Greg Craychee
(December 23, 1947 – June 6, 2010)
Friday, June 11, 2010
Micah 6.6-8; John 11.21-27
+ I, like everyone here this morning, was shocked when I heard the news about Greg. When Harriet Blow, Greg’s dear friend, called me early Sunday evening to tell me that Greg had died probably earlier that morning, I was blown away. I admit that I did think twice about the fact that Greg wasn’t in church on Sunday morning. He was scheduled to be acolyte on Sunday. But oftentimes, if he was “on-call” at Korsmo, I understood he might not be able to make it in. Though, it was a bit strange that he didn’t call and let me know. But I just kind of shrugged it off.
Still, it is hard for us to face the fact that we have lost a truly good man. And Greg was a good man. Anyone who knew him, even slightly, knew he was good.
Now I say this know full well that if Greg were here this morning (and he is here with us this morning—in spirit), he would no doubt shake his head in that kind of shy way of his and would, in his sort of flustered way, protest my saying he was good. And, when I say he was good, I certainly don’t mean he was a saint, or that he was perfect. He, like any of us, was not perfect. He had his shortcomings, he had his eccentricities, he no doubt had personal emotional and person baggage just like the rest of us do. But I will continue to maintain that was a truly good man.
Often his goodness was not something we saw on the surface. It wasn’t something he readily advertised.
The great Poet Laureate of England, John Betjeman, was once described as “a good Christian man doing good deeds by stealth.”
Those same words could very well have been used for Greg Craychee. Greg did his good deeds mostly by stealth. He helped people in any way he could. Some of those good deeds we know about, some of those good deeds few of know about. Some of those good deeds only God knows about.
As his priest—as someone who knew him fairly well—I can say that he was honestly good. He cared for others. He served others. He had a compassionate and tender and caring side to him. But everything he did, he in a very humble way.
Our reading this morning from the book of Micah truly does reflect Greg Craychee in many ways.
“What does the Lord require of you?” we hear the Prophet Micah ask.
“To do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God.”
That was Greg. He did justice. He loved kindness. And he quietly and humbly served his God and his fellow brothers and sisters. And he did so without complaint. Every Sunday, I saw Greg in church—always ready to help, always ready to serve. And the loss of someone like Greg is felt widely. Most everyone here this morning, no doubt, feels that loss in various ways and we will be feeling the effects of that loss for a long time to come.
But today, what we can take away from Greg’s life, is another gift Greg leaves us in a stealthy kind of way. Greg leaves the example of his good deeds and of his strong faith. He was a faithful man. His faith was important to him. This church was important to him. And although he didn’t preach or proselytize or try to convert people—he was a good Episcopalian after all—I can take a pretty good guess at what he believed. .
I can’t tell you how many times I am asked by non-Episcopalians: so what is it you Episcopalians believe? I always respond by saying: If you want to know what we believe, come to our services. In a very real sense, what we believe—and what Greg believed— is best expressed in how we worship—in the words and actions of our liturgy.
We Episcopalians hold our liturgy dear. While other churches hold fast to their confessions, to their dogmas, we Episcopalians have a very simple standard of faith. If anyone wants to know what we as Episcopalians believe, you need look no further than our Prayer of Common Prayer Book, from which our service today comes. . We truly do believe as we worship. And so, on this day when we are still reeling from the shock of Greg’s passing from us, we do gather here together—in this place that was near and dear to Greg and his life. And we find our consolation in the words of this service and in the scriptures.
The words of this funeral service are not light words. They really do give voice to what it is we believe as Christians. And they give voice, no doubt, to what Greg believed as a Christian regarding what awaited him as he left us on Sunday morning.
At the beginning of this service we heard those wonderful words that have been said at the beginning of every Anglican funeral service since the first Book of Common Prayer in 1549.
“I am resurrection and I am life, says the Lord.
Whoever has faith in my shall have life,
Even though they die.”
Those words, of course, we heard twice this morning. We also heard them in our Gospel reading from John. But those words of Jesus are not light words either. They are words that sustain us and hold us in moments when life doesn’t make sense and death does seems overwhelming. In those moments, Jesus truly does stand before us as the true conqueror of death and the bearer of unending life. They were words that Greg had faith in. He believed those words of Jesus in his life. And this is the same faith he clung to. It is this faith that has been fulfilled for him in ways too incredible for us to even comprehend at this moment. Greg knew this faith in his own life and we too can cling to it in a time like this.
In just a few moments, we will stand and sing a beautiful hymn—the “Song of Farewell.” We will sing these words:
“Come to his aid, O saints of God
Come meet him, angels of the Lord,
Receive his soul, O Holy Ones
Present him to God on high.”
We believe those word. We believe that on Sunday morning, the saints of God did come to Greg’s aid. On Sunday, the angels of the Lord did come to meet him. On Sunday, his soul was presented before God on high. One day we too will be received there as well. One day, we too will experience that wonderful place of unending light.
And at the end of this service, I will stand at Greg’s casket and I will say these words:
“All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”
And we, at the end of this service, will do just that. We will go out from here not weeping in sorrow. Rather, we will go out on a high note. We will go out singing that glorious hymn, “Jesus Christ is risen today.” We will go forth from here with that word of victory—“Alleluia”—fresh on our lips and ringing in our ears.
So, what is it we believe about these end of life issues? It’s all right here in our service. It’s all right here in what we pray and sing and celebrate.
So this morning and in the days to come, we can all truly take consolation in that faith that Greg held so dear. We can cling to the fact that, in this moment, Greg is truly and wonderfully taken care of. He is complete and whole at this very moment and for every moment to come from this time on. Let us go forth, singing our alleluias, rejoicing as Greg at this moment is rejoicing. Let us take consolation in that unending place of light to which he has been received by saints and angels. And let us be glad that one day we too will be there as well, sharing with him in that joy that will never end.
Amen.
(December 23, 1947 – June 6, 2010)
Friday, June 11, 2010
Micah 6.6-8; John 11.21-27
+ I, like everyone here this morning, was shocked when I heard the news about Greg. When Harriet Blow, Greg’s dear friend, called me early Sunday evening to tell me that Greg had died probably earlier that morning, I was blown away. I admit that I did think twice about the fact that Greg wasn’t in church on Sunday morning. He was scheduled to be acolyte on Sunday. But oftentimes, if he was “on-call” at Korsmo, I understood he might not be able to make it in. Though, it was a bit strange that he didn’t call and let me know. But I just kind of shrugged it off.
Still, it is hard for us to face the fact that we have lost a truly good man. And Greg was a good man. Anyone who knew him, even slightly, knew he was good.
Now I say this know full well that if Greg were here this morning (and he is here with us this morning—in spirit), he would no doubt shake his head in that kind of shy way of his and would, in his sort of flustered way, protest my saying he was good. And, when I say he was good, I certainly don’t mean he was a saint, or that he was perfect. He, like any of us, was not perfect. He had his shortcomings, he had his eccentricities, he no doubt had personal emotional and person baggage just like the rest of us do. But I will continue to maintain that was a truly good man.
Often his goodness was not something we saw on the surface. It wasn’t something he readily advertised.
The great Poet Laureate of England, John Betjeman, was once described as “a good Christian man doing good deeds by stealth.”
Those same words could very well have been used for Greg Craychee. Greg did his good deeds mostly by stealth. He helped people in any way he could. Some of those good deeds we know about, some of those good deeds few of know about. Some of those good deeds only God knows about.
As his priest—as someone who knew him fairly well—I can say that he was honestly good. He cared for others. He served others. He had a compassionate and tender and caring side to him. But everything he did, he in a very humble way.
Our reading this morning from the book of Micah truly does reflect Greg Craychee in many ways.
“What does the Lord require of you?” we hear the Prophet Micah ask.
“To do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God.”
That was Greg. He did justice. He loved kindness. And he quietly and humbly served his God and his fellow brothers and sisters. And he did so without complaint. Every Sunday, I saw Greg in church—always ready to help, always ready to serve. And the loss of someone like Greg is felt widely. Most everyone here this morning, no doubt, feels that loss in various ways and we will be feeling the effects of that loss for a long time to come.
But today, what we can take away from Greg’s life, is another gift Greg leaves us in a stealthy kind of way. Greg leaves the example of his good deeds and of his strong faith. He was a faithful man. His faith was important to him. This church was important to him. And although he didn’t preach or proselytize or try to convert people—he was a good Episcopalian after all—I can take a pretty good guess at what he believed. .
I can’t tell you how many times I am asked by non-Episcopalians: so what is it you Episcopalians believe? I always respond by saying: If you want to know what we believe, come to our services. In a very real sense, what we believe—and what Greg believed— is best expressed in how we worship—in the words and actions of our liturgy.
We Episcopalians hold our liturgy dear. While other churches hold fast to their confessions, to their dogmas, we Episcopalians have a very simple standard of faith. If anyone wants to know what we as Episcopalians believe, you need look no further than our Prayer of Common Prayer Book, from which our service today comes. . We truly do believe as we worship. And so, on this day when we are still reeling from the shock of Greg’s passing from us, we do gather here together—in this place that was near and dear to Greg and his life. And we find our consolation in the words of this service and in the scriptures.
The words of this funeral service are not light words. They really do give voice to what it is we believe as Christians. And they give voice, no doubt, to what Greg believed as a Christian regarding what awaited him as he left us on Sunday morning.
At the beginning of this service we heard those wonderful words that have been said at the beginning of every Anglican funeral service since the first Book of Common Prayer in 1549.
“I am resurrection and I am life, says the Lord.
Whoever has faith in my shall have life,
Even though they die.”
Those words, of course, we heard twice this morning. We also heard them in our Gospel reading from John. But those words of Jesus are not light words either. They are words that sustain us and hold us in moments when life doesn’t make sense and death does seems overwhelming. In those moments, Jesus truly does stand before us as the true conqueror of death and the bearer of unending life. They were words that Greg had faith in. He believed those words of Jesus in his life. And this is the same faith he clung to. It is this faith that has been fulfilled for him in ways too incredible for us to even comprehend at this moment. Greg knew this faith in his own life and we too can cling to it in a time like this.
In just a few moments, we will stand and sing a beautiful hymn—the “Song of Farewell.” We will sing these words:
“Come to his aid, O saints of God
Come meet him, angels of the Lord,
Receive his soul, O Holy Ones
Present him to God on high.”
We believe those word. We believe that on Sunday morning, the saints of God did come to Greg’s aid. On Sunday, the angels of the Lord did come to meet him. On Sunday, his soul was presented before God on high. One day we too will be received there as well. One day, we too will experience that wonderful place of unending light.
And at the end of this service, I will stand at Greg’s casket and I will say these words:
“All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”
And we, at the end of this service, will do just that. We will go out from here not weeping in sorrow. Rather, we will go out on a high note. We will go out singing that glorious hymn, “Jesus Christ is risen today.” We will go forth from here with that word of victory—“Alleluia”—fresh on our lips and ringing in our ears.
So, what is it we believe about these end of life issues? It’s all right here in our service. It’s all right here in what we pray and sing and celebrate.
So this morning and in the days to come, we can all truly take consolation in that faith that Greg held so dear. We can cling to the fact that, in this moment, Greg is truly and wonderfully taken care of. He is complete and whole at this very moment and for every moment to come from this time on. Let us go forth, singing our alleluias, rejoicing as Greg at this moment is rejoicing. Let us take consolation in that unending place of light to which he has been received by saints and angels. And let us be glad that one day we too will be there as well, sharing with him in that joy that will never end.
Amen.
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