Burial of Marilyn Lagrange

February 7, 2008

Matthew 17: 1-9; Luke 2: 22-49; Isaiah 25: 6-9; Philippians 4: 4-7; John 11: 21-27

The Rev. Thomas William Blake

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday: the day Christians specifically acknowledge our human mortality. Those attending services were marked on the forehead with ashes while hearing the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But those words don’t represent the core of the Christian faith.

Several weeks from now we will celebrate the Feast of the Resurrection: Pascha as it is known in the East, or Easter as we call it in the West. It doesn’t contradict the words of Ash Wednesday but builds on them. Yes we humans are mortal, and yes we will die—all of us—and if left to our own accord that would be the end.

Easter is our acknowledgement, though, that we are not left to our own accord. Easter is our celebration of a God who stubbornly insists on intervening to make his creation whole again, a God capable of defeating even the forces of death. And so the dismal words of Ash Wednesday are morphed into the hopeful words of Easter: “Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia.” Those words are the very core of Christian belief.

Ordinarily we would have to wait forty days, excluding Sundays, between Ash Wednesday and Easter, but today Marilyn has gifted us with an earlier celebration of Easter. The Burial Rite is an Easter liturgy, grounded not in despair but in hope. Marilyn, in her death, has given us an occasion for rejoicing in this otherwise solemn season. Now doesn’t that sound like something Marilyn would do?

Marilyn, throughout her life, modeled a faith so grounded in hope that no struggle could strip it away. Living with cancer and the often grueling treatments for it the last few years would have slowed many of us down—but not Marilyn. Until very recently she continued working in her chosen career, continued offering encouragement to her family as it dealt with its own crises, continued coming to church, continued displaying her characteristic smile.

Even to the very end, those who walked in her hospital room couldn’t forget that smile. In pictures on the wall she beamed while holding her newest grandchild born just a few weeks ago. Not long before that, I noticed her face aglow, and with a smile, even as she had fallen in her home the night before and then received news of her son-in-law Brad’s death.

She expressed to me that day that there were still two cancer treatments left for her, one of which she hoped would turn her situation around. None of us knew that day how quickly her condition would soon deteriorate, but we all knew that she was tough and would endure the pain more gracefully than many of us ever could. Her faith was as strong and her spirit as determined as ever. Among her last words, she said to her family: “we’ve got to overhall this whole situation.”

As her children Gabe and Katie noted to me the other day, those were words she probably used many times in her career. She accomplished so much in her life, especially considering her untimely death. She knew early on that she wanted to be a career-woman, but what’s more: she wanted to make it to the top, and she refused to be dissuaded even by the college professor who insisted that “studies in accounting were for men.” Little did he know at the time that one day she would go on to become a corporate vice-president.

But at the center of her life, what enabled her many accomplishments and sustained her through all her suffering, was her faith. Marilyn shared with me on several occasions how much she loved the liturgy and spirituality of the Episcopal Church; she loved being Episcopalian. But more importantly, she loved being a follower of Christ. There was a profound depth to her faith that was clear every time I encountered her. She witnessed what she believed.

She often attended our Wednesday evening service of healing and communion. The Wednesday service is a small, informal gathering; we sit in the choir stalls and in place of a traditional homily or sermon we have holy conversation; anyone may join in the conversation reflecting on the scriptural readings for that day. Marilyn was always one to speak at these services, and I for one was always moved by her insights and reflections.

But Marilyn didn’t have to say a word to be a witness to her faith. When her face was aglow that day in the hospital, I thought of the scriptural account of the Transfiguration. You probably know the account and members of Grace Church will recall I preached on it Sunday. Jesus and some of his disciples climb to the top of a mountain and while there something profound happens; suddenly there are bright lights and visions of Moses and Elijah, and Jesus’ appearance is transfigured and his face glows.

What’s most significant is that Transfiguration happens as Jesus and his disciples begin their journey to the cross. One of the disciples, Peter, wants to stay on top of the mountain and enjoy the experience for perpetuity. Jesus, on the other hand, is clear of their need to descend from the mountain and walk the difficult journey ahead. The mountaintop experience enabled them to proceed with hope, confident of God’s presence and love, even through suffering. And that’s precisely what Marilyn witnessed that day, her face aglow.

Someone else visited Marilyn’s room and, seeing the pictures on the wall of her holding her new grandchild—perhaps the last thing for which she will be remembered, thought of the story of the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple. The baby Jesus is presented at the temple forty days after his birth, as was expected of all first born sons. While at the Temple, the family encounters someone named Simeon who had lived a very full life.

Simeon had been holding on, though, because there was something else God was calling him to see—one more thing. When he saw Jesus, he had seen what he needed to see and said: “Lord, you now have set your servant free, to go in peace as you have promised; for my eyes have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see.” Perhaps similarly, Marilyn was holding on to see the one last thing she needed to see.

Neither of those accounts are among the readings we have heard for this service, but they get at exactly the same thing: in God we find hope: hope even for frail human beings with bodies made of dust. Isaiah sees the future: the kingdom of God in all its glory, and he paints the picture for us: “The Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. ⁷And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever. ⁸”

And Paul envisions God’s kingdom, too, in his Letter to the Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice…. The Lord is near. ⁶Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. ⁷And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

But maybe it is today’s gospel reading that best sums up the faith that Marilyn embraced. Martha’s brother has died, and Jesus says to her, “Your brother will rise again.” ²⁴Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” ²⁵Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, ²⁶and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” ²⁷She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe.”

Marilyn, too, lived and died saying those words, “Yes, Lord, I believe.” I can almost hear her saying them now. “I believe that God has risen victoriously over death. I believe that God turns chaos into creation and stills the raging storms. I believe that God’s kingdom is replacing the broken kingdoms of this world. I believe in the hope that comes from God. Yes, Lord, I believe.”

Amen.