by Eugene Higgins
Of Bugles and Trumpets
Like the hands of a clock, forever frozen in time by the explosion that stopped its movements (marking the exact moment of the blast) the mileage log book in my car read “March 11, Barrington.” That date was the last time I used my car for (what the friendly IRS calls) “business purposes.” On Monday, I had reached for the book to mark the start of miles on the way to a funeral and could hardly believe it had been 47 days since I last made a mileage notation. How much had changed in those 47 days since I parked my car after a Wednesday evening Gospel meeting, the closing night of a series! Commerce, industry, travel, entertainment – society itself had all ground to a halt. Even at the funeral, those changes were painfully apparent. The “crowd” numbered 6. The scores of Christians who would have been there, could not. The beloved brother who had died was a veteran; but the live army detail that would have played “Taps” and have presented the widow with the flag, “on behalf of a grateful nation,” were not permitted to attend. A recorded version of Taps sounded out over the desolate cemetery from a CD player, and the funeral director was the one who handed the sacred, folded flag of the United States to the widow.
Apparently, death did not get the memo that everything was supposed to stop because of the Wuhan virus. It has continued waging its war against all life with an implacable and yet impartial power. It is what Bildad called “The King of Terrors,” and it is insatiable. Sometimes I wonder how atheists cope with the subject of death – not just the experience of their dying, but the fact that, according to their worldview, the death march is NEVER going to end. Since no one but God can defeat death, their non-God belief paints them into a very bleak and forlorn corner – they have no hope for themselves, and they have none to offer the world. How thankful we can be that we are linked with the Living One, Who is the Resurrection and the Life, Who rose from the dead in the power of an indissoluble life, and has given us a blessed hope. We know that, because He lives, we shall live also. As John Donne reminded us, death itself is going to die, consigned to the Lake of Fire by the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, the Lord of Life. All His (and God’s) enemies will be defeated, and “the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death” (1 Cor 15:26). It is going to be abolished, annulled, rendered void, and, (in that wonderful European euphemism), “made redundant.” It will be gone as though it had never been, and all the tears and grief and heartache it has caused will be swallowed up by the presence – throughout that entire new universe – of life. The Living God will be all in all; the Prince of Life will reign forever and ever; the “Spirit of life” will fill the cosmos eternally; and “the living, the living” (Isa 38:19) will praise the Triune God of Eternity while endless ages roll.
On Monday, the man who was buried, (John Hubler), was one of those consistent, faithful men that are so important to any local church. Even-tempered and pleasant, he had lived to be 95. You say, “That’s a good age to die.” His family likely says, “We’d give anything to have him still here.” Instead of our placing a flower on the casket, the funeral director asked us to touch it with our hands so that John could be buried with our “hand print on the casket forever.” Actually, I think the family is very thankful that the hands of Another are marking the spot, and those hands will summon him to rise, but in a new and glorified body. What a day that will be! Have you ever noticed D. W. Whittle’s (“El Nathan’s”) choice of the word “surprise” in his hymn:
Jesus is coming! The dead shall arise,
Loved ones shall meet in a joyful surprise,
Caught up together to Him in the skies
Jesus is coming again!
It will not be the disoriented surprise of “What in the world is happening?” but the delighted surprise of “It is happening! Now! To us! He’s come!” Today, there are powerful forces at work in our world and mighty winds are a-blowing. It all reminds us how near we are to that moment, that morning, that meeting in the air.
As “Taps” was playing at the funeral, I thought of what a mournful melody it was. No one laughs or jokes when those melancholy bugle notes hang in the air. Someone has pointed out that there is not another single bugle call in the world that you can identify after hearing only the first three notes, – just “Taps.” Many words have been joined to the music, and there are no “official” lyrics; but the most frequently cited are:
Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the lakes,
From the hills,
From the sky.
All is well.
Safely rest.
God is nigh.
“Taps” is played at many funerals, and it was played at a much larger virus-free funeral on January 30, 1965. Just as Big Ben chimed 9:45, Winston Churchill’s funeral commenced in Saint Paul’s Cathedral. As would be expected, Churchill had planned the details of his funeral, requesting the use of many of his favorite hymns, including the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” At the close of the service, a bugler positioned high in the dome of Saint Paul’s intoned the sound of Taps, the universal signal that says the day is over. But Churchill had also inserted a “surprise” into the program. As soon as Taps was finished, another bugler, placed on the other side of the great dome, suddenly and stirringly sounded out the notes of Reveille, the call to waken: “It’s time to get up in the morning…”
For the believer, what we await is not Taps (“day is done”) but Reveille (“the morning cometh”), (Isaiah 21:12); not a bugle but a trumpet; not a call to rouse and face another day but a call to rise and face the glorious day that has no night – the Day of Christ, the Day of God, the Day of eternity; the day when Christ comes, morning dawns, and deathdies. Listen carefully … quiet for just a moment … that might be His footfall you hear on the threshold of the door.
Thou art coming! Not a shadow, not a mist, and not a tear,
Not a sin, and not a sorrow on that sunrise grand and clear:
Thou art coming! Blessed Saviour, nothing else seems worth a thought;
O how marvelous the glory, and the bliss Thy pain hath bought.