When Farewell and Reunion Overlap

As a writer, my daily routine involves sitting in front of a square desk, facing a square screen, typing and reading square characters. When my eyes get tired, I look out the square window to the vast blue sky.

However, even if a "scholar" doesn't leave home, they must still know what's happening in the world. This is how they can produce content that is not limited by frameworks, but is both broad and profound.

It is said that there is a type of ant that, unlike other ants known for their virtuous diligence, appears to do nothing in the nest during the day, merely wandering around, sniffing, listening, and observing. Biologists call them "lazy ants."

In fact, they are not lazy, but are on reconnaissance; once a crisis appears, they can provide information to lead the ant colony to safety.

This sounds quite similar to authors and editors! One characteristic, or rather responsibility, of writers is to gather bits and pieces of information, think them through, organize them, and "edit" them into something: perhaps a more multi-layered observation, or an interpretation from a different angle; it could be "making a big deal out of something small," or "downplaying something significant."

Therefore, I, and my team, occasionally leave our square editing desks to wander around, sniff, listen, and observe. Then, through the eyes, brain, and fingers of an editor, we "edit" this information to bring it to others.

In this new series, we hope readers will see the multiple facets of editing and the different worlds we inhabit through our "non-routine" experiences. Through the "antennae" of writers, we aim to open up new perspectives.

On the Piano Bench

From the beginning of 2022 to the end of 2024, I played the piano for a total of 12 memorial services.

The scent of roses blending with lilies, the arrangement of "Amazing Grace" with various instruments, one eulogy after another... As the church pianist, I have grown so familiar with all of this that it carries a tinge of melancholy. Some memorial services only require accompaniment for hymn singing; others require playing from the prelude to the postlude. The locations are not always in my own church—twice it was a Catholic ceremony. I have played on elegant, resonant grand pianos, slightly out-of-tune upright pianos, and have even gone through the trouble of moving an electronic keyboard and music stand in and out.

Whenever I hear that an elder or aunt has been called home by the Lord, I proactively ask the pastor, "Do you need help with piano for the memorial service?" Then I contact the family: "Which hymns did he/she like?" A memorial service is a gathering for those left behind to remember the departed. So, besides preparing hymns for the congregation to sing together, and songs for the choir or individual brothers and sisters to offer, I also consider this point and carefully select and arrange other hymns. It's not about playing for those already in Jesus' arms—after all, the worship in heaven is far more majestic and resounding than my mere piano sounds. It's mainly for the family, to remind them—mother loved this hymn the most, often humming it; father liked this hymn, it was like a declaration of his faith. I also play for those attending the memorial service that day, letting them recall God's grace, mercy, promises, and presence through the music. I often play "Great Is Thy Faithfulness," "All Because of God's Amazing Grace," and "Jehovah Is Love" during the prelude. Many times, I conclude the memorial service with "Living Hope."

In the order of a memorial service, the piano music is just background, an insignificant part. However, out of love for God, love for the brothers and sisters who have gone to heaven before us, and love for those left behind, I sincerely hope that through a little thoughtfulness, those present can still have peace and hope, even in their sorrow and reluctance to let go.

Just like two husbands who came to believe in the Lord and were baptized after their wives passed away, because they believed that in the Lord, separation is temporary, and the reunion in the future will last forever.

By the Bedside

The pianist can also provide services at home.

Mama Rui and I have both been church pianists for many years. When Papa Rui passed away a few years ago, Mama Rui and her daughter Helen asked me to help select hymns for the memorial service. After that, we occasionally kept in touch by phone, but since Mama Rui rarely went out, we had few chances to meet. Not long after, Mama Rui suffered a stroke and lost her ability to speak. Helen asked me about the hymns commonly sung in our church, hoping to play them for Mama Rui to help her regain her language skills.

In the fall of 2023, as soon as I heard that Mama Rui had suffered another stroke, and Helen had brought her home for hospice care, I immediately contacted her, hoping to pay a visit.

That day, I brought my sheet music to Mama Rui's home, where Helen and the nurse were by her bedside. Mama Rui had lost a lot of weight, but her face still radiated a warm glow. Calling her name elicited no response. So, I walked over to Mama Rui's piano, opened the lid, took out my sheet music, and began to play. "Gently Listen," "I Belong to You Alone," "My God, I Worship You"… Every note was a testament to the times we served together in the Lord.

Standing by Mrs. Rui's bedside while praying, I held her hands that once played the piano and cared for her family and fellow church members, thanking her for her love for God and people. The hospice nurse told me that Mrs. Rui seemed more relaxed when she heard the piano music, adding, "I think she was waiting for you."

Early the next morning, Helen sent a message—Mama Rui had passed away peacefully in the Lord.

Placing hands on their shoulders

One of the most important ministries in Chinese churches is food, so after a memorial service, meals are always provided. Some are ordered by the family from restaurants, some are prepared by church members, and sometimes you can even get fruits grown in someone's backyard. If it weren't for most people wearing clothes in somber colors, it would be hard to tell if this was a meal after a memorial service rather than a Sunday lunch or a small group fellowship meal.

Eating is for fellowship and socializing. Long-unseen friends exchange gentle hugs, chatting and reminiscing over the delicious aromas, marveling: "It's been so many years since we last saw each other!"

Exactly! Even though we live in the same county or city, we can each be so busy with our own lives that years pass without any communication. The kids we last saw in high school are now in college, or even about to graduate. Is it really necessary to wait for a farewell occasion like this to cherish being together?

The meeting at the memorial service meal lasts only a short hour; what takes more time is the support and help given to the remaining family members after bidding farewell to the departed.

When Annie was seriously ill, the sisters took turns visiting and accompanying her. On a day in May, it was my turn. Besides bringing some food, I also carried my laptop, thinking I could work while she rested. I wasn't close to her before, but since I was a teacher for the church's youth group, I had occasionally cooked for her two daughters in my class after she fell ill, as a way of showing care.

Unexpectedly, Annie was in particularly good spirits that day, and we talked for over two hours. Saying "talked" might not be quite accurate; for the vast majority of the time, she was speaking, and I was just quietly listening, occasionally nodding or smiling. There was no chance to even take out my computer.

She talked most about her two daughters, who were still in middle school at the time. Even though she was physically very uncomfortable, this mother used all her strength to express her deep concern and reluctance to leave, along with many unfulfilled wishes.

That was the last time I saw Annie; during the summer, she left behind her husband and daughters and returned home to heaven.

During the farewell ceremony for the body, I stood behind the two young girls, my hands resting on their shoulders. At the meal following the memorial service, I ate with them, chatting about the start of the new school year. Afterwards, I would occasionally send them text messages, nagging them to wear more clothes due to changing weather and such. Sometimes I would stir-fry some vegetables or grill some fish to send over. On their birthdays, I would take them out individually for meals, shopping, or movies.

Like most teenage girls, when asked what they'd like to eat, their answer is "whatever"; when arranging lunch, they ask me to pick them up at 1:00 PM. They always complain about the school lunches being terrible ("I'll get food poisoning!"); teachers being irresponsible ("I have no idea what she's teaching!"); and school drama ("A is dating B, and when C went to talk to B, A asked me to go interrupt them...").

I don't know if they really like the food I cook, or when they'll open up to me and share their true feelings. But I believe that whether it's through text messages, delivering food, or having meals together, these seemingly aimless conversations and sporadic meetings are a way to let them know that even after leaving their mother's embrace, there's still a pair of hands resting on their shoulders.

Immediate gratitude

Occasionally leaving the editor's desk, I appear in people's lives at the intersection of farewells and reunions, through piano music, conversations, and companionship.

Yes, because of the redemption of the Lord Jesus, those who leave go to a beautiful heaven; those who remain must live on bravely with their memories, looking forward to "gathering with all the saints in the beautiful land." And aren't memories created in everyday life? Things done together, places once visited; songs sung, jokes told; conversations that weren't always profoundly meaningful, meetings that weren't always joyous... The accumulation of these immediate, instant moments, all of these, will become teary-eyed, smiling remembrances in future farewells.

The British poet W. H. Auden once wrote this line: "Let your last thinks all be thanks."

Seeing the overlap between farewells and reunions, I deeply realize—we don't need to wait until the end for our thoughts to become gratitude. If every present, immediate gathering becomes an opportunity to express love, then can't our present, immediate thoughts also all become gratitude?

Because His love is always present, I hope to continue appearing in people's lives with love, whether in times of farewell or reunion.