Last night I sang the refrain of this song to a dying woman. I sang it softly, followed by “Swing low, sweet chariot.” Her breathing became calmer. She raised an eyebrow.

Earlier in the day a Roman Catholic friend poured out her heart about the state of the church and her hopes that the Spirit that refreshed the Church in the Second Vatican Council will breathe fresh air into the conclave to select the successor to Benedict XVI. She was bemoaning the loss of respect for the right of conscience. I thought of Rosa Parks sitting alone in the front of the bus, changing the world, one woman at the time. All afternoon “Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me ’round” kept playing in my head. It bubbled up from deep in my soul.

It’s a familiar tune to everyone in the Civil Rights Movement. It was meant to urge us to keep on walking…keep on marching to the Promised Land of racial justice and freedom. But at Lorraine’s bedside last night, it took on a whole new meaning. It became a lullaby. “You’re goin’ home now. Ain’t nobody gonna turn you ’round.”

Five hours later, after years of walking, the chariot swung low. Rest in Peace.