For Margaret
Saturday, June 12th, 2004, 2PM
Jerusalem Baptist Church

One of the great benefits i have in my life is that my three college roommates are or have been in some form of ministry, and we still find ourselves bouncing things off each other and exchanging ideas, even today, just as we did in college. One of them, Jay, a United Methodist Minister in Nashville, wrote a couple of days ago in his online journal the following notes about what it means to be in ministry at a time like this. His thoughts put into words my own in facing you today.

"There is something sacred in our encounters with the dying, something life affirming in the midst of death. When I am home in the shower and that shiver runs up my spine as I ponder my own mortality, the unknown of death sometimes seems overwhelming. Yet, when I am sitting beside the bed of the one who is facing death, for some reason the fear leaves and there is recognition of God's presence.

Death puts everything else in perspective. It places us in relationship to one another as the power dynamics that so characterize our lives are torn down. On the surface it may not seem so, since one party is dependent on the other for such basic needs and hygiene and the quenching of thirst. Yet, the caregiver finds him or herself in a place as helpless as the dying. No matter what we do, the outcome is still the same. We work to alleviate suffering, while knowing that the ultimate power of restoration is not in our hands.

I continue to be amazed that this power of ordination, this being called to Pastor a congregation, leads others to invite me into their most sacred moments. How many times have I been a fly on the wall, being present for a family as a loved one dies only to know that I am receiving much more than the family? The ministry of presence is a powerful gift -- both for the other and for the one being present.

We watched yesterday as the funeral of Ronald Reagan progressed in all its glory. The National Cathedral was full of men in black suits and women in their finest attire, and a coffin draped with the flag of our nation. It was a national moment of recognition, a ritual in honor of a life.

Yet, the most sacred spaces are not filled with pomp and splendor. They are happening today in bedrooms, hospital rooms, and hospice residences throughout the world. The words aren't flowery. There are tears and blood and sweat intermixed. They aren't particularly pretty. But God is present in the midst of them, helping some into a new place of being, and comforting those left behind."

As Christians we are called to be ‘little Christs’. In that, each of us presents to the world our individual ‘take’, our individual flavoring of Jesus. Some of us are more like ourselves than like Jesus. Some, more and more like Christ.
I knew Margaret briefly while she was still relatively healthy, but for the most part, I have known her in her illness.

What I drew from the time we spent together was not only from her, but from hers and her family’s relationship. To watch Ritsy and Cindy time and time again carry her to the hospital late at night, to watch them trade off time spent with her and William, caring for both of them, and to watch as William tended to and stood watch over his companion of 53 years, spoke to me so strongly about what it means to be family, to be present, to be giving. It so deepened my understanding of what Jesus meant when he commended us to each other … to be family to each other, that in that deepening came a challenge to find more and more ways to carry that out to the fullest that I am able.

In the passage I read to you, beginning with the second verse of Chapter 5, Paul says



“For in this tent we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling – if indeed, when we have taken it off we will not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan under our burden, because we wish not to be unclothed but to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.


We know that Margaret’s passing itself was peaceful. The time leading up to that, was less so. This Robe I’m wearing is a symbol of the role I hold as a minister. But I am not the robe. When I wear it, some will see the robe and not the person. In a similar way, Margaret’s body was not who she WAS. Her body was what presented her to us, it was what helped us recognize her while she was with us. But what made her who she was was on the inside. That is something that is recognizable in any form.

In the same way that I can remove the robe and present myself as the person I am, not just the calling I follow, Margaret has now shed her body and is face to face with Christ, who has known her and has welcomed her into his presence.

So what I would ask you to do as we say farewell to Margaret is to draw from your own knowledge of her, and find that part of you that she touched, and look for an opportunity to share that with William, or Ritsy, or Billy, or Lou, or Cindy, or any of the grandchildren or the rest of the family. Let them know that there are ways in which Margaret has touched your lives that they would recognize the ‘Margaret-ness’ of them. Share memories, stories, and thoughts with them. Let them know just how many lives she DID touch, and make a difference in, just as Christ made the difference in HER life.

Let’s pray.