Earlier this year, I read Eugene Vodolazkin’s widely acclaimed work Laurel, a novel about a man in medieval Russia who is both a healer and a “holy fool” in the Russian Orthodox tradition. It is a story filled with vivid descriptions and mystical encounters: a search for redemption that takes the reader through landscapes rife with war and disease.
A recurring theme in Laurel is the parting of the ways. In one scene, when several men leave each other, we are told that the moment was marked “by a particular cordiality” because there was no question “of them separating forever”. They thought they would never see each other again on earth. “This is a particularity of separations at that time,” comments Vodolazkin. “The Middle Ages rarely offered opportunities to bring people together twice during an earthly life. »
Separate
Separate forever.
I’ve been thinking about the importance of breaking up this year, having lost a friend and colleague in January in a sudden accident. After a week of working on various projects and attending meetings, we went to the parking lot together, talked about our future plans, and then went our separate ways. None of us knew that in about a few hours he would be with his Savior. Since that day, perhaps because of the shock and grief we felt, our team has drifted apart with apprehension and sadness (and we often text each other on the way home!).
Every time someone dies, you immediately think about the last time you encountered them – perhaps a phone call or a text message, or an encounter at a conference or at church. A past separation takes on importance when it becomes the last. There is a purpose. End of chapter. Not that the end is eternal. Southern Seminary’s official anthem includes a phrase that says, “We come together to part, but we part to meet,” alluding to the importance of earthly separations and pointing to the day when we will meet again in the glory.
Even when it’s not death but a change in circumstances, there’s a bittersweet aspect to parting with someone: watching them board the plane to go home. foreigner, or loading the U-Haul to cross the country, or staying behind after being dropped off. to college. Even when you plan to see each other again – just in a different way, or less often, or under new circumstances – the separation remains powerful.
Never part completely
In a later scene of Laurelthe main character kisses another and says:
You know, oh friend, every meeting is surely more than a separation. There is emptiness before meeting someone, just nothing, but there is no emptiness after separation. Having met someone once, it is impossible to completely part with them. A person remains in memory, as a part of memory. The person created this part and this part lives on, sometimes coming into contact with its creator. Otherwise, how could we sense those who are dear to us from a distance?
This is the depth of separation. We are different because we met. The meeting changed us.
This is why someone who is no longer with you remains close to your heart. There is still presence in the absence, something real in the empty room. As long as you remember the person you worked with, lived next to, served next to, or hosted, there may be a physical parting of the ways, but the parting is never complete. There’s something left in you. You are different than you might have been otherwise.
This is what it means to meet another living person, bearing the image of the one true God. "There are no ordinary people," CS Lewis reminds us. “You have never spoken to a mere mortal.”
When we meet another human being, when we spend time with someone created in the image of God – sitting around a table, enjoying a hot beverage, working on a project or engaging in deep conversation – we are transformed . And when we part, we acknowledge it with a hug or a handshake: It’s good that you exist. I’m glad that you are.
A beautiful separation of paths imbued with the ethos of the genre farewell. And every time we part – no matter our frailties and our fears, our anxieties and our questions, our hopes and our dreams – we give thanks for the connection and we savor the memory, nodding at the power of presence, even in the absence. Knowing that nothing good will ever completely disappear.
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