The Requiem Eucharist for M. Lavonne Marubbio

 St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church

Fargo, North Dakota

October 21, 2024

+ As sad as I am today, as difficult as it is to gather here this morning to say goodbye to Vonnie Marubbio, I will also say that I am very grateful as well this morning.

I am very grateful for Lavonne.

I am grateful for her life.

I am grateful for her wonderful presence in this world, in this community, I n this church.

And I am very grateful for her presence in my life.

And I’m sure most of here today are feeling very much the same way.

We are all grateful for all that Lavonne was for us.

Her presence in our lives made a difference.

We are all better people today for having known Lavonne.

As you might know, I knew Lavonne for many years.

She was a very important person in the life of St. Stephen’s.

She was, in addition to being a long-time devoted and committed parishioner here, also a very dear personal friend.

I was very honored to be her priest.

And even more honored to be her friend.

And in the years we knew each other, we got to know each other well.

We shared many of the same interests.

We were both passionate about books and poetry and art.

And we both had a deep love for the East, for Japan and China.

We had fascinating conversations on Buddhism in particular, and we both firmly believed that Buddhism actually was more of a philosophy than a religion.

She always appreciated and understood when I said that Buddhism made me a better Christian.

Not a lot of people—certainly not a lot of Christians—understood that.

But Vonnie definitely understood that and appreciated that and engaged me in that conversation.

Because her friendship was important to me and her presence here at St. Stephen’s, her final illness was a blow to  all of us.

I took it particularly hard.

And when I came to anoint her and pray with her that last time, we talked about many things, just like we did in the past.

We talked about her views about what happens after we die.

We talked about rebirth and renewal.

We talked about God and her rock-solid faith

We talked about her past.

We talked about current events, especially the current election.

And she talked about St. Stephen’s, and how important it was to her.

She shared with me her desire to have her ashes buried in our memorial garden, and we went over this service we are celebrating today.

As I was leaving her room, she said to me, “Tell everyone that I will be back at St. Stephen’s soon.”

I paused and looked back at her confused.

She just winked and smiled.

And I realize what she was saying.

Well, Vonnie is back at St. Stephen’s, a place that was important to her and her relationship with God.

And I am grateful that she is here again.

And I can say, this morning, that, like everyone here,  I will miss Vonnie dearly.

I will miss her presence at St. Stephen’s.

I will miss the strength and kindness and fortitude she carried with her.

I will miss her strength and gentleness and her warm presence.

And I will miss her wonderful grace.

I had had enough discussions with Lavonne over the years that I knew she had deep faith in where she was going—and that she would, in the end, be all right.

She knew she would be taken care of by the God whom she loved and in  whom she believed so firmly.

She knew there was a place awaiting her, where she would not suffer any more pain.

And we too can rejoice, this morning, in the fact that she is there in that place at this moment.

Still, that doesn’t make it any easier for those of us who are left behind left behind.

But we can take consolation in the faith that gave strength to Vonnie in her own life.

A faith that she would want all of us to cling to as we go on from here.

A faith that it all does, somehow, work out in the end.

 And it all really is beautiful and good.

 Today we are saying goodbye to Lavonne.

But it is only a temporary goodbye.

It is a goodbye until we were together in some way on the other side of the thin veil that separates us from those who have gone before us.

She had a deep faith in her God, who was with her and remained with her until the end.

And because of her deep faith in God and in what awaited her following this life, she would not want us to despair today.

 Because Vonnie 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 give into our sadness, we really cannot.

 She has been relieved of her pain and suffering.

 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 it will all be well.

 It will all be well.

 Today, all the good things that Lavonne Marubbio was to us—this wife and mother and grandmother, this friend and advocate and champion for justice, this woman of amazing strength and character, of amazing integrity and grace—this lover of animals and justice and books and art, this loving, caring person—all of that is not lost.

It is not gone.

Death has not swallowed that up.

Rather all of that is alive and dwells now in Light inaccessible.

All of that dwells in a place of peace and joy, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting.

In a place in which, there never again will be any more tears.

Except, maybe, tears of joy.

And for us who are left, we know that that place awaits us as well.

That place of light and joy awaits each of us as well.

And we to will have the opportunity to dwell there.

I will miss Lavonne.

We will all miss her and will feel her loss for a long time to come.

But, on this day in which we bid her this temporary goodbye, let us also be thankful.

Let us be thankful for this woman whom God has been gracious to let us know and to love.

Let us be thankful for all she was to us—this strong, caring and loving presence in our lives.

Let us be thankful that even in those moments, when life throws ugly things we don’t understand at us, we can still cling to hope and know that we will not, in the end, be defeated.

 And, most of all,  let us be grateful for all that love and the care Vonnie has given us in our own lives.

Before I close I am going to share a poem.

Vonnie loved good books and good poetry.

And there was a poem that I remember we once discussed because I mentioned it in a sermon many years ago.

 It was a poem by the Vietnamese Zen master and peace activist, Thich Nhat Hanh.

It was a poem that resonated with her.

And it is a poem that speaks loudly to us today, as we remember and give thanks for all that Vonnie to us.

The poem is called  Samsara

Samsara is, in Eastern thought, the cycle of death and rebirth.

 “Samsara”

If I am not to be flung into chaos,

If I am not to be scattered

in the whirlpool of grief,

if my days are to continue to count,

you must know something:

I have not become nothing. 

 

Things are forever forming

and reforming,

taking on new incarnations,

but it is not possible for a thing

to turn into no thing.

 

Nothing is contained within everything,

every atom, every star, every cell.

Everything is contained within nothing.

 

This is not a matter of belief.

This is science, a matter of matter.

This is the story of life on earth.

 

My body was never all of me.

Part of me has always been free,

composed of wide oceans

and many galaxies.

And we were always changing,

you and me.

 

So now, smile to me, sing to me,

call me by my name, in our old easy way.

My death, like my birth,

was only an opening, allowing

a slip of my immensity through.

 

Wherever you go, now, let me be there,

present forever in you.

 ----------------------------

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Vonnie.

At your coming may the martyrs receive you, and bring you into that holy city Jerusalem.

Amen.