After the bang comes the whimper.
A whimper is a really sad sound. A cry of mourning and helplessness, which our dog does quite well, especially when she thinks she is being ignored. It is hard to comfort her in that mood. I guess it is not really a cry for help, but a sad and forlorn sound that comes from the depths of her being.
Having said that quite poetically, you’d think I was moved by her baying. Afraid not. It is hard to be sympathetic when what you do doesn’t seem to make much difference.
TS Eliot, in his poem the Hollow Men, finishes ‘This is the way the world ends, Not with a bang but with a whimper.’
I think there is something in that – but it is for the lost. There are people who do not want a fresh start, who are not open to repair by faith in a God who invites, who think the world has a dynamic of its own that follows their peculiar reasoning.
Ours is not to judge, or to force, but, as in Lillian’s powerful blog reply yesterday, to witness to the truth and the hope that lies within us.
It is the laughter of freedom that strangles the whimper.