This homily was preached on Wednesday, June 19 for the burial Eucharist of Irene G. The texts for this service were: Revelation 7:9-17, Psalm 71:1-6 and John 11:21-27.
My name is the Rev. Mia Kano, I’m the priest-in-charge here at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church. I had the honor of being Irene’s priest for the last two years of her life. Thanks to her devoted son, David, and her dear friend, Mary, I saw Irene twice a week, every week for a year - then once every week after that on Sundays. Now I’m a pretty new priest. I will always be grateful for the little ways Irene set about teaching me how to be a better priest. She is, even now, teaching each of us one last time.
You see, Irene was well-practiced in grief. You don’t get to be almost 87- you don’t love the way she loved - without knowing how to live with grief. Irene walked with some big griefs in her long, love-filled life, and she knew where to turn for reassurance and encouragement - to her God, her church, her friends and her family. Irene designed this funeral service herself - she picked all the readings and hymns. These were the songs she wanted you to hear and sing in your time of grief, these are the scripture passages she wanted you to hold on to.
I love that she chose this scene between Martha and Jesus. In it, we see one of Jesus’ close friends, Martha, come to him in grief - she’s angry and anguished that her brother is dead. “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died,” she accuses Jesus. This depiction of human grief is so real, so poignant. Grief can catch us up in moments of if only… or why did it have to be this way… It is so easy to get stuck on the last words we exchanged or the last few difficult health or care decisions we were forced to make - forgetting, in the process, all the decades of loving-kindness and all the years of devoted care that are really what shape and define a life.
Yet in the face of this very human grief, Jesus doesn’t contradict Martha. He doesn’t argue with her or mock her emotions - in fact, in just a few verses, he will weep alongside her and her sister. In this moment from this passage, though, Jesus simply refocuses Martha on the greater picture. He reminds her of the good news at the heart of our faith. “Your brother will rise again in the resurrection on the last day…those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” As I will pray for all of us shortly, “To your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended.”
This was the beautiful thing about walking with Irene in her last years. She knew the truths of our faith by heart. She didn’t need to be able to read the bulletin to pray the sacred words or sing her favorite hymns. She had lived them, week in and week out, for decades here at St. Mark’s and at Epiphany. This was a Christian who loved church. She was fond of telling me that she would spend every day at St. Mark’s, if we would let her.
And here is the effect of a lifetime of church and prayer: even in her most distressed states, even in anger, even when Irene was confused about where she was and why, you could remind her of the promises of her faith and the bedrock of God’s love - and she would remember. I’ll tell you, it’s an incredible experience as a priest to watch an offered prayer or holy anointing or consecrated host or simple church service make such a profound difference to someone who is hurting.
I believe she wanted to have you that same comfort and reassurance now, and in the days to come.
Everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Love, the greatest force in the universe, doesn’t end just because lungs have stopped inflating and a heart no longer beats. Love continues on. Irene’s love for you, your love for Irene, will continue on. Our memories of her will shape us just as surely as her physical presence. Her voice in our minds - even long after we’ve forgotten the exact sound of it - her voice will continue to caution us, encourage us, make us laugh.
In the last year of her life, Irene and I spoke a lot about her longing to be home. Sometimes it was about returning back to the house where she spent most of her life and where she raised her kids. But other times we spoke of the greater home waiting for her with her beloved late husband, Bill.
I believe she would want me to tell you now that she is home. She is home in all the ways that matter most - home with the love of her life, home with her savior. Safe, at peace, surrounded by love.
From the first day we met, Irene would tell me again and again that she was not afraid of death; she was only afraid of being alone. She will never be alone again.
David told me last week that Irene knew every word of every verse of Amazing Grace. She sang it with all of us recently in that pew right there. And in just a moment at the end of our service, Irene will ask us to sing it together again.
And this is what we will sing: I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see.
And this is what she sees: a great multitude that no one could count, all singing together, worshiping God. This is Irene’s vision of heaven - everyone all together at church, day and night. No hunger, no thirst, no pain. Only togetherness and comfort. Faith and love.
Amen.
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