I received word today that a good friend is gravely ill, someone whom I first met, oh, fifteen years ago: A lovely man, strong-minded, with insight that burns through nonsense, and a laugh that kindles joy, someone with whom it’s a great pleasure to argue whether he’s right or wrong.
I had known he was unwell, and had been praying for him on the rather long prayer list this past year has generated; since I hadn't heard anything from friends in touch with him, I figured that he had neither experienced a stunning recovery nor lapsed into mortally serious condition.
I was wrong, and today’s mail brought a formal notification that his doctors know of nothing more they can do for him. He is going home from the medical center, and at some unknown time (between two weeks and two years from now), he will move on from home.
The saints teach us that death should be regretted to the extent that it brings grief to survivors, and fear to the dying; that we all are dying as I type these words, if only we would admit it and free ourselves of the insatiable lust for physical immortality; that only when we have begun to accept the ramifications of our eventual death have we begun to grow into the richest Way of life. All of this is, I am sure, true.
Next week, though, I will lead my Biblical Theology course through readings and discussions on life and death, in which some will recall both that Paul challenges mortality with his bold, “O Death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” while others recall that Ecclesiastes reminds its readers that they’re better off as living dogs than as dead lions. One of my favorite lions has lain down for a rest, may at any time close his eyes, and I do not feel better off.
In my own dissatisfaction, in the physical hardships that Don endures, in the frustrations of struggling for change in systems that resist us with the power of thousands, of millions, of decades and centuries, in the weakness of seeing no effects at all from our prayers and protests, our plans and petitions, in hardship or distress, in opposition, hunger, poverty, danger, in the thrall of an imperial state that gambles on placing its own security above the commands to serve peace, to make justice, and to walk humbly before God—in all these things, we rely on a promise. Paul promises us mourners, us who neglect the basic elements of nutrition and tasteful attire when weíre preoccupied with helping out our neighbors and God, he promises to every child, woman, man, anyone who will set their minds not on human things but on heavenly, who will let go of mere victory that in all these things we are more than conquerors through the love of Christ Jesus our Lord.
I am not ready to let go of Don’s hand, to know his voice to have fallen silent; I am not ready to look into the eyes of those who love him, to wish them awkward condolences. Iím still clinging to the hope of a victory I cannot win, and heaven only knows what’s possible—but someday sooner than I’d have expected, Don’s raucous laugh will ring out more deeply and truly than ever before, as he passes by victory in rushing to the love of God. I give thanks for him, for so many of the saints who have tried patiently to teach me this lesson. I give God thanks for their witness, for the promise of greater things than victory can win for us; I give thanks for all of you. I pray with you that all our wounded, beleaguered sisters and brothers know the peace of God which draws us beyond the human things that we can understand into the divinity where we can truly, eternally, love.
(For early readers, this is a preview of my sermon at tomorrow’s midday mass at Seabury.)
Posted by AKMA at November 7, 2002 11:58 PM | TrackBackAll of life is, it sometimes seems, practice in letting go of those we love. These hardest lessons are often the ones that open us more fully to life.
I will add your friend Don to my prayers this evening.
Posted by: Pascale Soleil at November 8, 2002 01:07 PMBeautifully written akma. I learned something about my own health today which makes this very pertinent so thanks.
Posted by: Euan at November 8, 2002 05:21 PMThank you.
Posted by: Ryan at November 8, 2002 10:32 PMIt is good to know that you responded to your call so long ago. Thank you for your words. Very timely for me.
Peace and all good things,
Posted by: Tripp at November 9, 2002 10:54 AMThis variable is then used in various lines of code, holding values given it by variable assignments along the way. In the course of its life, a variable can hold any number of variables and be used in any number of different ways. This flexibility is built on the precept we just learned: a variable is really just a block of bits, and those bits can hold whatever data the program needs to remember. They can hold enough data to remember an integer from as low as -2,147,483,647 up to 2,147,483,647 (one less than plus or minus 2^31). They can remember one character of writing. They can keep a decimal number with a huge amount of precision and a giant range. They can hold a time accurate to the second in a range of centuries. A few bits is not to be scoffed at.
Posted by: Joan at January 12, 2004 07:30 PMWe can see an example of this in our code we've written so far. In each function's block, we declare variables that hold our data. When each function ends, the variables within are disposed of, and the space they were using is given back to the computer to use. The variables live in the blocks of conditionals and loops we write, but they don't cascade into functions we call, because those aren't sub-blocks, but different sections of code entirely. Every variable we've written has a well-defined lifetime of one function.
Posted by: Cesar at January 12, 2004 07:31 PMOur next line looks familiar, except it starts with an asterisk. Again, we're using the star operator, and noting that this variable we're working with is a pointer. If we didn't, the computer would try to put the results of the right hand side of this statement (which evaluates to 6) into the pointer, overriding the value we need in the pointer, which is an address. This way, the computer knows to put the data not in the pointer, but into the place the pointer points to, which is in the Heap. So after this line, our int is living happily in the Heap, storing a value of 6, and our pointer tells us where that data is living.
Posted by: Anthony at January 12, 2004 07:31 PMWhen compared to the Stack, the Heap is a simple thing to understand. All the memory that's left over is "in the Heap" (excepting some special cases and some reserve). There is little structure, but in return for this freedom of movement you must create and destroy any boundaries you need. And it is always possible that the heap might simply not have enough space for you.
Posted by: Ingram at January 13, 2004 08:42 AMThese secret identities serve a variety of purposes, and they help us to understand how variables work. In this lesson, we'll be writing a little less code than we've done in previous articles, but we'll be taking a detailed look at how variables live and work.
Posted by: Goughe at January 13, 2004 08:42 AMOur next line looks familiar, except it starts with an asterisk. Again, we're using the star operator, and noting that this variable we're working with is a pointer. If we didn't, the computer would try to put the results of the right hand side of this statement (which evaluates to 6) into the pointer, overriding the value we need in the pointer, which is an address. This way, the computer knows to put the data not in the pointer, but into the place the pointer points to, which is in the Heap. So after this line, our int is living happily in the Heap, storing a value of 6, and our pointer tells us where that data is living.
Posted by: Abacuck at January 13, 2004 08:42 AM