The memorial service for
Elizabeth Stafne
(Sept. 27, 1909–
Whenever
I would visit her, she would look at me with that brilliant spark in her eyes
and would welcome me as though she had known me all her life, even though she
might not have remembered exactly who I was. I liked that. For that time I spent with her, I was
important to her. I think she felt that way about everyone who came into her
life. And every time I visited her,
there was always that remarkable life dancing in her eyes.
Now
I know that if Betty were here this morning, she would be poo-pooing me to be
quiet about all these glowing comments about her. Because in addition to being a strong, warm
and wonderful person—she was also very modest.
And
I have no doubt that Betty is, in fact, with us here this morning. I am of the belief that what separates us who
are alive and breathing here on earth from those who are now in the so-called
“nearer presence of God” is a thin one. And because of that belief, I take a
certain comfort in the fact Betty is close to us today. She is here, in our midst, celebrating her
life with us.
And
we should truly celebrate her life.
It was a good life. It was a life full of meaning and purpose. Before this service began, we heard
Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. In many
ways, that music truly summed up who Betty was. In her younger days, she loved
to dance, loved to have fun, loved to dress up.
All her life, Betty lived life to the fullest and drank deeply from that
life.
And
it was a life of faith in God, as well. For Betty, her faith was important to
her and I think that faith continues on with those of us who are here
celebrating her life.
In
this morning’s Gospel reading, we hear Jesus say those wonderful warm words of
welcome.
“In
my Father’s place there are many mansions.”
In
other translations, we hear, instead of mansions, “dwelling places.” In my
Father’s house there are many dwelling places.
I like that idea of mansions instead.
After all, would a God of love provide us, who made it through the
perils of this life, with anything less than a mansion? Would God, who saw
someone like Betty through ninety-seven years of life provide her with anything
less than a mansion? I don’t think so.
I
am fully certain that God has indeed provided a mansion for Betty. Can you imagine what that place must be
like? Can you imagine the music and the
beauty that fills that place at this moment?
I have no doubt that Betty’s mansion is similar in many ways to her lake
home. I have no doubt that in that place of beauty, in that place of music and
joy, there is also the sound of gently lapping water.
Can you imagine the joy she must
feel right at this moment? That is
probably the best consolation we can take away from today. After all, that long
life of hers is not over by any means.
It has only blossomed into its fullest meaning. In Christ, Betty is now
fully and completely herself. She is whole.
Of
course that doesn’t make any of this any easier for those who are left behind.
Whenever anyone we love dies, we are going to feel pain. That’s just a part of
life. But like any pain, like any
sorrow, because of Christ, our feelings of loss are only temporary as
well. They too will pass away. This
belief that pain is temporary is what gets us through these hard times. This is
where we find our strength—in our faith that promises us an end to our sorrows,
to our loss. We believe in a faith that surpasses death.
When
we look to Jesus in these moments, we know that yes, he was betrayed, suffered
and died. Those who loved him felt a despair like no other despair.
On that
Friday afternoon in which he died, few of them could ever imagine that there
would ever be joy or hope again. And yet, on that Sunday morning, their tears
were turned to smiles and their sorrow was turned to joy. That is what we hope
in as well. That is where our faith lies.
When
the Anglican priest and poet George Herbert said, “Christ dries our tears with
his grave clothes,” he wasn’t just speaking poetically. He was saying that,
truly, Christ comes to us in the midst of our losses and shows us the way to
Life—to a life reborn out of death. Into a life without end. It is a faith that
can show us with startling reality every tear we shed—and we all shed our share
of tears in this life, as I’m sure Betty would tell you—every tear will one day
be dried and every heartache will disappear like a bad dream upon awakening.
Betty knew this faith in her own life and we too can cling to it in a time like
this.
One
of Betty’s great and famous ancestors was also one of my favorite poets, the great 17th century American poet, Anne
Dudley Bradstreet. Anne Bradstreet was the first American poet, and the first American female
poet to have her works published.
Born in about 1612, Anne and her family emigrated to
America in 1630. Life in the colonies was not an easy one, and survival became
a regular part of a life in which the climate, lack of food, and primitive
living arrangements made it very difficult for Anne to adapt. Yet,
in these circumstances, when others returned to England, Anne stayed and
instead turned inwards, letting her faith and her poetry help her through those
difficult times.
In
her poem, “The Flesh and the Spirit,” Anne Bradstreet wrote of heaven,
No
Candle there, nor yet Torch light,
For there shall be no darksome night.
From sickness and infirmity
Forevermore they shall be free.
Nor withering age shall e're come there,
But beauty shall be bright and clear.
Later
in this service, we will pray with Bishop Michael the words of another poem,
the words of the poem we in the Episcopal Church call “The Commendation.” In that prayer, we will pray,
Give
rest, O Christ, to thy servant with thy saints,
where
sorrow and pain are no more,
neither
sighing, but life everlasting.
This
morning and in the days to come, let us all take consolation in our faith—in
the faith that, with Christ, Betty is in that place very much as Anne
Bradstreet envisioned it. There, Betty
is complete and whole and beautiful at this moment. Truly her beauty is “bright
and clear.” She is in a place where
sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting. And let us be glad that one day we too will
be sharing with her in that everlasting life.
Amen.
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