No One is an Island, Entire of Itself

Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he knows not it tolls for him. And perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The church is catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does, belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that head which is my head too, and ingraffed into that body, whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me; all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another . . .

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

John Donne, English poet and cleric (1572-1631)

Today I break with tradition and present an image from a rather distant past. It stands for the memories of scenes and feelings that swelled up in me today as Matthew 5: 1-12, "The Beatitudes", was read during a celebration of life service. The Mount of the Beatitudes is a beautiful, peaceful, and spirit-filled place that I have been blessed to visit on several occasions with loved ones. I am inspired by the scripture and by the setting, and my memories reminded me of the contemplative comfort shared.

Because Betty loved poetry, Tennyson, Brooke, and Donne appeared throughout her service. I was moved by Donne's image of each life as a story -- with myriad chapters of toils, joys and sorrows -- being linked and continuing on in the life-stories of others and of all humankind combined as one volume. No one is an island, entire of itself.