His warm personality soon earned the respect of soldiers, who nicknamed him ‘Woodbine Willie’ after the brand of cigarettes he shared with them.
After the First World War, he became a writer and regular preacher, drawing large crowds, who were attracted by his combination of traditional sacramental theology with more unconventional theological views.
He worked tirelessly for the Christian Industrial Fellowship, but his frail health gave way and he died (still a young man) on this day in 1929.
2 comments:
IF death be just a last long sleep,
Then death were good, men say;
Yet say it knowing naught of sleep
Save light at dawn of day.
For sleep's a blank--a nothingness,
A thing we cannot know;
We can but taste the streams of life
That from its fountain flow.
When day puts off her gorgeous robes,
And darkness veils our sight,
Lest we should see her beauty laid
Upon the couch of night,
We crave for sleep because we hold
A memory of morn,
The rush of life renewed, that with
The birth of day is born.
So weary souls that crave for death,
As sweet and dreamless sleep,
As night when men may cease to war,
And women cease to weep,
Are longing still for life--more life,
Their souls not yet sufficed,
Cry out for God's eternal streams;
They crave not death--but Christ.
- Studdert Kennedy, "Death"
Same Regiment serving those around us in different times with the same God and the eternal hope made real for us in Jesus, the Christ, empowered by the power of the Spirit.
Thank you for the reminder of this poem.
Pax
Post a Comment