Mary Borkhuis(Dec. 23, 1939-Jan. 16, 2010)
Micah 6.6-8; John 11.21-27
Mary—in typical Mary fashion—said last week as she was dying that she did NOT want this service because she did not want a “fuss,” regarding her funeral. I can even hear her voice as she said it. But we have went against her wishes to some extent. We are gathered today—hopefully without too much fuss. When her cousin Jay and I talked last week as Mary lay dying in Wisconsin, I made sort of an executive decision as Mary’s priest (an honor she graciously bestowed upon me in our last telephone conversation a few weeks ago) and insisted that there be some kind of service.
Now, I will confess to you that my reasons for making that decision were more selfish than noble. They were selfish because I simply could not imagine how I could let Mary go without having this service for her. Because we all have to face the fact that the Episcopal Church was very, very important to Mary. For all her talk of her Dutch Reformed ancestors and her own Presbyterian upbringing, the Episcopal Church was ultimately the place she called home and found a true church family. And there were few Sundays when she did not attend Mass either here at the Cathedral or at Grace Church in Jamestown.
And when I started a Wednesday night Eucharist at St. Stephen’s, Mary was always there. In fact, she was often the first one in the church and one of the last to leave.
Before I started the Wednesday night Mass last May, Mary and I had established a tradition of our own on Wednesday nights—we attended the 5:30 Mass at the Cathedral and then afterward ate pizza together at the Green Mill here in Fargo. Every Wednesday without fail Mary and I met to share a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and several glasses of diet Coke (Mary’s drink of choice).
And we had a grand time together in those meals. She often enjoyed hearing about whatever it was I was passionate about at that moment, and I enjoyed how she harassed the waiters or waitresses in that restaurant.
Last Wednesday, a group of us honored Mary after the Wednesday night Mass at St. Stephen’s by going to the Green Mill and having pizza and diet Coke in her memory—and we were waited on by one of those waitresses Mary harassed.
During those meals with Mary, I got to know her better than I ever thought I would—and probably better than almost anyone else. It was during those meals with Mary, that I came to cherish our friendship. We really bonded over those meals.
Mary, I think, came across to people in a particular way that may not have reflected who she really was. The fact was, underneath it all, she was a woman of deep intellect, wry sense of humor, rock-solid faith and, what a lot of people didn’t know, a very tender heart. And no matter what you thought you might know about Mary Borkhuis, the fact was she was, in all reality, a very humble person.
One of the scriptures I chose today for this service was our reading from Micah. I love this reading and I know Mary did as well. And in so many ways, it truly captures who Mary Borkhuis was. Let’s hear from it again:
“and what does the Lord require of youbut to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”
That was Mary Borkhuis to a T. She was, above all else, someone who truly did walk humbly with her God. I probably saw this most clearly when we shared Holy Communion together.
The Eucharist was very much the center of her life. It was sustained her spiritually and held her up when she needed to be help up. As I was pondering our friendship, I realize that the relationship I had with Mary was very much a Eucharistic friendship. Our friendship revolved around a common meal together. Whether it was the pizza we shared at the Green Mill, or the Eucharists we shared together at the Cathedral or at St. Stephen’s, or those Communions that I shared with her in the hospital after her diagnosis and during her radiation treatments, our friendship was centered squarely on the bond that comes from such a sharing. It is a bond very much like the bond Jesus makes with all of us in the Eucharist.
Just as we know Jesus in this sharing of bread and wine, so we also know each other. Just as we recognize Jesus in the breaking of bread, we also recognize one another in that breaking of bread as well. As we come together to celebrated this Eucharist, to share the Body and Blood of Jesus with each other, we know that we do so not only with those gathered here in this church building. We do so with all those Christians both alive in this world and those who have gone before us into the nearer Presence of Christ. We do so with Mary Borkhuis, who is also in that nearer Presence, but who, at the moment we celebrate our Eucharist, it with us here as well. In this sacred and holy moment in which we share Jesus’ Body and Blood here, we realize more so than any other time how thin that veil is that separates us from them.
Jesus said in today’s Gospel and in the liturgy at the beginning of this service, “I am the resurrection and I am the life.” Those are not light words. That is not an empty statement. Those words contain everything we need to know about Jesus and who he is to us. He is truly our victory over death and he is truly our life without end. At no other time are we made more aware of that fact than we are when we come together at this altar and celebrate that Resurrection and Life.
When I started that Wednesday night Mass at St. Stephen’s, I invited anyone who wanted to, to join us for supper afterward at a different restaurant in town for a meal.
On Wednesday, October 14, Mary attended Mass at St. Stephen’s and afterward I asked her where she wanted to go. She choose—you guessed it—the Green Mill. The following Wednesday I noticed she wasn’t at Mass, which was a bit unusual, and so I called her the next day and left a message on her cell phone, teasing her about missing Mass. When she didn’t call back, as she usually did when I left a message, I suspected something was up. Only the following Friday did I find out that she was in the hospital and had been diagnosed with Stage IV Melanoma that had spread to her brain.
The last time I saw Mary was on Sunday, November 29. She was moving the next day to Wisconsin, to live and be cared for my her sister, Sue. It wasn’t an easy decision for her to move out the house she loved, but she knew she couldn’t take care of herself anymore. That Sunday afternoon, I came to Mary’s house and brought her Holy Communion. And there, at the kitchen table, as we shared Jesus’ Body and Blood, it truly felt like all those meals we had shared before. And as we parted, I think both of us kind of suspected it would be the last time we would see each other…at least on this earth. But having been sustained by that Eucharist and the faith we have in Christ, we realized—it was all right.
And that is the real message we can all take away from the life of Mary Borkhuis. In her heart—that surprisingly tender heart of hers—she knew (and would tell us as well) that Christ is in control, not us (which wasn’t easy, I’m sure, for her to admit). Christ loves us and cares for us and will take care of us, no matter what happens in this life—and that is what matters more than anything. I will cherish forever my memories of the Eucharist’s and meals Mary Borkhuis and I shared together. And I—and I hope all of us who are gathered here today—will look with hope and joy to that moment when we will share a meal together in that nearer Presence of Christ.
I am also grateful that we have went against Mary’s wishes regarding this service and that we are celebrating this service of Holy Communion. As we come forward to share Jesus’ Body and Blood, we do so with sadness at the loss of Mary, but also with true joy at the realization that what she now enjoys awaits us as well.
“I am the resurrection and I am the life,” Jesus said and continued to say to all of us. “Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, 26and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” For those of us who believe, like Martha, in these words, we too can find some of that strength and hope that Mary had as she faced her final illness.
Just as Mary and I knew that last time we saw each other, so we know that no matter what life might throw at us, everything will be all right. Somehow, Jesus—that Life and Resurrection—always prevails. Jesus always sustains and lifts up. So let us prepare to celebrate this Eucharist—this service of thanksgiving—for Mary’s life and with the bold confidence and faith Mary herself had in those words that Life without end awaits us.
May God bless Mary Borkhuis and her presence in each of our lives and may Jesus welcome her with joy to the meal he has prepared for her.
Micah 6.6-8; John 11.21-27
Mary—in typical Mary fashion—said last week as she was dying that she did NOT want this service because she did not want a “fuss,” regarding her funeral. I can even hear her voice as she said it. But we have went against her wishes to some extent. We are gathered today—hopefully without too much fuss. When her cousin Jay and I talked last week as Mary lay dying in Wisconsin, I made sort of an executive decision as Mary’s priest (an honor she graciously bestowed upon me in our last telephone conversation a few weeks ago) and insisted that there be some kind of service.
Now, I will confess to you that my reasons for making that decision were more selfish than noble. They were selfish because I simply could not imagine how I could let Mary go without having this service for her. Because we all have to face the fact that the Episcopal Church was very, very important to Mary. For all her talk of her Dutch Reformed ancestors and her own Presbyterian upbringing, the Episcopal Church was ultimately the place she called home and found a true church family. And there were few Sundays when she did not attend Mass either here at the Cathedral or at Grace Church in Jamestown.
And when I started a Wednesday night Eucharist at St. Stephen’s, Mary was always there. In fact, she was often the first one in the church and one of the last to leave.
Before I started the Wednesday night Mass last May, Mary and I had established a tradition of our own on Wednesday nights—we attended the 5:30 Mass at the Cathedral and then afterward ate pizza together at the Green Mill here in Fargo. Every Wednesday without fail Mary and I met to share a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and several glasses of diet Coke (Mary’s drink of choice).
And we had a grand time together in those meals. She often enjoyed hearing about whatever it was I was passionate about at that moment, and I enjoyed how she harassed the waiters or waitresses in that restaurant.
Last Wednesday, a group of us honored Mary after the Wednesday night Mass at St. Stephen’s by going to the Green Mill and having pizza and diet Coke in her memory—and we were waited on by one of those waitresses Mary harassed.
During those meals with Mary, I got to know her better than I ever thought I would—and probably better than almost anyone else. It was during those meals with Mary, that I came to cherish our friendship. We really bonded over those meals.
Mary, I think, came across to people in a particular way that may not have reflected who she really was. The fact was, underneath it all, she was a woman of deep intellect, wry sense of humor, rock-solid faith and, what a lot of people didn’t know, a very tender heart. And no matter what you thought you might know about Mary Borkhuis, the fact was she was, in all reality, a very humble person.
One of the scriptures I chose today for this service was our reading from Micah. I love this reading and I know Mary did as well. And in so many ways, it truly captures who Mary Borkhuis was. Let’s hear from it again:
“and what does the Lord require of youbut to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”
That was Mary Borkhuis to a T. She was, above all else, someone who truly did walk humbly with her God. I probably saw this most clearly when we shared Holy Communion together.
The Eucharist was very much the center of her life. It was sustained her spiritually and held her up when she needed to be help up. As I was pondering our friendship, I realize that the relationship I had with Mary was very much a Eucharistic friendship. Our friendship revolved around a common meal together. Whether it was the pizza we shared at the Green Mill, or the Eucharists we shared together at the Cathedral or at St. Stephen’s, or those Communions that I shared with her in the hospital after her diagnosis and during her radiation treatments, our friendship was centered squarely on the bond that comes from such a sharing. It is a bond very much like the bond Jesus makes with all of us in the Eucharist.
Just as we know Jesus in this sharing of bread and wine, so we also know each other. Just as we recognize Jesus in the breaking of bread, we also recognize one another in that breaking of bread as well. As we come together to celebrated this Eucharist, to share the Body and Blood of Jesus with each other, we know that we do so not only with those gathered here in this church building. We do so with all those Christians both alive in this world and those who have gone before us into the nearer Presence of Christ. We do so with Mary Borkhuis, who is also in that nearer Presence, but who, at the moment we celebrate our Eucharist, it with us here as well. In this sacred and holy moment in which we share Jesus’ Body and Blood here, we realize more so than any other time how thin that veil is that separates us from them.
Jesus said in today’s Gospel and in the liturgy at the beginning of this service, “I am the resurrection and I am the life.” Those are not light words. That is not an empty statement. Those words contain everything we need to know about Jesus and who he is to us. He is truly our victory over death and he is truly our life without end. At no other time are we made more aware of that fact than we are when we come together at this altar and celebrate that Resurrection and Life.
When I started that Wednesday night Mass at St. Stephen’s, I invited anyone who wanted to, to join us for supper afterward at a different restaurant in town for a meal.
On Wednesday, October 14, Mary attended Mass at St. Stephen’s and afterward I asked her where she wanted to go. She choose—you guessed it—the Green Mill. The following Wednesday I noticed she wasn’t at Mass, which was a bit unusual, and so I called her the next day and left a message on her cell phone, teasing her about missing Mass. When she didn’t call back, as she usually did when I left a message, I suspected something was up. Only the following Friday did I find out that she was in the hospital and had been diagnosed with Stage IV Melanoma that had spread to her brain.
The last time I saw Mary was on Sunday, November 29. She was moving the next day to Wisconsin, to live and be cared for my her sister, Sue. It wasn’t an easy decision for her to move out the house she loved, but she knew she couldn’t take care of herself anymore. That Sunday afternoon, I came to Mary’s house and brought her Holy Communion. And there, at the kitchen table, as we shared Jesus’ Body and Blood, it truly felt like all those meals we had shared before. And as we parted, I think both of us kind of suspected it would be the last time we would see each other…at least on this earth. But having been sustained by that Eucharist and the faith we have in Christ, we realized—it was all right.
And that is the real message we can all take away from the life of Mary Borkhuis. In her heart—that surprisingly tender heart of hers—she knew (and would tell us as well) that Christ is in control, not us (which wasn’t easy, I’m sure, for her to admit). Christ loves us and cares for us and will take care of us, no matter what happens in this life—and that is what matters more than anything. I will cherish forever my memories of the Eucharist’s and meals Mary Borkhuis and I shared together. And I—and I hope all of us who are gathered here today—will look with hope and joy to that moment when we will share a meal together in that nearer Presence of Christ.
I am also grateful that we have went against Mary’s wishes regarding this service and that we are celebrating this service of Holy Communion. As we come forward to share Jesus’ Body and Blood, we do so with sadness at the loss of Mary, but also with true joy at the realization that what she now enjoys awaits us as well.
“I am the resurrection and I am the life,” Jesus said and continued to say to all of us. “Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, 26and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” For those of us who believe, like Martha, in these words, we too can find some of that strength and hope that Mary had as she faced her final illness.
Just as Mary and I knew that last time we saw each other, so we know that no matter what life might throw at us, everything will be all right. Somehow, Jesus—that Life and Resurrection—always prevails. Jesus always sustains and lifts up. So let us prepare to celebrate this Eucharist—this service of thanksgiving—for Mary’s life and with the bold confidence and faith Mary herself had in those words that Life without end awaits us.
May God bless Mary Borkhuis and her presence in each of our lives and may Jesus welcome her with joy to the meal he has prepared for her.
2 comments:
News of the death of another '80s Jamestown [College] colleague - Dr. Tim Bratton - sparked my search for news of Mary. God rest ye, Mary. You were such a good friend in those Jamestown days.
What a delight to find these posts 10 years after my sisters’s death. She often spoke of Jamie and the great bond they shared. She was not ready to die and she wanted many more years to enjoy her hobbies and to breath the sweet air. I carry on her journey that was cut short and photograph life around me, I dig in the dirt and watch my garden grow and I try to kind to those around me.
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