Glorious Array

An Autumn Funeral Homily

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  AMEN.

For many of us, autumn is the most beautiful time of the year. We become a little obsessed with it, actually. We celebrate autumn in ways that spring and summer can only envy. Why do you suppose that is? The colors, the scents, the crispness in the air—it all excites and soothes. But ultimately we love the autumn because it is a beautiful reminder of our mortality. The leaves are most radiant just before they fall, are they not? Autumn is our second spring, when every leaf becomes a flower.

It is a reminder that we need not dread the culmination of our lives. Halloween comes, and we laugh at our fears. Thanksgiving arrives, and we thank God for the bounty we’ve been given. Then, at last, Christmas morning dawns, in the coldest dark of winter—and Christ makes all things new. So it is with a funeral. A good death at the end of a faithful life is no tragedy. It is a loss, certainly. But there is great beauty in looking back upon Barbara’s life, upon remembering all that she has done for us, given for us, lived for us. And it is even more beautiful to look forward to the promise of our new life to come in the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Barbara carried and raised seven children. You can’t do that and not have a full, meaningful life. After seven kids, your life is full and meaningful whether you want it to be or not! And she imparted to each one of them a love for life. The real secret of happiness, of good living, is to find the wonder and joy in everyday things, and whether she was bowling or playing cards or baking delicious homemade bread three times a week, that’s exactly what she shared with us all.

Her children and grandchildren remember wistfully, and with hungry stomachs, the cinnamon rolls, that amazing potato salad, the fish that she prepared for dad. This was a resourceful woman, who switched out a new deck of playing cards whenever she lost, to make sure that fortune would favor her. When she came home to find, oh, say, that the children had used up all the toilet paper in the house to turn Steven into a mummy, or that they’d filled her laundry basket with salamanders of every conceivable shape and size, she took it more or less in stride, with her husband ever reminding her, “Well, that’s our kids!”

Nor did things calm down with age. By the time she was a grandmother, with the fourth of her six children a senior in high school, Barbara naturally thought that her diaper changing days had come to a well-deserved close—only to have the doctor inform her that the show wasn’t over yet, because young Jeff was on his way. Thankfully Jeff was an easy child to raise. As I understand it, when it came time to be weaned, he obligingly threw his last bottle out the window of a moving car.

So often, brothers and sisters, we are tempted to judge our lives by outward accomplishments: by where we’ve traveled or what degrees we’ve earned or how much money we’ve made. But at the end of the day, none of that matters. What matters is family, friends, the joy we’ve passed on to others. What matters is looking back upon seven children, 14 grandchildren, and another 14 great-grandchildren, and realizing: I did that. The love I shared did that. The life I lived did that. And the people I love will carry on long after I am gone. And so the autumn is beautiful as the leaves fall, and the hope of Christmas kindles in our hearts.

Everyone here knows this. Everyone here probably knew Barbara better than I did. But we gather here this afternoon not to mourn what once was beautiful and now over. No: for we are Christians here, brothers and sisters, and as such, we believe strange things, scandalous things. First and foremost, we do not believe for a moment that Barbara’s story has ended.

We have lost a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, and we will surely mourn. We are lessened by this parting. But we will see Barbara again—at the great feast of life that follows death. For her, this is the moment of triumph. She has returned to the house of her Lord, and He will surely welcome her home with that most glorious of accolades: “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Master.” This we pray.

In the last few years, Barb was not quite as able as she’d once been. This can be difficult for someone who made sure that things were always done the right way—her way. But make no mistake. The most important day of Barb’s life was not her wedding day or even the births of her children. The most important day of her life, as it will be for all of us, was the day that she died. And even in this she has given us a beautiful example to follow. She passed in peace, remembered and loved and mourned. And for as much as it hurts to say goodbye, we proclaim with defiance that we will see our sister Barbara again, when all things are made right and Christ shall be all in all. Then will joy eclipse our sorrow, and reunion heal all that we have lost.

Autumn has come in glorious array. And Christmas is on the way. Thank you, Barb, for all that you have given us, and praise be to Christ for all the love and life He has shared with each of us through the witness of Barbara Preuss.

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord. Let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. In Jesus’ Name. AMEN.