The Memorial Eucharist for Sharon Remmen

 

Gethsemane Episcopal Cathedral

September 24, 2024

 

+ As I stand here, I think the only word I can use to describe this moment is: surreal.

It’s surreal to be here, commemorating the life of Sharon Remmen.

It’s surreal to be saying goodbye to Sharon who was just with us, full of life, o recently.

It’s surreal to realize that Sharon is not here with us today as we always knew her always to be with us.

Sharon—who was always present.

Sharon—who was the one we all leaned on for support

Sharon—who kept everything together and moving forward.

Sharon—who left us so suddenly, so without warning.

It’s surreal.

I was actually thinking of Sharon on Monday, September 16, because it was on that day, in 2010, I stood right here with many of you and said goodbye to Sharon’s mother, Florence.

Florence was my beloved parishioner for many years.

And it was a truly surreal day that day as well.

I actually don’t remember a whole lot from that day.

I was still in shock over my father’s sudden death two days before.

I don’t know how I preached that sermon that day.

But I was thinking about it a week ago last Monday.

And I was thinking about how Sharon, even in her grief, comforted me and was present for me that day, when I should’ve been comforting her.

But that was the way Sharon was.

I am so grateful for Sharon and for her amazing presence in my life.

There weren’t a whole lot of people quite like Sharon Remmen.

She was always so kind and so good not just to me, but to so many other people.

And to most of you, as well.

She was a loyal wife, a loving mother and grandmother and sister and friend.

But beneath that nice, sweet exterior, behind those twinkling eyes, we all knew that you never wanted to cross Sharon Remmen.

She could be fiercely defensive of those she loved.

And I count myself lucky that I was on the side of those she loved and not on the side of one of those who crossed her.

I knew of a couple of those people.

God help them!

But I am grateful to have been on the receiving end of her love and care and support over these many years.

The last time I saw her was a few months at the celebration for the twentieth anniversary of my ordination to the Priesthood at my parish of St. Stephen’s in north Fargo. .

It was so good to see her and Dave that day.

We saw each regularly over the years.

Back in the summer of 2020, I officiated at Sharon and Dave’s renewal of wedding vows.

Sharon often reached out to me.

Or we just often saw each other around town, or at other events.  

And it was always a time of joy.

Now, I have to be careful in what I say today.

I know for a fact that Sharon would not want me to get up here and say sweet, nice things about her.

Still, despite the fact that it might sound sweet and nice, I do have to say this: Sharon was a genuinely good person.

That goodness exuded from her.

She just carried her goodness with her wherever she went.

Which makes all of this today so much harder.

I know priests are probably not really supposed to say things like this, but I will because I feel it:

It all seems to unfair.

This is the not way it should have been.

It shouldn’t have been this sudden.

It shouldn’t have happened without those final good-byes.

I don’t know exactly how it SHOULD have been.

But this doesn’t seem like it was it.

There should have been more time.

But, as Sharon would no doubt tell us, this is what have.

And so, we must bear what we must bear.

Still, this world is a so much more empty today without Sharon in it.

But for us who are left, we have our consolations today.

We know that we are all better off because of Sharon and all she was to us.

She made a difference in our lives.

It is also vital to remember that this goodbye we make today is only a temporary goodbye.

All that we knew and loved about Sharon is not gone for good.

It is not ashes.

Is not grief.

It is not loss.

Everything that Sharon was to all of us who knew her and loved her is now with the God she knew and loved and served.

All we loved, all that was good and gracious in Sharon—all that was gentle and loving and fierce and strong and amazing in her—all of that goes on.

It lives on with all of you who experienced the kindness and generosity and love in your lives.

And for those of us who have faith, faith in more than this world, we know that she is in a place of light and beauty and life unending.

And I do believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that we will see her again.

And on that day every tear will truly be wiped from our faces.

And there will be no more tears.

And it will be beautiful.

Later in this service, we will hear these powerful words,  

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

Sharon knew those words in her life.

She believed in those words.

She knew how powerful that word, Alleluia, was in her life.

And how even more powerful that word is when we stand at the grave, when we stand in the face of death, and defiantly proclaim, “Alleluia! Alleluia!”

She knew what it meant to be here today, numb with grief, and still sing praise to God, even despite the pain, even despite the loss.

Today, we sing hymns.

And we sing our praises to God.

This is where we find our strength today.

This is where find our comfort and courage to move forward.

So, let us do just that.

Today, let us sing our hymns, our Alleluias defiantly.

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

Let us be truly grateful for her and all she was to us.

Let us be sad, yes.

But let us also remind ourselves: death has not defeated her.

Or us.

Knowing that, let us sing loudly.

Let us live boldly.

Let us stand up defiantly.

Let us embody courage and strength.

That is what Sharon would want us to do today, and in the days to come.

I am so grateful I knew Sharon.

I am grateful for her presence in my life.

And I am very grateful that we will all one day see her again.

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Sharon.

At your coming may the martyrs receive you.

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

Amen.