The funeral for Irene Romuld

Irene Parsley Romuld
(May 4, 1924-February 14, 2010)

Irene seemed to me to be one of those people who would always be there. She was someone who, from my earliest memories, seemed eternal. She seemed to have always been and would always be.

I remember once when I was very young, my father explained to me that one day everyone would die. I remember asking, “You mean, Grandma and Grandpa?”

“Yes,” he said.

And that was as far the discussion got because I immediately broke down crying. It was so hard for me to imagine that my grandparents would die. I couldn’t imagine anyone other than dying for a long time afterward,

Now, all of my grandparents are long gone. And now, sadly, so is most of my grandparents generation. Irene was one of my grandfather’s younger sisters, but still it seems so amazing that now she too is gone.

This is what life is like. I think there is no better time to ponder this than on, of all days, Ash Wednesday. On this day we are reminded that we will die too—a concept that was completely beyond my realm of understanding when my father first explained to me about death when I was young.

But in our Ash Wednesday liturgy, we are reminded, as ashes are spread on our foreheads in the form of a cross—as ashes are placed in the same place our baptismal waters were poured when we were baptized, that we are dust and to dust we shall return.

On Friday, at Sunset Memorial Gardens, we will hear those words, as dirt is poured on Irene’s casket, “we commend to Almighty God our sister Irene, and we commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

All of this just goes to remind us that these words will be said over our bodies or ashes one day. One day our mortal remains will be buried.

But this is not a reason to despair. This not a reason to beat our breasts and lament. Rather, Ash Wednesday and funerals only remind us that our deepest hopes and desires lie beyond the dust of this life.

Our greatest hopes and dreams lie with Christ, who also took on the dust of this life and sanctified it. And because he did, we can, on a day like today, take consolation as we lay the body of Irene to rest and commend her to God.

As difficult as it is today to say goodbye to Irene and to commend her to God, we do so knowing that our goodbyes are temporary. We do so knowing that our goodbyes are not really farewells but rather they are “until we see each other again.”

We do so knowing that as difficult as it is get through a day like today, we know that something more glorious awaits Irene—and ourselves as well.

So, let us set our faces on that glory. Let us look with joy toward that goal for which we are all struggling and working. And let us meet with joy that glorious light that is, at this morning, shining upon Irene and will soon shine upon us all.

I am going to close with a favorite quote. I think it is a quote that really is very helpful in sustaining us in the days and weeks to come. It was found on a bookmark in the prayer book of St. Teresa of Avila:

Let nothing disturb you;
Let nothing frighten you.
All things are passing.
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things.
Nothing is wanting to him who possesses God.
God alone suffices.