Evergreen

A Winter Funeral Homily

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

Norman lived a biblical life. That’s the only way I can think to put it.

He worked hard, played hard, laughed hard. He was a builder, a farmer, a hunter. He loved one woman for 62 years and raised four children who have remained close to him for their entire lives. He saw his children grown, and his grandchildren grown, and lived to see his great-grandchildren flourish. Thanks be to God. He knew and loved the soil, the forests, the lakes. Oh, and he was strong, wasn’t he? Even in old age, even with all the complications and aches that come with someone’s ninth decade, he didn’t let anything stop him from enjoying life, did he? No, sir. People would still see him riding his four wheeler in his pajamas down the road. And he was ready to climb that deer stand right up to the end.

But the most important day of any man’s life is the day that he dies. And this past week has proven to us all just how much Norman accomplished in his life. All this week he was surrounded by family, surrounded by laughter, surrounded by tears. All this week he was surrounded by an astonishing outpouring of love from kith and kin alike. Everyone came to pay their respects to this gentle soul. Everyone came to repay all the laughter and joy Norman shared with them lo these many, many years. That is a man’s true legacy. Not in degrees or bank accounts or honors. But by how many people loved him, how many memories will echo down throughout the generations. How many of us will weep as we await the day when we will finally see Norman again? By God! By any real measure, this little man was a giant.

That’s what I mean by a biblical life. Strong and loving and joyous. A life of faith and family. A life of appreciating God’s gifts. A life of knowing the real value of things. Norman taught us that. Norman showed us all what real life looks like. May all of us be so blessed as to die surrounded by the laughter and the love we have poured out for others. May all of us live on in the hearts of those whom we adore, down through two and three and four generations. And may we then dare to hope that the Lord will welcome us, as He surely welcomes Norman, with that most glorious of accolades: “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Master.”

Because that’s what we’re really here for, isn’t it? We haven’t gathered simply to remember what was once good and now gone forever. How truly sad that would be! No, we are here to say thank you—thank you to Norman for his life of gentle compassion and lively joy, and thank you to the God Who gave us Norman, and Who worked such powerful, humble wonders for us through him. Christianity has always been a religion about finding glory in humility, divinity in humanity, and life in death. It has always been a religion of forgiveness and of new beginnings. And never is this truer than at a funeral.

I’m not pretending that Norman hasn’t died. Of course we will mourn, and rightly so, for we are lessened by this parting. But we do not grieve as those who have no hope. As our brother’s body rests in the earth awaiting the fulfilment of all things, so we commend his soul to the God Who created him, loved him, redeemed him, forgave him, and promised to him life eternal. All the joy and love and laughter that Norman brought to us was but a foretaste of the feast to come!

Now as the snow and the ice shall remind us, it is getting to be the holiday season. Soon it will be Christmas, perhaps the happiest and most sorrowful time of the year. Happy, because we celebrate God’s astounding gifts of friends and family, hearth and home. Sorrowful, because it is then that we are most keenly aware of those who are no longer with us when we want them the most. The Christmas story is about God entering the world through the love of a family. But from the beginning, the tale is bittersweet. We hear of the gifts of the Magi, which include myrrh, a sign of death. We hear of the innocent children of Bethlehem, senselessly slain by a jealous tyrant. And even the Christmas tree itself, a symbol of Jesus’ everlasting life, does not let us ignore the reality of loss—because we know that it is an evergreen tree from which the Cross of Jesus’ Crucifixion shall be fashioned some 30 years later.

All of this is a reminder that though we live with sorrow and loss, nevertheless, we are given a joy that overcomes our sorrow, a life that overcomes death. Norman will be with us this Christmas, in our hearts, yes, but also in the promise of eternity, the promise of Resurrection, the promise of Jesus’ love. Let us not say this Christmas, “I wish Norman were here.” Because, by God, He is here, in the communion of the saints! Let us instead say, “I just can’t wait until we see him again.” Because that is exactly what is promised to us by Jesus Christ Himself—and God does not break promises.

We will remember you, Norman, at every hunting season, at every joyful memory, at every holy Christmas. Thanks be to Christ for all that He has given, all that He has built, through the life of this one good man. Until we meet again.

In Jesus. AMEN.