the weight of a human soul

I don’t know why that line has been stuck in my head. Maybe it’s from a song I’ve forgotten. Apologies for this stream of consciousness rambling.

Someone I knew died. He was a historian. Me and my fellow historians are doing what historians do — we are saving all his papers, from seminar presentations to every single book report we can get ahold of, and are writing down our memories. That is why we are historians, after all. We believe somehow, we honor the dead (both yesterday’s and a millennia ago) through these academic tasks of collecting, compiling, analyzing.

In Tolkien’s Silmarillion, there is a goddess who lives at the edge of the world, across the sea, near the setting sun. She hears and sees and remembers every human’s sorrow, and she cries for them. She remembers them. And it isn’t in the Silmarillion, but somehow, I have stuck in my head, that end the end of the world, when all that have died come back up from the halls of Mandos, she will be there, to greet them, and wash them with her tears. And then will come the sunrise of the world, when all will be healed.

I think Christ will wash us with His tears. Even when we forget, He will remember. And He will carry all in His heart. His heart is special you see, because magic stuff happened to it. When it was pierced, it was opened up to be a dwelling place for all us broken people to climb inside, and be re-made — like a second womb, that knits together the vulnerable misshapen little fetus, and brings forth a full complete newborn. He will make complete what was incomplete. He will pay for what is lacking. He will heal. His tears will make all things new.

The weight of every human soul is infinite, weighing more than the whole universe. Christ will carry this one.


May the LORD bless you and keep you, Tom. May the LORD make His face to shine upon you. May He be gracious to you, and give you His peace. May you rest this day in peace, and may your dwelling place be the house of God.


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