And So . . .

Awake from your slumber,
Arise from your sleep!
A new day is dawning for all those who weep! 

. . . Let us build a City of God,
Let our tears be turned into laughter . . .

With those words we gathered at the foot of the altar in Oxford and the People of God sang out.
And then the procession began,
that final procession down the aisle of that chapel.
Cross-bearer in the lead,
the Dominican prioress and her companion from the governing board,
three Benedictine priest neighbors,
the pastor of the local parish, St. Joseph the Worker in Lake Orion,
the faithful Jesuit, Fr. Harry Sanford,
and the presider.

. . . Let us build a City of God

And it was over!

The final Eucharist had been offered.
The final word had been spoken.
The final song had been sung.

It was over!

. . . Let us build a City of God

It was over but the People of God were not quite finished, not just yet. There were pictures to take and introductions to be made and old acquaintances to be renewed and conversations.
There were memories, many, many memories to share.
And there was food!
Sandwiches and shrimp and potato salad and desserts and lemonade.
And music!
Yes, there was even music and occasionally someone would boldly and bravely get up to dance.
We would celebrate our memories and our gratitude and the blessings that had come all through the years from that Religious Community whose Oxford house was now being shuttered.
People of faith know how to count blessings instead of wallowing in losses.

Let our tears be turned into laughter . . .

But as could be expected, the day pressed on, the time grew late and little by little the crowd began to thin.
It was time to go home.
It was time to move on.
It was time to say, "Good bye."
And the halls emptied and began to echo silence,
and emptiness.
It was over!

The rooms and the halls are empty now.
The lights are out.
The doors are locked.
The building is closed now.

Only echos of past laughter remain,
and past voices, long ago gone silent,
and lessons taught,
and homilies preached,
and songs sung.

This spring the sand cranes will look around at the emptiness and wonder,
"Who will feed us?"

It is over now, truly over.

. . . Let us build a City of God