Gill writes:
I have a feeling that this song will have somewhat of a resurgence over the next few weeks. Probably not because of this reflection, but because of this year’s John Lewis Christmas Advert!
I’ve been preparing all week for an All Soul’s service this coming Sunday and this reflection includes a ‘sneak peak’ of where my thoughts have taken me, because, unsurprisingly, life, death, separation and connection are at the forefront of my mind.
We’re at the point of the church year when we grapple with the fact that love and loss are intertwined. The cold reality of loss is warmed by precious memories. Over this last week, we might have remembered the saints who paved the way for us and those who we love but see no longer. Next week, we remember those whose lives were cut short by war and conflict.
This song became very important to me in my late teens when I encountered more than one death of friends who were a similar age to me. I’d encountered the death of older people – grandparents, family and friends – but the notion that death could come calling for people my own age (and younger) was a different kind of grief to me at the time. This song gave me some words that expressed my feelings. It also gave me a melody to blast out at the top of my lungs when I was pootling in my car around the roads of Lancashire.
Sometimes it’s hard to recognise
Love comes as a surprise
And it’s too late
It’s just too late to stay
Too late to stay
Beginning to understand your own mortality is a big step from adolescence to adulthood – perhaps it’s the final step. Coming to terms with the idea that sharing in the lives of others is a gift – a gift to treasure and not take for granted that the gift will be there tomorrow is a great realisation.
But somehow, those friends who died at such a young age, still live on in my thoughts and memories. I meet them in the songs that I hear; in the places that I visit and in the activities that we shared in.
Though you’re miles and miles away
I see you every day
I don’t have to try, I just close my eyes
I close my eyes
I’ve just finished a book – ‘Animal, Vegetable, Miracle’ by Barbara Kingsolver. She talks of how she is captivated by a Mexican tradition (that was passed down from the Aztecs) called Xantolo held at the end of October/beginning of November; and how a Roman Catholic missionary, who initially set out to rid the people of such heathen practices, began to see the value such a time of celebration where the worlds of living and the dead come together in dance, food and activities.
Kingsolver began to realise that you can experience Xantolo anywhere. When she cultivated her garden, she was spending time with her Grandfather as her thoughts flashed back to gardening with him; starting a meal with dessert meant that her Grandmother was there because that’s how Grandma started her meals and picking mushrooms still involved her Dad somehow. She realised that even though they were physically gone, there was still a thin space of connection.
Maybe that’s part of what eternal life involves. We’re all on this journey of eternal life when we walk with God; our lives are still connected to those who we no longer see. Love connects us – and as the song reminds us – ‘love never ends.’
We’ll always be together
However far it seems (love never ends)
We’ll always be together
Together in electric dreams
Phil Oakey is still with thehumanleague.co.uk – and they are still touring.
Giorgio Moroder is still composing and you can find more about him at https://www.giorgiomoroder.com/