On behalf of Stuart and the rest of the family, and all of us at Advent, thank you for joining us today as we remember the life and faith of Jean and of God’s promises to her. Before I get started on the homily, though, I need to remind us all of a great gift—consider it a commercial of sorts. Unsurprising to many of us, Jean planned every bit of her funeral service. The hardest part of planning this service was Stuart having to flip through a folder of notes and other documents to find her planned service. To put it bluntly, this is Jean’s last testimony to all of us. She picked the music; she picked the readings; she picked the volunteers; you name it, she picked everything. If you feel you hear something in her voice, as you gather with us today to remember her impact on you, there is a good reason you do. This is what she wanted.
I even have to chuckle a bit at a memory of Jean and this planned service. Some years ago, after the death of another beloved Adventer, Jean took my hand in both of her hands and firmly, but smiling, said that I had to do her funeral. I reminded her that such things were out of our control, but she would not hear it. She just patted my hand and reiterated what she wanted. So, when I say she got everything she wanted in this service, I mean she got everything she planned for!
And before we go any further, I just want to point out to Stuart his error. As we gathered last week for him to grab her service plans, Stuart remarked that there would not be many people in attendance. Too many of her friends, and their friends, he said, had already died. Stuart, look around. I knew how important she was to your neighbors and to members of this church, and I underestimated the number of people who would choose to come to the service. In those dark days ahead, as you deal with the grief of losing your sweetheart, I hope you remember this army of those who loved her and love you and would gladly do what they can to minister to you and your family.
Part of the reason I demurred about preaching the homily at her funeral, of course, is the challenge of preaching a sermon that honors the faith and life of a woman like Jean. As we continued our discussions about this over some years, I shared with her my opinion that the life of the deceased made funeral sermons and homilies good or bad. My job, like it or not, is to remind us of Jean’s faith in God’s promises and how she lived her life confident in God’s redemptive power. In her case, nothing I could say would ever catch peoples’ attention in the way her life and manner had. Good, I see nods. In some sense, a homily for Jean is easy because she did all the hard work. I’m just putting the bow on it.
Those of you who like to read the Scripture for funerals can turn to Psalm 23. In particular, I was drawn to one aspect of Psalm 23 that most of us gathered today know but forget in the midst of this famous psalm. Psalm 23 might be the best known piece of Scripture in the West, meaning Europe and America. Adventers will tell you, sometimes under their breath, that part of my job the last 9 years has been to remind them that Psalm 23 comes right after Psalm 22. The proximity of the two psalms were important to God when He caused the Scriptures to be gathered and organized by His people.
Many of us gathered here have been to church during Holy Week and Easter, but not all of us have. I mention that because Psalm 22 is famously recorded as among Jesus’ last words as He gives up His life on the Cross. The first words of Psalm 22 are “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” Those who do not pay close attention to the psalms may think Jesus’ cry from the Cross was a cry of desperation or a feeling of abandonment. True, the psalm starts out that way. But we need to remember the importance of the psalms in worship of God. Most of the psalms, we believe, were sung in worship. Many were likely associated with particular holy days or great feasts. Just as many of us gathered for her funeral know the song, Lift High the Cross, those who watched Jesus die on the Cross knew the words and tune of Psalm 22. What would have stood out to them was the fact that Jesus was quoting a song of re-orientation even as He was clearly dying, clearly subject to the authority of Pilate and of Rome.
If you are not intimately familiar with the psalm, the psalm begins with those famous words and continues with feelings of abandonment. The psalmist or singer wonders aloud whether God knows of his or her suffering, whether God cares about the suffering, and even, we might say, whether God can do anything about the suffering. As the psalm continues, though, the one saying the psalm reminds himself or herself of God’s redeeming acts in the life of the individual and of the lives of God’s people. More amazingly, the psalm ends with the vow to proclaim the saving works of God to the great congregation of His people.
Those standing at the foot of the Cross would have been utterly confused at Jesus’ use of this psalm with His dying breaths. How can a dead man proclaim the saving works of God? It makes no sense. Then, the psalms immediately move into our psalm today. For those of us gathered here today, the words equally make no sense, absent the truth of the Resurrection. Why would Jean make this one of the verses to be read after her death, unless she truly believed the testimonies of our Lord’s Resurrection and the resulting promises?
Those of us who knew Jean knew her grounding in reality. She knew there was suffering in the world around her. She knew that death was the enemy over which none of us would ever be able to conquer. Yet she selected this psalm to remind each of us of God’s promises.
For my part, I was drawn particularly to the fifth verse as I prayed over a homily for Jean’s funeral. You might think it a weird place to focus, but it described Jean’s life. As some of you shared with me over in the parish hall during the visitation, you have expressed a similar focus. Jean was the kind word or shoulder to cry on during particular troubles. Jean was the encouraging voice for some who saw no way out of the shadows. Jean was the calming presence in the face of anxieties. Good, I see lots of nods.
We do not think of fears and anxieties and failures as enemies, but often they are the tools of God’s enemy. They are the events and imaginations in our lives which God’s enemy uses to convince us we are beneath God’s notice, unworthy of God’s love. And Jean took it upon herself, or, I would claim, God gave her eyes to see and ears to hear where her family, where her friends, where her neighbors, where her co-workers, where those with whom she was engaged in life were beset by enemies. Some of us were beset by economic privations; some of us were beset by relational issues; some of us were beset by health issues; some of us were simply beset by isolation. And it was in that work that Jean excelled.
I suppose, to use modern analogies, I would describe Jean as a caterer or hostess for God’s table, the table that God promises to prepare in the midst of our enemies, that we might remember His promises and know the security and power of His love and redemptive grace. In the midst of that work, Jean worked hard to help us know we were loved, help us know we were valued, both by her but more importantly by God. That so many of us showed up today is testimony of her work, and of God’s calling and empowering of her to do the work He gave her to do. Because we knew her, because we experienced her kind words or words of encouragement or a needed hug or a piece of advice, none of us gathered here today are particularly surprised to see this psalm as her chosen psalm for her funeral. Like our Lord, she knew the suffering of the world all too well; but she patterned her life after her Lord’s, trusting that His Father, her Father, would keep His promises to her, and that she will dwell in His house forever and sing of His praises to the great congregation, even though to those outside these walls, such a claim, such a faith, may seem misplaced.
For Stuart and the family, of course, the loss is far more acute. They have lost a wife, a mother, a grandma, a loving woman who knew the proper use of a rod and a staff. But for a short time, you and I, all of us who have gathered here today to pay our respects and to offer stories of our love and appreciation for Jean’s work and ministry among us, have been drawn into her work, intentionally by her, that her most treasured family is reminded of the same promises by God. You and I are the caterers or hosts or hostess for the table that God is preparing for them in this midst of this terrible shadow of her death. But, like Jean, we are reminded that God’s promises to all those who call Him Lord will one glorious Day be fulfilled. That when He returns to finish the re-Creation He began that Easter Sunday two thousand years ago, He will call all His sons and daughters to Him, and that, like her, we will dwell with Him in His house for ever!
In His Peace and His Promises!
Brian+
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