“…in this dread hour…”

I also know – with a certainty that surpasses any information even suggesting the contrary, that there is – indeed – a time for everything under heaven; inclusive of a time to be born and a time to die.

In this regard, take note that I am continuously inspired by the writings of a quite cerebral Saint Paul who writes in First Corinthians Chapter 15:

And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.

Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption. Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written,

Death is swallowed up in victory.

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? (Hosea 13:14)

The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

And too, believe me when I say – even in this dread hour – that, The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.  He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

And brothers and sisters, believe me when I tell you that some who died in the dust and in the rubble that was made of their homes and business places will yet have the victory.

And take note that, write – as I must – to fill this dread-space – today provides me no pleasure.

I would have liked – had I the means – to try and write in a way where I could share with you how sick I felt when I heard the news that was coming my way from Haiti/ information concerning the devastation wrought by that hurricane that was on its way/ and which did come as some seismologists in Cuba had predicted and in the time they said and with the intensity they had also insisted would come with such an upheaval of the earth.

When I heard the news, David’s psalm 23 immediately come to mind/ and as it did/ I tried to pray for the repose of the dead and for the comfort of those who survived that cataclysmic event.

And I also remembered something or the other about how things are going to end; and some of what will happen when Gabriel blows his trumpet/ here I suspect that the one of my sisters in Haiti might have had similar thoughts in mind when she cried out that the world was coming to an end.

And the word – as I remember – did talk about some of what would happen in a moment and in a twinkling of an eye/ and as t how the dead in Christ shall rise.

Today, then, Haiti’s embrace with catastrophe is cause why I say something that I hope would matter concerning the earthquake that struck Haiti so very hard.

Indeed, whenever I have tried to think about Haiti, its sufferings and its proud people, I have reason to believe that they are as they currently are precisely because they happened to have been an exceptional Caribbean people, the types who would rather die than be slaves in a so-called new world.

They fought against the best and won/ and after they won, those against whom the Haitians fought sought to humiliate them; sought to reduce them to nothingness, and then, before it was all over, the Haitian people had to pay their conquerors for their audacity/ they paid in cold cash.

And for sure, the Haitian people also paid in the form of blood, sweat and tears.

Today that suffering continues.

Port- au-Prince is today in ruins/ and Haiti is on her knees as she waits, hopes and prays for help to arrive from anywhere in the world.

Mercifully, some assistance is on the way.

It is as if Haiti has been cursed and that the gods who control disaster have singled out this land and its people for disaster piled upon disaster.

And now, an earthquake – said to be an act of God – adds more damage to a mess that now stinks as high as high-heaven.

And now, the task is Haiti’s and its friends from around the world to search for the dead, hope that those who still breathe – even as they battle rubble in their noses and on their bodies.

As one dread hour passes and as the sun does its daily routine and number, the light is slowly but surely going down on those who would live and those who would die in that dread/dead land.

In the meantime, aid trickles in.

And people who thought that they might have a chance at living, now find themselves in Death’s cold grip.

And as they suffered, I tuned in and I heard the word in the wind. Here I tell you that I heard the voice in the wind. And as I listened, I heard her say that, The world is coming to an end.

That apocalyptic truth is now the stuff of which today’s and tomorrow’s news are being made.

And so it is, the world is coming to an end.

And for sure, the world she knew was coming to an end right before her eyes. And as she cried out in her anguish, some of her countrymen and women breathed their last as they swallowed dust and breathed blood and death’s stench itself.

Anxious and concerned as I was, I stayed up all night this Tuesday past, as CNN played the tape over and over again, the tape – that is – that spoke to the tens of thousands of people who had died as a result of the earthquake that – in one bloody moment – killed all who could and would be killed in that dread moment.

And in that same night when they learned that their long-suffering land, some Haitians I know tried to find words to describe their grief and as they searched in both Creole and in English, few found words sufficient to say how bad they felt.

In the words I had, I sought to find some that might soothe/ and regrettably, I too found not even one. As silence descended, I could only sigh as I remembered how much these people had already suffered over the course of their long sojourn on this side of the bloody ocean that still links them to their ancestral mother-land, Africa.

But too the word remains – as it has always been – weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.