Like many a sensitive, sentimental reader, I’ve seen a few poems inscribe themselves on my heart. Two of those few are by Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (1914-1953): “And death shall have no dominion” and “Do not go gentle into that good night.” I was reminded of the former last Sunday.
One of the lectionary readings that morning came from Romans 5, and (in the NRSV translation) contains this verse: “If, because of the one man’s trespass, death exercised dominion through that one, much more surely will those who receive the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness exercise dominion in life through the one man, Jesus Christ” (v. 17). The “one man” who trespassed is Adam—alongside Eve, of course. In their story, we see how humankind bucks the authority of the One who gives life, but in so doing submits to the power of death. Nevertheless, Christ—the Son of Man, whose arms outstretched on the cross embrace all humankind—lives, dies and rises to bestow life once more.
Thomas’s poem actually draws on Romans 6:9: “We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him.” The Greek word translated by the NRSV as “dominion” in Romans 5:17 is not the same as the one found in 6:9, but they are synonymous enough for us to say that a theme unifies these neighboring texts. Dominion, kingship, lordship, rulership, what have you—sin and death held power over humanity until Christ freed us for righteousness and life.
Yet, it is painfully apparent to us all that sin and death still exist. Romans 6:9 refers to Christ, who has already experienced death. In 1 Corinthians 15, another text contrasting Adam and Christ, Paul writes that the risen Jesus is “the first fruits of those who have died” (v. 20). Christ is victorious over death, but the results of this rescue of the universe are still unfolding: “For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death” (vv. 25-26).
It makes sense, then, that Dylan Thomas’s presumably non-divine speaker uses the future tense: “And death shall have no dominion.” He isn’t talking about Christ, the first fruits, but the others awaiting resurrection. The fallen fruits, rotting at the base of the tree.
That may be grotesque, but it’s certainly in the spirit of things. The poem discusses the long-dead: “When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone.” It speaks of the tortured: “Twisting on racks when sinews give way.” It glories in bluntness: “Though they be mad and dead as nails.” These same hopeless, humiliated deceased will rise to such a status that death itself is beneath them.
1 Corinthians 15 is hardly different. Paul says to those who struggle to understand resurrection, “Fool! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. …What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power.” (v. 36; 42b-43). Explaining that a resurrected body can hardly be compared to our current bodies, he points out that there are many kinds of “flesh” on earth, a vast difference between earthly and heavenly “bodies,” and “…indeed, star differs from star in glory” (v. 41). It seems to me, then, that Paul would appreciate the poem’s imagery:
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
This poem can speak of resurrection without sounding trite because it is so unflinching in its recognition of death. We can believe the speaker when he articulates humanity’s eventual victory because he so vividly describes its current defeat. Similarly, we can believe Christ’s articulation of eternal life because he himself died. Christ is no longer vulnerable to death, but that only means something to us because he once was. He once took on flesh like Adam’s. He once was tempted, tortured, put to shame, subject to every human suffering; he no longer is. We are still subject to suffering; we will not always be.
As hinted in Romans 5, the text that prompted this reflection, we humans too often subject ourselves to the suffering of sin. Indeed, sin and death continue to plague us, and will only be brought to nothing at the last day. But the good news of Christ is not only that we will get to live with God in the end, but that we have the freedom to live to God now.
“Though lovers be lost love shall not.” Knowing that love—bound up with justice, mercy, and the free gift of righteousness—is imperishable, “…let us love, not [only] in word or speech, but in truth and action” (1 John 3:18), for through love alone do we join in Christ’s victory over death.
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