The Requiem Eucharist for Rosemary Stillman

Rosemary Stillman(Oct. 25, 1922-Dec. 16, 2009)

St Stephen's Episcopal Church
December 19, 2009

Revelation 21.2-7; John 14.1-6
It struck me suddenly yesterday that next month, it will be ten years that I knew Rosemary Stillman. Ten years. Every month for ten years, I visited Rosemary, celebrated Holy Communion with her and shared with her her highs and her lows.

Ten years is a long time to know someone. And when one visits someone every month for a decade, one gets to know that person. I knew Rosemary very well. And she knew me very well. And in those ten years, as we would often reflected to one another, we went through some major highs and some major lows together.

All of us here today went through our own highs and lows with her. We journeyed alongside this very remarkable person—Rosemary Stillman. And she was remarkable. She was truly one in a million.

Now, I say this, but I do so acknowledging at the same time that Rosemary was no saint. And I know that where she is at this moment, she would be clear in letting me know that she would not want to be called a saint. Each month, without fail, when I visited her and we shared Holy Communion (which we celebrated from the 1928 edition of the Book of Common Prayer—the one she was most familiar with), she would say, every time, in good times and bad, “I need forgiveness.” She understood and was fully aware of her failings and her shortcomings. And that awareness only endeared her all the more to me.

She was also a die-hard Episcopalian. That’s how I got to know her. Ten years ago next month, when I was doing my duty in Clinical Pastoral Education, in which I served as a Chaplain at MeritCare Hospital, I came to her room and was delighted by her exuberance and her pride in her Episcopalianism.

“Do you know the difference between an Episcopalian and Roman Catholic?” she asked. “Episcopalians are snooty, have money and like their drinks.”

Which is actually pretty true. Although I served at that time at Gethsemane Cathedral, Rosemary always refused to join. She liked being referred to (I called her this), a “proxy” member.

However, over a year ago, when I became Priest-in-Charge here at St. Stephen’s, she immediately requested that she become a member here. She actually had fond memories of St. Stephen’s. She visited this church with her beloved John shortly after the church was built in 1957 and would visit it often when she came back to Fargo.

Our relationship was definitely that of priest and parishioner. I heard her confessions (and she often heard mine). But we were also friends. She admitted her shortcomings, her frustrations both at herself and just about everyone else, and, with me, she allowed herself to relax, to be herself, to kick back a bit. Not that it was always easy. There were one or two times when I got angry at her, but they were very short-lived. She would invariably call me and apologize (which I knew was very hard for her to do), then she would crack a joke, we’d laugh and, like that, it was all over.

More importantly, as I knew her over these last ten years, just one year after her beloved John died on January 8, 1999, I also, like all of us here this morning, walked with her through those very difficult years of her life. Rosemary did not like coming back to Fargo. She did not like how the city of her girlhood had changed so drastically. She often felt trapped here. But she also knew that, despite her dislike of this city, here she was loved. She was loved by us—her friends and caregivers. And she was cared for. And, as she told us, we made her existence here more bearable.

As her priest, I can assure you of this: she had a deep and strong faith. Her faith sustained her, even in those moments when everything else seemed out of control and horrible for her. We often talked about the Cross. I would say to her: “Rosemary, you don’t have to bear this Cross alone.” And when it became too much for her, she would let it go, but not without some struggle.

She often was frustrated that her prayers were not answered the way she wanted them to be answered. Although she could control so much in her life, she couldn’t control God. During one very difficult moment not that long ago—when she was informed that she was going to lose her leg—she was particularly frustrated. But that afternoon, I shared with her a quote from the great Anglican theologian, C.S. Lewis.

Lewis wrote these words in the dark, horrendous days following his wife’s death by cancer in 1960. As he vented at God, demanding from God to know an explanation for the pain he was enduring, he came to this conclusion:

Lewis writes, “”When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of ‘no answer’. It is not the locked door. It more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate gaze. As though He shook his head not in refusal but waving the question. Like, ‘Peace, child; you don’t understand.’”

Rosemary understood that quote and I think that, in the end, that is exactly the way she viewed her predicament. She didn’t understand, but she knew God did. Rosemary had no fear of death. She knew where she was going. She knew who was waiting for her there. And Rosemary knew, with her lack of fear in death, how true those words were that we heard earlier in this service from the book of Revelation.

“[God] will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more…”

Her issue was not death. Her issue was the fact that she was sick of mourning and crying and pain. And, on Wednesday morning, her mourning, her crying, her pain ended. For her, they truly were “no more”. For us, it’s not so much the case. All of here this afternoon know that we still have our share of mourning and crying and pain ahead of us. But, as usual, Rosemary is there to lead us the way forward. Rosemary shows us how to be strong in the face of those ugly things of life. She shows us still that yes, they do await us, but don’t fear them. Don’t let them win. Be strong. Hold your ground. And look like a million bucks while you’re doing it.

Rosemary often talked to me about this day. She oftentimes said she didn’t want a funeral. She only wanted me to take care of her ashes and to simply do something nice. But as I thought about it, I also remembered something else she said to me on a fairly regular basis. Rosemary often said, “If you can’t go first class, then don’t go at all.” And one thing Episcopalians can do is send someone off first class. So, here we are today, sending Rosemary off with the first class treatment.

I am going to miss Rosemary Stillman. I already do. Those first few months without visiting her are going to be hard. There will be mourning. There will be tears. There will be pain. But in the midst of what I will go through, I will try, as Rosemary did, to remember that one day it will all be done away with.

One day, it will be my time to go. And I know, as sure as anything, that my God in Christ will be there, my loved ones will be there. And I know that Rosemary will be there, waiting for me, greeting me in that way she did each month for those ten years. And if there are mimosa’s in that place (and I really hope there are—who knows, maybe that “gift from the spring of life” we heard about in Revelation today tastes somehow like mimosa’s), I am going to look forward to having one with her once again.

Jesus told Thomas in our Gospel reading for today, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” In other translation, we hear that word “dwelling places” replaced with “mansions.”

“ In my Father’s house there many mansions.”

What those mansions might look like, I have no idea. But what I do know is that whatever awaits us, it is beautiful and remarkable and better than anything we can hope for. And I do know that in that place, there is no mourning or crying or pain.

Yes, today we are sad. Today we feel the loss of Rosemary Stillman in our lives. But, despite these pains, we also have an abiding and overpowering faith. These negative things are temporary. The great and glorious things are eternal. They will never end. With Rosemary leading the way for us there, we know that it will be a remarkable experience. And we know that, with Rosemary there, it will be first class all the way.