Photo by Benjamin Raffetseder on Unsplash
The Impermanence of Permanence
By Nita Gilger
November 17, 2025
On Sunday morning, as I sat in a Congregational Care Ministers' meeting in Fort Worth, my cell phone went into a flurry of messages. I had it on silent so it only vibrated in my pocket so as not to disturb others. But when I checked it, there was a sad situation developing back home. A large doe had been impaled on a neighbor’s fence. It was obvious she was trying to jump over but her hind quarters did not clear the fence spikes. No one is sure how long she lingered before her death. The owners of the house were not there. They live out of state. Several of our good, benevolent neighbors started a text message thread to determine how to help. Eventually the owners were contacted and have arranged for the doe to be cleared and hauled away.
When I returned home, I went to pay my respects. As I walked by, a fairly sizeable group of other deer were nearby. They saw me but did not scamper away. They seemed anxious and upset about their friend. It was if they were standing vigil for the lost one. I had the sense that they may have stayed nearby overnight, just keeping watch. I talked softly to them. My gentle words seemed less comforting than I hoped to offer. In that moment, I felt a tension about this loss. One might just say, "Oh well, stuff like this just happens." But I felt a disturbance in "the force." I thought about philosopher, Alfred North Whitehead's image of tragic beauty. It is the idea that there is a supreme beauty in the universe, including and encompassing all things that reside together in what Whitehead calls a Harmony of Harmonies. He says that as beauty is felt, tragedy can be transformed.
I understand all living things as dear to God. A beautiful aim is to live and survive together. As Whitehead says, "a tender care that nothing be lost." To live from love with a special concern and care for the vulnerable is a challenging yet powerful and fulfilling way to live. It offers a pathway where no one is left behind. There is a way to honor life and death. Both are sacred.
In truth, my imagination fills me with a level of angst. How long did this lovely doe suffer? Was her death instant or prolonged? And yet, even in this seemingly cruel death, there was a kind of tenderness and care offered that helps me to remember beauty, all be it tragic beauty, that is precious and needed. The other deer lovingly stayed nearby. Kind neighbors worked together to find a way to handle this situation. Deep caring offered its own special beauty.
Simply said, life is just hard sometimes. But in those times, I try to look for more and more ways that I can offer a tender care that none be lost. Maybe there is a kind of transitory impermanence that resides in what seems like finality and permanence. Does that seem like tragic beauty to you? It does to me.
May I be a voice and a person who values others and loves like it matters in all the seasons and complexities of life.
Amen
Nita's Maybe
By Jay McDaniel
I am touched by Nita Gilger’s story, and I appreciate her need—one I share—to accept the whole of life, including the tragic, in a spirit of faith: faith in all the seasons and complexities of life.
I once attended a meeting with Nita in which I misquoted 1 Thessalonians. The passage reads, “Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.” I mistakenly thought it said for all circumstances. I didn't want it to say this, but I thought it did. I asked how we might do this, given the tragedies in life. I cannot be thankful for everything that happens. I cannot be thankful that the deer was impaled on the fence.
Nita gently corrected me, and you can feel the wisdom of that correction in her account of the impaled deer. She is not thankful for the suffering of the deer; rather, she is thankful in the circumstances—thankful for the kindness, care, and compassion that arose in the human response.
Then she adds a sentence that, for me, is mysterious and profound: “Maybe there is a kind of transitory impermanence that resides in what seems like finality and permanence.”
When she says this, I sense she is speaking about the deer. I do not know, but I can hope, that the suffering of the deer was not the final word of the deer's life. I do not know, but I can hope, that the deer continues to live in the ongoing life of God and that in that continuation something is transformed into some kind of harmony—perhaps even a joy—for the deer itself. And I hold this same hope for all beings whose lives end in such sorrow. I do not want their suffering to be the final word,
To quote Nita again: “Maybe there is a kind of transitory impermanence that resides in what seems like finality and permanence.” This maybe is a theology in its own right—a theology of humility, compassion, and hope. Perhaps this maybe is part of what it means to be thankful in all circumstances, even as we are not thankful for them. We sense, we hope, that there is a beauty that transcends us - a beauty in which, nevertheless, we and all partake. Maybe we are always already inside this beauty, even when we cannot name it. Maybe this beauty suffers, too. Maybe, for this beauty, what seems to us permanent, is actually impermanent, but enfolded within something deeper, that lasts forever. Maybe this beauty is God.
- Jay McDaniel
I once attended a meeting with Nita in which I misquoted 1 Thessalonians. The passage reads, “Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.” I mistakenly thought it said for all circumstances. I didn't want it to say this, but I thought it did. I asked how we might do this, given the tragedies in life. I cannot be thankful for everything that happens. I cannot be thankful that the deer was impaled on the fence.
Nita gently corrected me, and you can feel the wisdom of that correction in her account of the impaled deer. She is not thankful for the suffering of the deer; rather, she is thankful in the circumstances—thankful for the kindness, care, and compassion that arose in the human response.
Then she adds a sentence that, for me, is mysterious and profound: “Maybe there is a kind of transitory impermanence that resides in what seems like finality and permanence.”
When she says this, I sense she is speaking about the deer. I do not know, but I can hope, that the suffering of the deer was not the final word of the deer's life. I do not know, but I can hope, that the deer continues to live in the ongoing life of God and that in that continuation something is transformed into some kind of harmony—perhaps even a joy—for the deer itself. And I hold this same hope for all beings whose lives end in such sorrow. I do not want their suffering to be the final word,
To quote Nita again: “Maybe there is a kind of transitory impermanence that resides in what seems like finality and permanence.” This maybe is a theology in its own right—a theology of humility, compassion, and hope. Perhaps this maybe is part of what it means to be thankful in all circumstances, even as we are not thankful for them. We sense, we hope, that there is a beauty that transcends us - a beauty in which, nevertheless, we and all partake. Maybe we are always already inside this beauty, even when we cannot name it. Maybe this beauty suffers, too. Maybe, for this beauty, what seems to us permanent, is actually impermanent, but enfolded within something deeper, that lasts forever. Maybe this beauty is God.
- Jay McDaniel