The Burial Liturgy for
Tracy Ford
(March 7, 1956 – September 20, 2010)
Hanson-Runsvold Funeral Home
Fargo, North Dakota
Friday, September 24, 2010
+ Whenever I do a funeral, I feel that I bond not only with the family—and luckily in this case I know Tracy’s mother, Marlys fairly well—I also sometimes bond especially with the person whose life we are remembering. I definitely felt a bond develop between Tracy and myself in these last few days as I prepared this service. In these last few days I have heard some wonderful things about Tracy. I heard about what a gentle, genuinely good person he was. And I heard about his faith in God. And as I heard more and more about Tracy, I felt that bond grow stronger between us.
Of course, that bond doesn’t make doing funerals easier, let me tell you. In fact, it sometimes complicates doing them. I find myself at times getting emotional about people I have never even met. But that’s a good thing, I think.
I am of the belief that what separates us who are alive and breathing here on earth from those who are now in the so-called “nearer presence of God” is a thin one. And because of that belief, I take a certain comfort in the fact Tracy is close to us today. I think most of us can feel that presence this morning. He is here, in our midst, with us, celebrating his life with us.
I am also especially happy that we heard this particular reading from the Book of Revelation this morning. In our reading today from Revelation we find Jesus saying to us, that he is the Alpha and the Omega—the beginning and the end. As difficult as it is to say goodbye to Tracy, we are able to find strength in these words. We are able to cling to the fact that, although life is unpredictable, life is beyond our control, it is not beyond Christ’s control. Christ knew us and loved us at our beginning and will know us and love us at our ending.
As the poet T.S. Eliot wrote, “In my beginning is my end. In my end is my beginning.”
As we mourn this ending, we also take great comfort in the fact that we are also celebrating a new beginning for Tracy today. This is what we believe as Christians. What I love about being specifically an Episcopalian is that sometimes we can’t clearly define what it is we believe as Episcopalians. Nor should we. We can’t pin it down and examine it too closely. When we do, we find it loses its meaning. But when I am asked, “what do Episcopalians believe?” I say, “we believe what we pray.” We’re not big on dogma and rules. We’re not caught up in the letter of the law or preaching a literal interpretation of the Bible. But we are big on liturgy.—in the words of the services we celebrate. The Book of Common Prayer in many ways defines what we believe.
And so when I’m asked “What do Episcopalians believe about life after death?” I say, “look at our Prayer Book.” Look at what it says. And that is what we believe. This service we are celebrating today for Tracy is from that Prayer Book. It sums up perfectly what it is we believe about death and life after death. And it gives us hope to get through this very difficult time in our lives.
Later in this service, we will pray some wonderful words. As we commend Tracy to Christ’s loving and merciful arms, you will hear me pray,
Give rest, O Christ, to your servant with your saints,
where sorrow and pain are no more,
neither sighing, but life everlasting.
It is easy for us to hear those words without really thinking about them. But those are not light words. Those are words that take on deeper meaning for us now than maybe at any other time.
For Tracy, in this ending, he has a new beginning—a new and wonderful beginning that awaits all of us as well. Where Tracy is now—in those caring and able hands of Christ—there is no sorrow or pain. There is no sighing. But there is life eternal. At this time of new beginning, even here at the grave, we—who are left behind—can make our song of alleluia. Because we know that Tracy and all our loved ones have been received into Christ’s arms of mercy, into Christ’s “blessed rest of everlasting peace.”
This is what we cling to on a day like today. This is where we find our strength. This is what gets us through this temporary—and I stress that it is temporary—this temporary separation from Tracy. We know that—despite the pain and the frustration, despite the sorrow we all feel—somehow, in the end, Christ is with us and Christ is with Tracy and that makes all the difference. We know that in Christ, what seems like an ending, is actually a wonderful and new beginning. For Tracy, sorrow and pain are no more. Rather, Tracy has life eternal. And that is what awaits us as well.
We might not be able to say “Alleluia” with any real enthusiasm today. But we can find a glimmer of light in the darkness of this day. And in that light is Christ, and in that light Christ is holding Tracy firmly to himself. Amen.
Tracy Ford
(March 7, 1956 – September 20, 2010)
Hanson-Runsvold Funeral Home
Fargo, North Dakota
Friday, September 24, 2010
+ Whenever I do a funeral, I feel that I bond not only with the family—and luckily in this case I know Tracy’s mother, Marlys fairly well—I also sometimes bond especially with the person whose life we are remembering. I definitely felt a bond develop between Tracy and myself in these last few days as I prepared this service. In these last few days I have heard some wonderful things about Tracy. I heard about what a gentle, genuinely good person he was. And I heard about his faith in God. And as I heard more and more about Tracy, I felt that bond grow stronger between us.
Of course, that bond doesn’t make doing funerals easier, let me tell you. In fact, it sometimes complicates doing them. I find myself at times getting emotional about people I have never even met. But that’s a good thing, I think.
I am of the belief that what separates us who are alive and breathing here on earth from those who are now in the so-called “nearer presence of God” is a thin one. And because of that belief, I take a certain comfort in the fact Tracy is close to us today. I think most of us can feel that presence this morning. He is here, in our midst, with us, celebrating his life with us.
I am also especially happy that we heard this particular reading from the Book of Revelation this morning. In our reading today from Revelation we find Jesus saying to us, that he is the Alpha and the Omega—the beginning and the end. As difficult as it is to say goodbye to Tracy, we are able to find strength in these words. We are able to cling to the fact that, although life is unpredictable, life is beyond our control, it is not beyond Christ’s control. Christ knew us and loved us at our beginning and will know us and love us at our ending.
As the poet T.S. Eliot wrote, “In my beginning is my end. In my end is my beginning.”
As we mourn this ending, we also take great comfort in the fact that we are also celebrating a new beginning for Tracy today. This is what we believe as Christians. What I love about being specifically an Episcopalian is that sometimes we can’t clearly define what it is we believe as Episcopalians. Nor should we. We can’t pin it down and examine it too closely. When we do, we find it loses its meaning. But when I am asked, “what do Episcopalians believe?” I say, “we believe what we pray.” We’re not big on dogma and rules. We’re not caught up in the letter of the law or preaching a literal interpretation of the Bible. But we are big on liturgy.—in the words of the services we celebrate. The Book of Common Prayer in many ways defines what we believe.
And so when I’m asked “What do Episcopalians believe about life after death?” I say, “look at our Prayer Book.” Look at what it says. And that is what we believe. This service we are celebrating today for Tracy is from that Prayer Book. It sums up perfectly what it is we believe about death and life after death. And it gives us hope to get through this very difficult time in our lives.
Later in this service, we will pray some wonderful words. As we commend Tracy to Christ’s loving and merciful arms, you will hear me pray,
Give rest, O Christ, to your servant with your saints,
where sorrow and pain are no more,
neither sighing, but life everlasting.
It is easy for us to hear those words without really thinking about them. But those are not light words. Those are words that take on deeper meaning for us now than maybe at any other time.
For Tracy, in this ending, he has a new beginning—a new and wonderful beginning that awaits all of us as well. Where Tracy is now—in those caring and able hands of Christ—there is no sorrow or pain. There is no sighing. But there is life eternal. At this time of new beginning, even here at the grave, we—who are left behind—can make our song of alleluia. Because we know that Tracy and all our loved ones have been received into Christ’s arms of mercy, into Christ’s “blessed rest of everlasting peace.”
This is what we cling to on a day like today. This is where we find our strength. This is what gets us through this temporary—and I stress that it is temporary—this temporary separation from Tracy. We know that—despite the pain and the frustration, despite the sorrow we all feel—somehow, in the end, Christ is with us and Christ is with Tracy and that makes all the difference. We know that in Christ, what seems like an ending, is actually a wonderful and new beginning. For Tracy, sorrow and pain are no more. Rather, Tracy has life eternal. And that is what awaits us as well.
We might not be able to say “Alleluia” with any real enthusiasm today. But we can find a glimmer of light in the darkness of this day. And in that light is Christ, and in that light Christ is holding Tracy firmly to himself. Amen.
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