![\"Sunset.](\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/186\/2016\/09\/800px-Sun_and_Clouds.jpg\")
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Twice, yesterday, we heard from friends about grievous personal losses. \u00a0In one case, they\u2019re reeling from\u00a0the sudden death of a brilliant, adult, but still relatively young daughter. \u00a0In the other, our friends mourn\u00a0the passing of a three-year-old granddaughter who had suffered from health issues throughout her short life.<\/p>\n
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There are perhaps no experiences in this life that are more painful, and our hearts and prayers go out to them. \u00a0And yet there\u2019s really nothing that we can do to help. \u00a0Our mortal words fail, utterly. \u00a0Only God and his promises remain.<\/p>\n
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I\u2019ve been thinking, since yesterday, of a beloved piece of choral music, \u201cDavid\u2019s Lamentation,\u201d by William Billings<\/a> (1746-1800), who is generally regarded as America\u2019s first choral composer. \u00a0King David\u2019s son, Absalom, was (very unlike the cases of our friends) utterly unworthy \u2014 he died while in armed rebellion against the throne and his father\u00a0\u2014 but, understandably, David loved him nonetheless. \u00a0Billings\u2019s almost-verbatim and very brief setting of 2 Samuel 18:33<\/a>\u00a0beautifully captures a father\u2019s grief:<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n David the king was grieved and moved;<\/span><\/p>\n He went to his chamber, his chamber, and wept,<\/span><\/p>\n And as he went, he wept and said,<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh my son! Oh my son!<\/span><\/p>\n Would to God I had died!<\/span><\/p>\n Would to God I had died for thee!<\/span><\/p>\n Oh Absalom, my son, my son!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n