Shimmering Gifts

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 4, 2025

The Funeral of Katharine “Kitty” Washburne

Micah 4:3

Psalm 23

1 John 4:7-21

Luke 10:25-37

Shimmering Gifts

Over the past couple of weeks, it has been very moving to talk with many St. Thomas’ parishioners whose lives were touched by Kitty in myriad ways: friend, teacher, inspiration, role model.

And it is very moving to see so many of you here this morning, gathering to support Kitty’s beloved family, to console one another, and to give thanks to God for this extraordinary person.

I am not at all surprised by the outpouring of grief and love – I’m not surprised, in part, because one day last summer, Kitty and I took a little road trip.

I picked up Kitty at her house, and we drove over to Blakehurst to visit her dear friend and former teaching colleague, Cynthia Murray.

I will always be grateful for that trip to and from Blakehurst. Over those 50 minutes or so, we talked about all sorts of subjects, covered a lot of ground – but that’s what most conversations with Kitty were like, right?

So, anyway, we arrived at Blakehurst and went to Cynthia’s apartment, but she wasn’t there. 

One of the aides told us that she was out of the building but would be back “later.”

So, what to do?

Well, since we were already at Blakehurst, we decided to try to see one of the other many people that Kitty knew there: Mary Ann Cover.

And we ended up having a very nice visit with Mary Ann and, eventually, Cynthia, which I’ll come back to in a minute.

      But there are a couple of other things I will always remember from that afternoon:

      Kitty and I were making our way all over Blakehurst, which was under construction then, and we got detoured and turned around a couple of times. And I’m sure many of you know those long hallways at Blakehurst. Well, after a while it started feeling a little like a march and I got worried about Kitty. So, at one point I turned to her, walking beside me at a good clip, holding her cane but really just as an accessory, I turned to her and asked if she was doing OK.

      Well, as I remember it, she said she was just fine and she gave me a look of, “Why would you even ask me that?”

      Her energy. To the end, her energy was just extraordinary.

      But here’s the most important thing: as we were making our way around Blakehurst, we kept running into people who knew Kitty – people who not only knew her but were overjoyed to see her.

Again and again, eyes and mouths would open wide and people would cry, “Kitty Washburne!”

It was like accompanying a celebrity as she was meeting her fans.

I’ve thought a lot about that memorable afternoon at Blakehurst and reflected on why people were so happy to see her. Part of it was simply surprise and shared history, I know, but it was much more than that, too.

For today’s gospel lesson, we heard one of Jesus’ best-known parables: the Good Samaritan.

There’s a lot going on in this parable – this story that illustrates what it means to be a neighbor.

The two official religious people in the story, the priest and the Levite, they are not good neighbors. They see the injured man by the side of the road, but maybe because they were frightened that there might still be bandits in the area, waiting to get them next – or maybe because they suspected that the injured man was a decoy luring them into a trap – or maybe – and this is what I think - maybe because they just didn’t want to get involved, couldn’t be bothered, they had places to be – for whatever reason, the priest and the Levite pass by on the other side and go on their way.

But the Samaritan stops and helps, and really goes above and beyond, doesn’t he?

And here’s the thing: the Samaritan didn’t see the injured man as a problem or a danger or an obstacle or an irritant – he saw the injured man as a human being – an individual person who needed help. 

      So, the merciful Samaritan helped him.

      That’s God’s way.

And that was Kitty’s way, too.

Several times over the last few years, she called me up about someone she knew who needed help – and I mean someone she really knew – she had taken the time to get to know their story, to really know them and care about them and wanted to find a way to help them however she could.

Maybe some of you experienced her mercy.

It was Kitty’s genuine care for others that made her not only a wonderful mother and grandmother but also an incredibly devoted friend – she maintained so many friendships over all the years and was still open to, still curious about new people, even me, the last in her long line of ministers.

It was Kitty’s genuine care that sparked the response I witnessed at Blakehurst that day.

And, I have to say, Kitty was also formidable.

In one of our last conversations, she described herself as “ornery.”

Her word, not mine!

Well, she certainly had very high standards for herself and others, high standards, of conduct, honesty, justice, integrity.

So, back to that day at Blakehurst. We did finally visit with Cynthia Murray.

And during our conversation, Cynthia mentioned that Kitty had been a wonderful boss at Bryn Mawr. Kitty trusted Cynthia so much as a teacher and as a person that she never asked Cynthia for lesson plans or anything like that, simply trusting her to be the excellent kindergarten teacher that she was.

Many decades later, Kitty’s respect and trust still meant so much to Cynthia. 

      And how could it not?

Some of you know that not too long ago, Kitty wrote and published a childhood memoir called Gifts Shimmering in the Ripples.

In her book, Kitty shares stories of adventures with her uncle Ragie, adventures not in some far-off land but just down the road at Green Spring.

Ragie led her and the other children on expeditions to discover different kinds of plants and fish, right there around her home, and to learn some important life lessons.

And although Kitty lived most of her life right there, right here, she never lost that spirit of unquenchable curiosity, that spirit of adventure, the ability to uncover wonder right outside her door, to discover marvelous gifts in all sorts of people.

Right now, on the church calendar, we are in Lent – a solemn time of reflection, sacrifice, and repentance, a season that began two weeks ago today on Ash Wednesday.

And I find it particularly meaningful that Kitty died on Ash Wednesday night.

No more Lent for Kitty.

For Kitty, it is already Easter.

It is Easter forever.

Kitty has returned to the God who is Love.

      And the “Alleluias” are ringing out, and across the fields the daffodils are blooming, and the fragrance of lavender is in the air.

And Kitty has been reunited with Tom, and Ragie, and so many others who have gone before.

And new adventures, new unimaginable wonders, await.

For us, it’s still very much Lent.

But Kitty has given us her love and her example.

      Kitty has left us with so many shimmering gifts – gifts that will continue to bless us and guide us.

Amen.

Sharing Joy

The Church of the Redeemer, Baltimore MD

May 17, 2025

The Funeral of Kingsley Moore Mooney

Wisdom 3:1-5, 9

Psalm 23

Matthew 11:28-30

John 5:24-27

Sharing Joy

I want to begin by offering my condolences to all of you, to Kingsley’s family and her friends.

I know that so many people loved Kingsley, treasured her friendship, and are now still in shock and missing her dearly.

I also want to say thank you to the Rev. David Ware and to Bert Landman and everyone at Church of the Redeemer for their hospitality, kindness, and help.

This morning, it is good for us to be together here in this holy - and rather large - place.

A holy place large enough to welcome many of the people who are grieving, but nowhere near large enough to contain the love and support being showered upon Tom, the love and support being shared with this beautiful family.

Being at Redeemer, I’m also mindful that, it was next door in the chapel where Tom and Kingsley made some big promises to each other, nearly 35 years ago.

It was here, that they promised to have and to hold each other, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in heath, to love and cherish each other, forever.

And Tom and Kingsley spent the rest of their lives together embodying those promises, fulfilling those promises, in good times and not so good.

I’m guessing that most of you have at least attended an Episcopal wedding service.

So, you may remember that near the start of the service, the officiant reads to everyone the purposes of marriage: Marriage is intended by God for “mutual joy, for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and, when it is God’s will, the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord.”

Beautiful, right?

        But I think we often overlook the very first item on that list, the very first purpose of marriage:

“Mutual joy.”

Mutual joy.

For married people, joy – sharing joy with one another – that’s our first and most important task.

And sharing joy is not only the job of married people.

        We are made for joy and so sharing joy with one another is a most important task for all of us.

Sharing joy.

And isn’t that exactly what Kingsley did throughout her life?

Sharing joy.

Joy, of course is much deeper, much richer, than just happiness, which sort of comes and goes.

Joy is contentment, confidence, and hope.

And joy requires effort, takes some hard work – like creating and offering beautiful holidays with family and friends, year after year, with a menu filled with all the dishes everyone has come to love and expect.

Joy requires effort, hard work – like giving countless hours, and deep commitment, and wise expertise to so many worthy causes, very much including our own preschool up at St. Thomas’.

Joy requires effort, hard work – like all those hours out in the garden, creating something beautiful for so many to enjoy, sharing the glory and hope of new and abundant life.

Joy requires effort, hard work – like raising a family built on the unshakeable foundations of love and trust and being a loyal and faithful friend to so many.

Sharing joy was a most important task for Kingsley, hard work that she made look so easy, hard work that she did so well for so many.

Sharing joy.

And now, Kingsley’s earthly journey of joy has come to an end.

And although her family and her many friends are still shocked and heartbroken, just beginning to figure out life without her, we trust that she has arrived at the perfect garden and the most abundant feast, experiencing joy forever with the God who dreamed her up in the first place and loved and sustained her throughout her life.

God will never let go of Kingsley.

And God will never let go of any of us, no matter what.

But for us, our journey continues.

So, maybe today, here in this holy place, we can make our own promise.

        Following Kingsley’s example, maybe we can vow, each in our own way, to share joy, to share joy with family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, and strangers.

        Maybe we can promise to share joy, every day.

        Amen.

The Undiscovered Country

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

June 1, 2024

The Funeral of Robert John Baker

Isaiah 25:6-9

Psalm 23

1 John 3:1-2

John 14:1-6a

The Undiscovered Country

First, on behalf of all of us at St. Thomas’, I want to offer my condolences on the death of Robert.

        We are honored to provide this sacred space for his funeral.

        And we pledge to continue to be here for you, to offer whatever support we can, whenever you might need us.

        The passage that I just read from the Gospel of John is one that we often hear at funerals.

        The setting is the Last Supper.

        Jesus has gathered with his friends for one final meal.

        For some time, Jesus had been predicting his suffering and death, and his resurrection on the third day.

        Jesus had been trying to prepare his friends for what was coming, but they just wouldn’t hear him, just couldn’t accept that their friend and Lord was going to suffer and die.

        And they definitely couldn’t look ahead to new life, new life which must have seemed simply unimaginable.

        It’s hard, so very hard, to accept that someone we love is going to suffer and die.

        We all know that feeling.

        But in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, gathered around the table, the disciples began to face the hard truth. 

        And with time running out, Jesus the Great Teacher tries to get across some final, most important lessons.

        He blesses the bread and the wine and shares them with his friends, promising that he will continue to be present each time we gather around the table, every time we remember him.

        Jesus gets up from the table and begins to wash the feet of his friends.

        Shocking. That’s the work of a servant.

        Peter is so shocked that he objects, he simply refuses the idea of Jesus washing his feet.

        But Jesus tells Peter that this is how it must be for people who want to follow Jesus.

        We must love one another.

        We must serve one another.

        And so, Peter and the others get their feet washed by the Son of God.

        And, finally, as we heard today, Jesus promises that someday we will all be reunited. And not only that, but Jesus insists that we know the way to the place of reunion.

        It’s only Thomas who’s brave enough or honest enough to admit that he has no idea what Jesus is talking about.

        Thomas says, “Lord, we do not know the way to the place where you are going. How can we know the way?”

        To which Jesus responds, “I am the way.”

        To be honest, I doubt that cleared things up very much but, eventually, eventually, the disciples got it, they remembered the bread and the wine and the washing of feet and the commands to love and forgive one another.

        They began to follow the way of Jesus and began sharing the way with others.

        In fact, some early Christians were described as People of the Way.

        I wish we had never lost that name because being a person of “the Way” isn’t so much about believing all the right things, like checking items off a list.

        No, “the Way” is all about the journey – and like every journey – like every life - there are dangers and joys, missteps and triumphs.

        Knowing that I had never met Robert, Polly loaned me a copy of her dad’s autobiography: The Unlikely Diplomat: Traveler Tales.

        Fascinating stuff.

        As most of you probably know, in his book, Robert looks back on his “way” – reviews his life – his often exciting, sometimes frustrating, sometimes dangerous, sometimes bizarre and sometimes amusing experiences around the world, in service to our country.

        Reading story after story, I was transported back to the Cold War, a dangerous time, for sure, but also a time that, considering the threats and suffering of today, now seems almost quaint, kind of innocent.

        However, for me, the most fascinating and moving part of Robert’s life story was the early years.

        Robert notes that in the late 1800s his Polish grandmother came from Poland to Baltimore on a Hamburg-American Line ship. And in 1978, her grandson was appointed the US cultural attaché in Berlin.

        That’s an almost unimaginable leap in just two generations.

        As Robert writes, it was “quite an American family ride.”

        And that leap, Robert’s “way,” was only possible because his grandparents and parents worked so hard under often grueling conditions, sacrificing their own lives, really, for the future, for his future – for the future of a bookish kid – the future of a brainy boy. 

        That’s what love looks like.

        A kind of footwashing, really.

        And Robert’s leap, Robert’s way, was only possible because of his own talent and hard work, and because others were willing to mentor and encourage him.

        I think especially of Fr. Gibbons at Loyola College who set the course of Robert’s professional life, really, encouraging him to apply to the Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies.

        (How amazing that Robert was the first Loyola grad to be admitted!)

        Fr. Gibbons encouraged him to think big, to be bold, to explore the world beyond Baltimore, and to use his talents in service to others.

        And that’s just what Robert did during his long and adventurous life in so many countries around the world.

        And now, Robert has made one last journey, traveling to what Shakespeare called “the undiscovered country.”

        Robert has arrived at the place of reunion, the place of peace, the place that the Prophet Isaiah imagined as a big mountaintop party with the best food and drink on the menu, forever and ever.

        For us, however, the journey continues.

        Fortunately, we know the way.

        It’s the way that Robert learned from some hardworking people.

        It’s the way of love and service.

        Amen.

Our Time and God's Time

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 11, 2014

The Funeral of James Hauff

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Psalm 23

John 14:1-6a

Our Time and God’s Time

On behalf of all of us here at St. Thomas’, I want to begin by offering my condolences to Manigeh and to all of you, Jim’s family and friends.

Please know that we are always here for you, ready to offer any support that we can.

I also want to say that it is a privilege to be here today and to offer a few words.

I didn’t know Jim, but I feel like I’ve gotten to know him, thanks to conversations with Manigeh and with Barb.

And to be frank, hearing about this remarkably kind and talented man has made me feel, well, shortchanged.

I wish that we had had the opportunity – had the time – to meet and get to know each other.

So, this morning, I’d like to talk a little bit about time.

The first passage of scripture that we heard this morning, from the Book of Ecclesiastes, is all about time, right?

“A time to be born, and a time to die.”

“A time to weep and a time to laugh.”

“A time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

The author of Ecclesiastes is trying to make two points.

One is that God determines time and timing.

But the other is that we have some say in time and timing, too.

We don’t have any control over when we are born but we do have plenty of opportunities to shape how we use the time we’ve been given.

So, perhaps, God chose the time for Jim and Manigeh to meet at CareFirst, way back in 1985.

But it was up to Jim and Manigeh on how to use this opportunity.

One day in the copy room (I love this story!) it was up to Jim to work up the courage to ask Manigeh out on a date and it was up to Manigeh to decide on her response, to take a chance, or not.

        “A time to love.”

        “A time to embrace.”

        Or not.

        Everything I’ve learned about Jim tells me that he was someone who placed a great value on time – punctuality, yes, but more than that, using time wisely.

        I’m sure the ticking threat of disease focused his attention, driving him to make the most of his time.

        And that’s exactly what he did, right?

        Building a beautiful life with Manigeh, relishing as much art as he could, and, of course, giving himself so generously to so many good works, including his many hours of volunteering here at St. Thomas’.

        Jim knew that time is not a renewable resource, so he used his time as wisely as he could, carefully and selflessly.

        The kind of time I’ve been talking about is called Chronos - chronological time, the one thing after another kind of time that shapes our calendars and much of our lives.

        But there is another kind of time called Kairos – that’s God’s time – it’s the kind of time in which past, present, and future lose their distinction.

        We get little tastes of Kairos every now and then.

        Maybe it’s when we ponder a beautiful painting or listen to gorgeous music.

        Maybe it’s when we gaze into the eyes of the one we love or feel the warmth of an embrace. 

        Maybe it’s in those moments when it feels like Jim is right here, right there, in the corner of our eye, just beyond our vision.

        We ‘re experiencing Kairos right now, here in this holy place, mysteriously united with all those who have gone before, whose feet have worn down the threshold you crossed when you entered this room, united with those who have bathed these old walls with prayers. 

        And somehow, here, we are united even with those who are yet to come.

        For now, we just get little tastes of Kairos, of God’s time.

        But our brother Jim has stepped into God’s time, forever.

        We’ll get there, too, someday.

        But for now, may we follow Jim’s example and use our time wisely, here and now, offering love and service.

        Amen.

Easter For Sandy

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 20, 2023

The Funeral of Alexander “Sandy” Martin

John 14:1-6a

Easter For Sandy

Looking out at the church just before I read the gospel lesson, I thought, “This looks just like Easter!”

And that’s what today is: Easter for Sandy.

The setting of the Bible passage that I read is the Last Supper.

Jesus has gathered with his closest friends for one, final meal.

Jesus had been predicting his death for some time but his friends could not – or would not – accept that someone they loved so much was going to die.

We know only too well what that’s like.

But at the table one last time, the hard truth was beginning to sink in.

And so, with time running out, Jesus teaches his friends a few most important lessons.

He gets up from the table and washes their feet, shocking them, teaching them that this is how we are to love one another, by serving each other.

Jesus blesses the bread and wine and says that this is his body and blood and that he will be with us each time we are at the table and we remember him.

And, finally, as we heard today, Jesus tries to reassure his friends that he is going on ahead to prepare a place for them – a place for us – where we will all someday be reunited.

And, not only that, Jesus says we know the way to the place where he is going.

It’s only our friend St. Thomas who is honest enough, bold enough, to admit, “Lord, we do not know the way to the place where you are going.”

And then Thomas asks, “How can we know the way?”

And Jesus gives the answer, “I am the way.”

For us, Jesus is the way – and the way of Jesus is giving away our lives in love and service.

Jesus is the way but the way of Jesus is not a one-size-fits-all way.

Just like all the saints of God in the charming hymn that we sang today – each of us has to discover our own unique way along the way.

That’s the challenge and adventure of faith and life.

As we’ve heard so powerfully in today’s beautiful remembrances, our beloved brother Sandy walked the way of Jesus by being an amazingly loving husband, father, and grandfather.

And Sandy walked the way of Jesus by being a loyal and faithful friend.

I’m sorry that I knew Sandy for much less time than probably all of you, but he touched my life, too.

Sandy and Beaumont were two of the first St. Thomas’ people that my wife Sue and I met, even before we moved here.

Beaumont and Glen Cole were a two-person transition team, given the job to get us ready for our move to Maryland.

One time, we were having a Zoom meeting when suddenly Sandy leaned into the picture, beside Beaumont. He said,

“Hey, Tom! Do you play golf?”

I said, “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” 

And immediately I thought, oh geez, I haven’t even gotten there yet and I’ve already disappointed this guy.

But, as you all know, Sandy was an excellent reader of people and he had a very quick wit.

And so without missing a beat, he said to me, “Good! You’re lucky. Golf’s an expensive hobby. You’re saving a lot of money!’

I immediately felt better.

And I also learned a lot about Sandy in that moment: his sensitivity, his kindness, and his sense of humor. 

Later, Sandy and Beaumont gave us a memorable tour of the neighborhood, driving us out into the country, pointing out where Sandy had grown up, taking pride in all the natural beauty, and, I think also having some fun with two city people who were a little stunned by a place that seemed to have way more horses than people.

Sandy and Beaumont embraced us as new friends – what a great gift.

Later, there were a couple of times when Sandy and I had some pretty serious conversations about faith – it’s safe to say that, probably like all of us, he had some questions to ask God about why things are the way they are.

The last time I saw Sandy – a couple of weeks ago - he was not feeling well at all.

But even then, he was still very much himself – asking me how I was doing, how things were going at the church, how was the fundraising going?

And, for him, the hardest part of all of this – much harder than illness itself – was the idea of leaving behind his beloved family – his family, which was truly the greatest gift he ever gave - the greatest gift he ever received.

That was how Sandy walked the way of Jesus.

And now, Sandy’s beautiful journey along the way has come to an end.

He has slipped into the safe and secure arms of the God who dreamed him up in the first place, shared him with all of us, and loved and supported him throughout his life.

But, for us, the journey continues until we are reunited.

Fortunately, thanks to Jesus, and thanks to Sandy, we know the way.

Amen.

God's Heartbreak

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 18, 2023

The Funeral of River’lynn Cartagena

Romans 8:31-39

Psalm 23

Mark 10:13-16

God’s Heartbreak

This has been – and will continue to be - such a tender time for all of you.

It’s a time to mourn the death of River’lynn while also celebrating the arrival and survival of Summer’lynn.

And, now that we’ve met you all and you’ve given us the privilege of having River’lynn’s service here, we at St. Thomas’ now also share in your grief and also your joy.

And we are here for you, not only today, but, hopefully, long into the future, whenever you need us.

You know, when terrible things happen, it’s natural for us to ask, why? 

And that’s especially true for those of us who say we are people of faith, who believe in a loving and merciful God.

If God is loving and merciful, like we believe, then why does God permit such sorrow, such loss?

Whenever I reflect on this difficult question, I think of someone who was a pretty famous pastor some years ago.

His name was William Sloane Coffin and he led a large church in New York City called Riverside Church.

Well, one stormy night, Rev. Coffin’s 24 year-old son, Alex, drove off a bridge in Boston and drowned.

A horrible tragedy – an unspeakable loss.

Amazingly, only ten days after Alex’s death, Rev. Coffin stood up in front of his congregation and offered a eulogy for his son.

He recognized that some people were, naturally enough, wondering why God would allow something so awful to happen – and, not only that, some people even believed that God had somehow been behind Alex’s swerve off the bridge and his death.

Well, Rev. Coffin was having none of that.

He stood up in front of his congregation and said something that I’ve never forgotten since the first time I read it. He said:

“…when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

“God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

“God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

And God’s heart breaks not only for Alex and his family, but for all suffering people in a world where, unfortunately, things go wrong all the time.

At the first moment, before anyone knew what was happening to River’lynn, God’s heart broke.

And God’s heart continues to break for River’lynn and for Amanda and Edwin and for all of you, for all of us.

But, here’s the thing:

God’s heartbreak opened the just the right space in God’s heart for River’lynn – a perfectly safe space – a space with so much love – the space in God’s heart where River’lynn will spend all eternity loved and loving – the holy space where someday she and Summer’lynn and all of us will be reunited.

And, not only that, but God’s heartbreak releases so much love and grace for all of us.

And I know that these aren’t just words because I’ve met this family and I’ve seen your love with my own eyes.

God’s heartbreak releases so much love – love that is stronger than death, stronger than anything – love that you’re sharing with Summer’lynn and with each other.

God’s heartbreak releases so much grace - the grace to stick close to each other – to go on being the beautiful little village that you are – supporting, and caring for each other, now and always. 

When tragedy strikes – during a tender time like this - there are no easy answers and no magic words.

But, when things go wrong, the heart of our loving and merciful God really is the first of all our hearts to break.

And God’s heartbreak made room in God’s heart for River’lynn.

And God’s heartbreak gives us the love and grace we need as we continue on our journey, together.

Amen.

George's Way

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ

May 6, 2023

The Funeral of George Hayman

Isaiah 25:6-9

Revelation 7:9-17

John 14:1-6a

George’s Way

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

I want to start by thanking Mother Susan for graciously sharing her pulpit with me. Once again, your hospitality is much appreciated.

And I want to thank Lauren for inviting me to come back home, and share a few words with you today.

So, I began my homily with the Easter Acclamation, and I did that for two reasons.

First, I hoped it might settle my nervousness, at least a little.

And second, I love that George’s funeral is taking place during the Easter Season.

Every Christian funeral is an Easter celebration - there are always at least a few “Alleluias.” 

But it’s during the Eastertide that we most especially celebrate God’s love for us – God’s unbreakable bond of love with us – a bond that is stronger than anything – a bond that withstands even death itself.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Since we’re now well into the Easter Season, today’s gospel lesson may have sounded a little jarring – a little out of time - because it takes us all the way back to Holy Week, back to the Last Supper.

Jesus had been predicting his death for some time.

But, the disciples couldn’t or wouldn’t hear it.

We know how it is.

Even with plenty of advance warning, it’s hard to accept that someone we love is going to suffer and die.

But that night, when Jesus gathered with his friends for one last meal, the hard truth must have been sinking in.

With time running out, Jesus teaches the disciples - and us - a few last, most important lessons:

Jesus washes feet and says this is how it should be with us - wash each other’s feet - love one another.

Jesus blesses bread and wine and says this is my body and blood – and I will be with you each time you’re at the table and remember me.

Some most important and unforgettable lessons.

And, as we heard this morning, Jesus promises that we will be reunited – and Jesus even says that we know the way to the place of reunion.

It’s only Thomas who is brave enough, honest enough, to say, “Lord, we do not know the way to the place where you are going. How can we know the way?”

And, Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

I doubt that cleared things up very much, but a few days later, after the first Easter, when the disciples knew that death had in fact been defeated, they began to understand and proclaim that Jesus is the way to new life.

For us, Jesus is the way – and the way of Jesus is giving our selves away in loving service to God and one another.

Jesus is the way – but the way of Jesus is not a one-size-fits-all way.

No, we are all called and challenged to discover our own unique way along the way.

And, I think that you will all agree that our much-loved George – he definitely found his own unique way along the way – he walked his own way along the way – and we were all so blessed by George’s Way.

I began to discover George’s Way the very first time I met him.

Some of my Grace Church friends may remember that back when I was finishing seminary and the possibility of serving here as curate first came up, I wasn’t sure if this was the right place for me.

I had lived pretty much my whole life in Jersey City, and Madison seemed, I don’t know, pretty fancy and, well, very green, and I was afraid that I wouldn’t fit in with the people here, that we wouldn’t have much in common.

But, you know, I needed a job.

So, I came out here for a day of interviews – meeting with Lauren and several wonderful parishioners and staff members – and by the afternoon I was thinking these people are pretty great and this is an exciting place… but I still had those nagging doubts.

Near the end of the day, Lauren and I were wrapping up in her office – and then George arrived. I can’t remember if he knocked on the door or just walked in – probably just walked in.

Lauren introduced him as her husband George but he stuck out his hand and with a mischievous smile and said, “Mr. Lauren Ackland – glad to meet you!”

I didn’t know what was going on – it had been a long day!

But George started talking about his days working with the mission churches in Jersey City and, well, our friendship was off and running – and I knew that this would be a good place for me.

As he did for so many others, with his warmth and straightforwardness and his kind of – let’s say off-beat - sense of humor, George immediately put me at ease. 

And while “Mr. Lauren Ackland” was a long-running self-deprecating joke, it pointed to a deep and beautiful truth.

As you know, George was a smart and talented and interesting guy – a loving and loyal son, brother, uncle, and friend - a gifted writer and designer of bulletins and booklets – a lover of history – an accomplished golfer – a dedicated public servant - a lifelong singer and appreciator of music – a devoted Yankees fan (with a soft spot for the Baltimore Orioles) – but, at least in my experience, George’s Way was very much about supporting Lauren – loving her by supporting her ministry, authentically and generously.

And it seems that was true right from the start – I loved that George used to begin telling stories about General Seminary by saying, “When we were at seminary…”

At St. Alban’s and here at Grace, George threw himself into church life – the choir, the altar guild, attending just about every church event – plays and concerts featuring Grace kids - so many diocesan meetings, and conventions, and special services and on and on.

George was an important role model for all the clergy spouses who passed through Grace Church during those years, including my wife Sue. Not that they could or should imitate him exactly. But through his life and his ministry, he showed that clergy spouses could be supportive while also being themselves – because George was never anyone but himself.

As I’ve been thinking about our days together here at Grace, one particular image has been coming to mind.

Back then, the first service on Sunday was at 7:30am.

I’m a morning person and that always felt a little early to me!

George was most definitely not a morning person and yet whenever Lauren was preaching, he would come over from the rectory and take a seat up there in the choir loft where most of the 7:30 congregation couldn’t see him – but the preacher would know that he was there.

George was there to be fed by Lauren’s words and wisdom – he was there to support her, even at that early hour, even after having heard hundreds and hundreds of her sermons, even when he was going to hear that same sermon several more times that day.

That was George’s Way.

I’m very glad that in his final months, George was able to hear how much we loved and appreciated him.

Lauren, of course, was tireless in her love and devotion – that’s her way.

And, lots of other people got in touch and some of us were able to visit.

I’m happy to report that George held onto his sense of humor until just about the end.

The last time we were together, I was sitting at his bedside trying to keep it together while George was kind of drifting in and out, and then, at one point, he opened his eyes, looked over at me and asked, “Are you having fun, yet?”

In his last days, George heard music – music only he could hear. 

I think he was hearing the music from the mountaintop party envisioned by the Prophet Isaiah – the place of reunion prepared by Jesus - that grand celebration with the best food and drink – a party more joyous than we can imagine.

Here’s the thing, though, for George it would not be heaven without us - it wouldn’t be the best party ever without Lauren and his family and friends.

So, about that.

I’ve been told that there are two types of time.

Maybe you’ve heard this, too.

There’s chronological time – you know, one thing after another.

But there’s also God’s time – and in God’s time, past, present, and future, lose their distinction.

For now, you and I are in chronological time.

But, George, he has stepped into God’s time – he is already in the place of reunion.

And although we can’t quite fully see it or feel it yet, we are there with him, too.

Today, we’re getting just a taste of that heavenly banquet, crying and feasting and singing and laughing – giving thanks to God for our many blessings, giving thanks most of all, for George Hayman and for George’s Way.

Amen.

A Man of New Life

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 10, 2023

The Funeral of James Piper, III

Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33

Psalm 121

Revelation 7:9-17

John 14:1-6a

A Man of New Life

Today’s Gospel lesson might be a little jarring for us to hear on this day.

After all, just yesterday we Christians celebrated the great feast of Easter, the day that is all about new life.

But our Gospel lesson takes us back to Holy Week, back to the Last Supper, back to when Jesus and his friends gathered for one final meal.

Jesus had been predicting his death for some time, but you know how it is.

Even with a lot of warning, it’s hard to accept that someone we love is going to suffer and die.

Jesus tried to reassure his friends that he was going to prepare a place for them – and that they knew the way to that place of reunion.

I’m sure that none of the disciples understood what Jesus was talking about, but It’s only Thomas who’s bold enough to admit that, actually, Lord, we do not know the way.

To which Jesus responded, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

I’m sure that didn’t really clear things up, either.

But, a few days later, maybe the disciples began to understand.

Easter is all about new life.

And, I think you’ll agree, our beloved Jim Piper was all about new life, too.

Jim was an Easter guy - a man of new life.

I am deeply honored to have the opportunity to share a few words with you this morning.

But, to be honest, I also feel a little… shortchanged.

You see, I’ve only been here for a little less than two years and so I didn’t have the chance to know Jim for anywhere near as long as most, if not all, of you did.

But, even in that relatively short time, I came to admire and love Jim, just like all of you.

We met on my first Sunday here – when I met a lot of people for the first time, making my memories of that day kind of blurry.

But I remember Jim and Mimi walking up the path to greet me with warm smiles. Jim told me how long he had been a parishioner – his whole life – and how much St. Thomas’ meant to him.

But, while Jim was certainly proud of his heritage – and his heart was full of many fond memories – the truth is he was passionate about engaging with people right here and now – and, perhaps remarkably for a man of his years, he was excited about the future.

I remember early on in my time here, we invited parishioners to a Zoom meeting to talk about our church outreach efforts.

Jim and Mimi were there and Jim urged us to get involved with ReBUILD Metro and its remarkable work Baltimore City, renewing neighborhoods, house by house, block by block.

Jim was a man of new life.

Jim had seen a lot of priests come and go in this place and yet he genuinely cared about me and my work, and he wanted to help me be successful.

So, he did for me what he did for so many others – he connected me with people he thought I should know.

So one day he picked me up and drove me down to the city for a memorable lunch with his nephew, James. And after that lunch, he took me on a personal tour of the city, pointing out landmarks he thought I should know, giving me the lay of the land. 

At one point in our travels, road construction forced us to follow a detour.

After a couple of minutes of quiet, Jim turned to me with a big smile and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been on this street before!”

That was really saying something, I know.

The little adventure of it – the newness of it – pleased him.

Jim was a man of new life.

And that was true right to the end.

One time, I guess about a month ago, I visited him in the hospital. He’d been enduring ups and downs and I could tell he wasn’t feeling great. And yet, he still wanted to hear all the latest news from St. Thomas’.

“And what’s happening with outreach?” he asked. 

And sure enough, he brought up ReBUILD Metro, yet again.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve learned so much about Jim, about his life  and his legacy – the love that he shared with Mimi and with Jenepher, Loring, and Elizabeth, and with his whole family – his deep bonds of friendship with so many – his passion for music, a passion he shared right here as a member of our choir for many decades – his commitment to mentoring – his dedication to the Irvine Nature Center, and on and on.

Jim really was a man of new life.

I was struck by the fact that Jim died on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, the day before the start of Holy Week, that solemn time when we Christians remember Jesus’ suffering and death.

Somehow, it seemed appropriate that Jim would be excused from Holy Week – there would be no more suffering for him.

It seemed appropriate that Jim – this man of new life – would get to skip ahead to Easter – moving on to the place prepared for him by Jesus himself.

For Jim, it’s the best Easter ever – it’s Alleluia forever – it’s new life with God.

For us here today, the Easter flowers and the glorious music, and the presence of so many people who loved Jim, and the reception in a little while over at Irvine, all of that will hopefully comfort us, at least a little.

But we will surely miss Jim until that great day when we are reunited.

Long ago, the Apostle Thomas said to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know the way.”

But, actually, Thomas did know the way.

And we know the way, too.

With God’s help, the way is to be a person of faithfulness, kindness, humility, generosity – a person who plants seeds and delights in watching them grow.

The way is to love.

The way is to be a person of new life.

Jim Piper, he knew the way – and he sure did show us the way.

Amen.