not the end, that I would certainly see her again.

Well, equally circumstance would accept it, I was recently reminded of that consoling fact. Information technology was prompted by the news of the passing of Vera Lynn, age 103, who, as a very young woman, may take done more for the maintenance of British morale during the darkest days of the Second World State of war than all the speeches of Winston Churchill. Information technology was a single vocal, in fact, charged with such lovely melodic lilt that it became an overnight sensation, an canticle of real promise and confidence for countless airmen, soldiers and sailors who went off to war, not knowing if they would e'er come across their loved ones again.

Written in 1939, the song was called "We'll Come across Over again," which she performed repeatedly — unforgettably — before big gatherings of servicemen, whose voices would blend in with hers, leaving an amplified impression that was unspeakably moving. Unless you were completely insensate, you did not listen to such music without choking upward.

Here, then, are the salient lyrics that, forth with that haunting melody, made a immature Vera Lynn famous for the next 80 years:

                   We'll meet again / Don't know where / Don't know when /

                   But I know we'll meet over again some sunny day /

                   Go on smiling through / Only similar you always practice /

                   'Till the bluish skies drive the dark clouds far away /

                   So will y'all please say hello / To the folks that I know /

                  Tell them I won't be long / They'll be happy to know

                  That as you saw me become / I was singing this song

                 We'll come across again / Don't know where / Don't know when /

                 Merely I know we'll meet again some sunny twenty-four hours…

To be certain, a most welcome and wonderfully upbeat piece of music. But is it truthful? Can nosotros honestly believe information technology? Only stop and think of all those eager young Purple Air Force pilots every bit they listened to the music of Vera Lynn. Men who, with the almost rapt attention, were mouthing words that fabricated the most impossible promise anyone could always imagine, which is that they would actually run into again those whom they most loved in all the world. Who can peradventure guarantee an outcome like that? Will Vera Lynn? Winston Churchill? What nonsense is this? And, besides, we already know the huge percentage of those young men who would shortly perish in the Boxing of Britain; indeed, among those very airmen, their voices freshly joined to the chorus, great numbers would simply non survive, they would surely dice somewhere in a higher place the clouds. There would be no sunny day for them.

There is the real terror. That in looking upon the faces of those we love in life, those doomed to disappear in expiry, there will never be a time when nosotros might meet them over again.  Just, then, what is the point of hope, what is it all for? That I should accept to look for the last time upon the face of my dead mother, speaking a final goodbye to the one who gave me life and nurture, and know with absolute certainty that I shall never see her once again? If that were so, and this lifeless thing on a marble slab were never to ascent and walk once more, then life for me would be such a horror and an obscenity that I would scarcely wish to become on living.

What would I non give to know, what would the families of all those expressionless servicemen not give to know, actually to know, that in fact the dead do not stay dead? But that, cheers to an all-powerful, all-loving Providence, whose Son burst through the gate and grave of death, they go indestructibly alive in the arms of Almighty God?  After all is said and done, are nosotros non, all of u.s.a., driven by the same hope in one case so beautifully expressed by the poet Alfred Tennyson, who, in remembrance of the ones he loved and lost, was moved to exclaim in tones of ringing, indeed, desperate desire,

                   Ah Christ, that information technology were possible

                   For i brusque hr to see

                   The souls we loved, that they

                     might tell us

                   What and where they exist.

Remove the Resurrection, along with the faith and the hope nosotros have that it happened, and you are left with aught. Only death, despair, and the dissolution of honey. Which leaves no i, of course, to meet again some sunny day.

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Source: https://www.ncregister.com/blog/we-ll-meet-again-don-t-know-where-don-t-know-when

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