The Memorial Service for Holly Holden-Eklund

 October 31, 2022

St. Stephen’s, Episcopal Church

Fargo, ND

 

+ I have to say: I feel strange today.

It feels strange to gather here today on this beautiful Halloween afternoon to say goodbye to Holly.

Although she’s been gone for almost 2 months, there are moments when I think maybe she’s not gone.

I still expect to see her post something on Facebook, or like a post or to comment on something I post.

The world without Holly is a strange world.

It seems just a bit more…empty.

It seems a bit less wonderful.

But as strange as it to be saying goodbye to Holly, I am grateful today.

I am grateful for Holly and for her presence in my life.

And let me tell you: it was a presence.

And I think most of who knew her and loved her feel the same today.

Her presence in our lives was a big thing.

She was a true presence.

A strong presence.

And I am grateful for that presence n my life.

I am also grateful that I was able to be her priest.

And her friend.

It doesn’t seem all that long ago when Michael first started attending our Wednesday night Mass here at St., Stephen’s.

He attended several times before Holly attended.

When she came here for the first time, she was cautious to say the least.

This Irish woman from Worchester, Massachusetts who was raised Roman Catholic, but who put that behind her many years before, came here a bit wary about this unique little church with its well, unique priest.

I remember the first time she attended was around the feast of the Purification in early February because I remember she brought candles to get blessed.

She then began attending almost every Wednesday with Michael.

However, she wasn’t quite able to bring herself to come forward for Holy Communion.

Despite our regular invitation that all people here are welcome to receive Communion, she just couldn’t do it.

All that residual Catholic baggage just prevented her from coming forward.

But I remember so well that Wednesday night when finally she came up, knelt here at this altar rail.

She beamed up at me as I gave her Communion.

It was a special moment.

It was a holy moment.

And it is one I find myself cherishing to this day.

Over the years, St. Stephen’s became an important place for Holly.

It became her spiritual home.

And she was loved deeply here.

Our Wednesday nights usually consisted of 6:00 Mass followed by supper at a local restaurant.

I think over the years, we ate at every restaurant in Fargo and Moorhead, some good, and some…well…not so good.

And I think we experienced every kind of server one could ever experience.

God help the poor unfortunate server who just happened to call Holly “Ma'am.”

 But over those Masses and over those meals, we all bonded with each other.

And Holly and Michael became important and vital members of our parish.

I know these last years were hard on her.

As her health failed, as the pandemic hit, as she shuffled from hospitals to nursing facilities, she really struggled at times.

Of course, Michael was there to help her along the way.

But through it all, she remained fiercely strong and fiercely defiant.

Even over the last few days before she finally left, I was amazed at her strength.

And when she was gone, all of us who knew her felt it deeply.

I think it’s very appropriate that we are gathered here today, on Halloween.

Michael chose this day deliberately.

This evening of course is the Eve of the Feast of All Saints—a very important feast day for the Church.

But it is also a very important pagan holiday.

And for all of us it is a time in which the veil between this world and the next gets very thin.

It is a time in which we realize that right there, just on the other side of that thing veil, they are all there—all those who have gone on.

And at this time of the year, they draw close to us.

If we are spiritually aware, if we hone our spiritual senses enough, we can feel them, right here, with us.

Today we feel Holly right here with us.

And she is whole, and she is healthy, and she is beautiful and she is fully alive.

For Holly, her pains are behind her.

For Holly, she has finished with sad time.

She will never again shed another tear.

God has wiped away every tear from Holly’s eyes.

She will never cry another tear.

We…well, we are not so lucky.

At least right now.

We have not yet emerged from our great ordeal.

We will shed many tears for Holly Holden-Eklund.

But we know that, one day, our tears will be wiped away for good.

These tears we cry today will be wiped away.

One day that veil will be lifted for us, and we will move over to that other side, and we will be greeted by Holly and all those who are there waiting for us.

And it will be a great day.

All this reminds us that our goodbye today is only a temporary goodbye.

All that we knew and loved about Holly is not gone.

It is not ashes.

It is not lost forever from us.

All we loved, all that was good and strong and defiant and rebellious and gracious and beautiful in Holly—all that was fierce and amazing in her—all of that dwells now in a place of light and beauty and life unending.

And we will see that smiling face again.

We will see her again.

And it will be beautiful.

For now however, we need to celebrate her.

We need to remember her.

We need to commemorate and give thanks for all that she was to us.

To the end, Holly proved to be strong and independent.

To the end, she remained a strong, Irish woman.

She showed us all true courage, true strength, true determination.

She showed us what real courage was.

And we should be grateful for that.

The fact is, we will all miss her.

But I can tell you we will not forget her.

Holly Holden-Eklund is not someone who will be easily forgotten.

She is not someone who passes quietly into the mists.

Her fierce determination lives on in us.

Her strength, her dignity lives with Michael, and with her grandsons, and with her many friends, and with her priest.

At the end of this service, we will all stand and I will lead us in something called the Commendation.

The commendation is an incredible piece of liturgy.

As a poet, Holly would agree that it’s an incredible piece of poetry.

But it’s more than poetry.

In those words, we will say, those very powerful words:

All of us go down
to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia,
alleluia, alleluia.

That alleluia in the face of death is a defiant alleluia.

It is fist shaken not at God, but it is a fist shaken at death.

It is the fist Holly shook at death.

Not even you, death, not even you will defeat me, Holly seems to say.

I will not fear you.

And I will not let you win.

And, let me tell you, death has not defeated Holly Holden-Eklund.

Even at the grave, she makes her song—and we with her:

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

It is a defiant alleluia we make today with her.

So let us be defiant.

Let us shake our fists at death today.

Let us say our Alleluia today in the same way Holly would.

Let us face this day and the days to come with gratitude for this incredible person God let us know.

Let us be grateful.

Let us be sad, yes.

But let’s remind ourselves: death has not defeated her.

Or us.

Let us be defiant to death.

Let us sing loudly.

Let us live boldly.

Let us stand up defiantly.

That is what Holly would want us to do today, and in the future.

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Holly.

At your coming may the martyrs receive you.

And may they bring you with joy and gladness into the holy city Jerusalem.

Amen.