The Requiem Eucharist for
Florence Anderson
(December 15, 1922-September 12, 2010)
Gethsemane Cathedral
September 16, 2010
Psalm 100
+ First of all, I am very grateful for the opportunity to here this morning and to be a part of this service for Florence. As some of you know, my father passed away on Tuesday morning, very suddenly and unexpectedly in his sleep. I had many people say to me that I shouldn’t do this service. But I needed to do this service.
I have known and, more importantly, cared very deeply for Florence for many years. I was her priest, yes, but I felt I was more than just her priest. I truly felt as though I was one of Florence’s grandchildren. And I think Florence thought of me in that way also. And in the days following her death and before my own father’s death, I found myself reeling over the fact that she was gone. It was a terribly painful experience for me.
But I am grateful this morning. I am grateful for having known Florence and for the relationship with we had together.
I visited Florence for the first time on July 21, 2003. (I actually looked it up the other night in one of my appointment books from that time). She was still living in her condo at the time and I went over to bring her Holy Communion because her daughter Sharon asked me if I would. At first, Florence was a bit stand-offish with me. I was about to be ordained a deacon, and it was a whole year before I was even ordained a priest. She didn’t know me too well and I didn’t know her too well. But, my natural charm obviously won her over, and over the next few months I continued to visit her on and off.
We only really bonded after she fell and broke her hip early the next year. She went to stay at ManorCare and, while, there, she received some not-so-wonderful care. At one point I had to reprimand a nurse (after I was rudely reprimanded) after Florence has been pretty much forgotten about. Florence told me that she often laid there on her bed looking at the Pepsi machine outside her window wondering when she was going to die. She bounced back from that, and over the next several years, she and I went through various ups and downs in both of our lives.
Those down times—those set-backs in her life and mine—really bonded us. Many, many times over the years, I would say to her, “Well, considering everything we’ve been through in the past, this really isn’t all that bad, is it?”
When Florence died on Sunday morning, I could repeat that phrase to her again. It was not a bad death by any means. It was a quiet, peaceful death—one that perfectly suited the person Florence was.
Now, Florence would not want me to get up here and say sweet, wonderful, fluffy things about her. If she were here this morning—and I do think she is here, this morning—she would poo-poo me in that Florence kind of way and quickly put me in my place. Still, I despite the fact that it might sound fluffy and overly sweet, I do have to say this: Florence was a genuinely good person. She was a good person who has experienced some hard times in her life. We often talked about the fact that her life was never easy. Whether she was sharing stories from her childhood or through the years of adulthood and even these last several years, Florence knew what hard times were. That was something Florence and shared in common and our experience of hardships certainly bonded us in ways that are hard to articulate.
I often shared with her one of my favorite stories and it was one she could truly relate to. It’s an old Jewish tale about King Nebuchadnezzar—the great Babylonian king we meet in the Book of Daniel. The story goes like this:
The King one day was dressed in his finest apparel and was out walking in his garden singing praises to God. As he was doing so, an angel appeared to the King. The King at first was amazed. What a beautiful angel! And he was so thankful to God that he was able to see one. But then, the angel, without a word, slapped him hard across the face. The King was shocked and confused. He turned to the angel and asked: “Why, O angel, did you slap me across the face just when I was singing beautiful praises to God?”
The angel answered, “Of course you can sing praises dressed in your finest clothes, with a crown on your head, but try praising God after you’ve been slapped across the face by an angel.”
When I finished this story, I saw that little smile on Florence’s face. We all know the one. And you knew that she understood what this story was and what it meant to her. Because, let’s face it, she knew a few things about the “slaps” life can give out. And the great thing is that, even despite these slaps, she was still able to sing God’s praises.
I think we saw that most clearly on Saturday night, when Deacon Jim from Rosewood led the gathered family in singing Florence’s favorite hymns. Despite the setbacks of life, there was a resiliency in Florence. She, unlike the king in the story, was not shocked or overwhelmed or despairing over the slaps she received in this life. Yes, she was sad. Yes, she would rather not have gone through what she did. But at no point did she ever stop praising God through this time. Even slapped, she was still able to sing praises to God. And let me tell you: I know. I was with her and I saw, for myself, that even through the hard times, she clung strongly and firmly to her faith despite everything that happened to her.
Every time I came to visit her, she always received Communion. That service of Holy Communion was essential to her and her understanding of how God worked in her life. She truly did see that Communion as a foretaste of what awaited her beyond this world. And I can tell you with all honesty that there was no doubt in her mind that something wonderful and glorious awaited her there. And she was content and accepting of what awaited her.
On Sunday morning, September 12, she went to be in that place.
In one of the last conversations I had with her, I told her, “God really is with you, Florence.” And she nodded and there was a brightness in her eyes that made clear she truly believed that. God was with her and God is with her now.
Some of us might ask, however, why did Florence have to receive these “slaps in her life? Why did she have to experience so much hardship. I don’t think there any easy answers to any of the hardships we experience in this life. But, some images do help.
I teach at the University of Mary in Fargo. One of the courses I teach is called Suffering and Christian Healing. In one of the books that are required for the course, our perception versus God’s perception is explained this way:
Think of a carpet. From above, the carpet looks perfect. It’s soft. It maybe has a beautiful design. It has a color that perfectly compliments the room. But from underneath the carpet, it looks awful. We see stray pieces of thread. We see the plastic underlining. We see the dried paste and nail holes. That’s what life is like sometimes. We are on the underside of the carpet right now. That’s how we view life in this moment. We see the stray threads and the framework, but we don’t see the carpet as it is meant to be seen. We see the ugly things life has thrown at us and it frustrates us. It’s hard for us to imagine what’s on the other side of the carpet, if in fact there is even another side.
But, God is on the other side of the carpet. God sees the carpet as it should be seen. While we are here, on this side, we don’t understand why things happen the way they do. And we trust in the fact that one day, we will cross over to the other side—to God’s side. And when we do, it will all—somehow—make sense. It will all be the way it should be.
Florence is now looking at her life—and ours—from that other side. She is now looking at it all from God’s perspective. And that’s what she would want us to cling to as we go on from here.
As we talked about this service, she made it very clear that this service should not be gloomy or depressing, but rather a true celebration of her life. She would not want us to despair over her death. Because Florence knew that, although we can’t fully understand things now, we will one day. And that when we do, it will be beautiful.
So, today, although we might be tempted to despair, we really cannot. When looking at these last few days from Florence’s perspective, this has been one great and glorious day without end for her She has been relieved of all her pain and her sufferings. The weariness and the strain she carried with her has been lifted from her. And she has now become fully and completely herself.
Yes, we are sad for this temporary separation. But we are not despairing. Because we know that will all be well.
It will all be well.
And today, although we are reeling from the slap of Florence’s death, we are also doing what she did when slapped by life. We are singing God’s praises. We are singing her hymns and we are even singing in our readings today. In our Psalm for today we find everything we need to know about what Florence held in her heart before God. Oftentimes, I would read this Psalm to her before we shared Holy Communion. This psalm, Psalm 100, is traditionally called in the Book of Common Prayer the Jubilate Deo. In and it, we find everything Florence held dear and important to her.
O be joyful in the Lord, all you lands*
serve the Lord in gladness, and come before his presence with a song.
See, even in the face of everything,—even when we’ve been slapped, we can sing God’s praises. Even in those moments, when life on this underside of the carpet throws ugly things we don’t understand at us, we can still sing and cling to hope. Even then, we too can sing, just s Florence is right at this moment, in that place she longed for:
“For the Lord is good, his mercy is everlasting*
and his faithfulness endures from generation to generation.”
Florence Anderson
(December 15, 1922-September 12, 2010)
Gethsemane Cathedral
September 16, 2010
Psalm 100
+ First of all, I am very grateful for the opportunity to here this morning and to be a part of this service for Florence. As some of you know, my father passed away on Tuesday morning, very suddenly and unexpectedly in his sleep. I had many people say to me that I shouldn’t do this service. But I needed to do this service.
I have known and, more importantly, cared very deeply for Florence for many years. I was her priest, yes, but I felt I was more than just her priest. I truly felt as though I was one of Florence’s grandchildren. And I think Florence thought of me in that way also. And in the days following her death and before my own father’s death, I found myself reeling over the fact that she was gone. It was a terribly painful experience for me.
But I am grateful this morning. I am grateful for having known Florence and for the relationship with we had together.
I visited Florence for the first time on July 21, 2003. (I actually looked it up the other night in one of my appointment books from that time). She was still living in her condo at the time and I went over to bring her Holy Communion because her daughter Sharon asked me if I would. At first, Florence was a bit stand-offish with me. I was about to be ordained a deacon, and it was a whole year before I was even ordained a priest. She didn’t know me too well and I didn’t know her too well. But, my natural charm obviously won her over, and over the next few months I continued to visit her on and off.
We only really bonded after she fell and broke her hip early the next year. She went to stay at ManorCare and, while, there, she received some not-so-wonderful care. At one point I had to reprimand a nurse (after I was rudely reprimanded) after Florence has been pretty much forgotten about. Florence told me that she often laid there on her bed looking at the Pepsi machine outside her window wondering when she was going to die. She bounced back from that, and over the next several years, she and I went through various ups and downs in both of our lives.
Those down times—those set-backs in her life and mine—really bonded us. Many, many times over the years, I would say to her, “Well, considering everything we’ve been through in the past, this really isn’t all that bad, is it?”
When Florence died on Sunday morning, I could repeat that phrase to her again. It was not a bad death by any means. It was a quiet, peaceful death—one that perfectly suited the person Florence was.
Now, Florence would not want me to get up here and say sweet, wonderful, fluffy things about her. If she were here this morning—and I do think she is here, this morning—she would poo-poo me in that Florence kind of way and quickly put me in my place. Still, I despite the fact that it might sound fluffy and overly sweet, I do have to say this: Florence was a genuinely good person. She was a good person who has experienced some hard times in her life. We often talked about the fact that her life was never easy. Whether she was sharing stories from her childhood or through the years of adulthood and even these last several years, Florence knew what hard times were. That was something Florence and shared in common and our experience of hardships certainly bonded us in ways that are hard to articulate.
I often shared with her one of my favorite stories and it was one she could truly relate to. It’s an old Jewish tale about King Nebuchadnezzar—the great Babylonian king we meet in the Book of Daniel. The story goes like this:
The King one day was dressed in his finest apparel and was out walking in his garden singing praises to God. As he was doing so, an angel appeared to the King. The King at first was amazed. What a beautiful angel! And he was so thankful to God that he was able to see one. But then, the angel, without a word, slapped him hard across the face. The King was shocked and confused. He turned to the angel and asked: “Why, O angel, did you slap me across the face just when I was singing beautiful praises to God?”
The angel answered, “Of course you can sing praises dressed in your finest clothes, with a crown on your head, but try praising God after you’ve been slapped across the face by an angel.”
When I finished this story, I saw that little smile on Florence’s face. We all know the one. And you knew that she understood what this story was and what it meant to her. Because, let’s face it, she knew a few things about the “slaps” life can give out. And the great thing is that, even despite these slaps, she was still able to sing God’s praises.
I think we saw that most clearly on Saturday night, when Deacon Jim from Rosewood led the gathered family in singing Florence’s favorite hymns. Despite the setbacks of life, there was a resiliency in Florence. She, unlike the king in the story, was not shocked or overwhelmed or despairing over the slaps she received in this life. Yes, she was sad. Yes, she would rather not have gone through what she did. But at no point did she ever stop praising God through this time. Even slapped, she was still able to sing praises to God. And let me tell you: I know. I was with her and I saw, for myself, that even through the hard times, she clung strongly and firmly to her faith despite everything that happened to her.
Every time I came to visit her, she always received Communion. That service of Holy Communion was essential to her and her understanding of how God worked in her life. She truly did see that Communion as a foretaste of what awaited her beyond this world. And I can tell you with all honesty that there was no doubt in her mind that something wonderful and glorious awaited her there. And she was content and accepting of what awaited her.
On Sunday morning, September 12, she went to be in that place.
In one of the last conversations I had with her, I told her, “God really is with you, Florence.” And she nodded and there was a brightness in her eyes that made clear she truly believed that. God was with her and God is with her now.
Some of us might ask, however, why did Florence have to receive these “slaps in her life? Why did she have to experience so much hardship. I don’t think there any easy answers to any of the hardships we experience in this life. But, some images do help.
I teach at the University of Mary in Fargo. One of the courses I teach is called Suffering and Christian Healing. In one of the books that are required for the course, our perception versus God’s perception is explained this way:
Think of a carpet. From above, the carpet looks perfect. It’s soft. It maybe has a beautiful design. It has a color that perfectly compliments the room. But from underneath the carpet, it looks awful. We see stray pieces of thread. We see the plastic underlining. We see the dried paste and nail holes. That’s what life is like sometimes. We are on the underside of the carpet right now. That’s how we view life in this moment. We see the stray threads and the framework, but we don’t see the carpet as it is meant to be seen. We see the ugly things life has thrown at us and it frustrates us. It’s hard for us to imagine what’s on the other side of the carpet, if in fact there is even another side.
But, God is on the other side of the carpet. God sees the carpet as it should be seen. While we are here, on this side, we don’t understand why things happen the way they do. And we trust in the fact that one day, we will cross over to the other side—to God’s side. And when we do, it will all—somehow—make sense. It will all be the way it should be.
Florence is now looking at her life—and ours—from that other side. She is now looking at it all from God’s perspective. And that’s what she would want us to cling to as we go on from here.
As we talked about this service, she made it very clear that this service should not be gloomy or depressing, but rather a true celebration of her life. She would not want us to despair over her death. Because Florence knew that, although we can’t fully understand things now, we will one day. And that when we do, it will be beautiful.
So, today, although we might be tempted to despair, we really cannot. When looking at these last few days from Florence’s perspective, this has been one great and glorious day without end for her She has been relieved of all her pain and her sufferings. The weariness and the strain she carried with her has been lifted from her. And she has now become fully and completely herself.
Yes, we are sad for this temporary separation. But we are not despairing. Because we know that will all be well.
It will all be well.
And today, although we are reeling from the slap of Florence’s death, we are also doing what she did when slapped by life. We are singing God’s praises. We are singing her hymns and we are even singing in our readings today. In our Psalm for today we find everything we need to know about what Florence held in her heart before God. Oftentimes, I would read this Psalm to her before we shared Holy Communion. This psalm, Psalm 100, is traditionally called in the Book of Common Prayer the Jubilate Deo. In and it, we find everything Florence held dear and important to her.
O be joyful in the Lord, all you lands*
serve the Lord in gladness, and come before his presence with a song.
See, even in the face of everything,—even when we’ve been slapped, we can sing God’s praises. Even in those moments, when life on this underside of the carpet throws ugly things we don’t understand at us, we can still sing and cling to hope. Even then, we too can sing, just s Florence is right at this moment, in that place she longed for:
“For the Lord is good, his mercy is everlasting*
and his faithfulness endures from generation to generation.”
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