"Go Down, Death, And Bring Her To Me"

Brenda Joyce (Beachy) Miller 1/26/41-10/22/18

Alma Jean and I attended a moving memorial service for 77-year-old Brenda Beachy Miller this afternoon. She was the loving wife of Dave Miller, who with their five children were good friends and members of our former congregation, Zion Mennonite, near Broadway. They had since moved to Florida to care for her parents, but recently returned to the area. Brenda was diagnosed with cancer right after attending their granddaughter's wedding here in August.

Brenda was an an active, gracious and committed follower of Jesus who will be greatly missed by all of the people she blessed, especially through her gifts of hospitality and service. 

I was reminded today of James Weldon Johnson's tribute to a "sister Caroline" in one of his Negro sermons in verse, "Go Down, Death." One could substitute the poem's references to her name and place for Brenda's in the fourth verse, as in "Go down to Timberville, Virginia, down in Rockingham County, and find sister Brenda." 

I post Johnson's piece here in her memory:

Weep not, weep not,

She is not dead;

She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

Heart-broken husband--weep no more;

Grief-stricken son--weep no more;

Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more;

She only just gone home.

Day before yesterday morning,

God was looking down from his great, high heaven,

Looking down on all his children,

And his eye fell of Sister Caroline,

Tossing on her bed of pain.

And God's big heart was touched with pity,

With the everlasting pity.

And God sat back on his throne,

And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:

Call me Death!

And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice

That broke like a clap of thunder:

Call Death!--Call Death!

And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven

Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,

Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

And Death heard the summons,

And he leaped on his fastest horse,

Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.

Up the golden street Death galloped,

And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold,

But they didn't make no sound.

Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,

And waited for God's command.

And God said: Go down, Death, go down,

Go down to Savannah, Georgia,

Down in Yamacraw,

And find Sister Caroline.

She's borne the burden and heat of the day,

She's labored long in my vineyard,

And she's tired--

She's weary--

Do down, Death, and bring her to me.

And Death didn't say a word,

But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,

And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,

And out and down he rode,

Through heaven's pearly gates,

Past suns and moons and stars;

on Death rode,

Leaving the lightning's flash behind;

Straight down he came.

While we were watching round her bed,

She turned her eyes and looked away,

She saw what we couldn't see;

She saw Old Death.She saw Old Death

Coming like a falling star.

But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline;

He looked to her like a welcome friend.

And she whispered to us: I'm going home,

And she smiled and closed her eyes.

And Death took her up like a baby,

And she lay in his icy arms,

But she didn't feel no chill.

And death began to ride again--

Up beyond the evening star,

Into the glittering light of glory,

On to the Great White Throne.

And there he laid Sister Caroline

On the loving breast of Jesus.

And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,

And he smoothed the furrows from her face,

And the angels sang a little song,

And Jesus rocked her in his arms,

And kept a-saying: Take your rest,

Take your rest.

Weep not--weep not,

She is not dead;

She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.