Funeral Sermon: Betty Marquis

Since I don't preach from a manuscript, there's no guarantee that this exactly what I said at Betty's funeral. But, it was close.

Betty Marquis was known by many names. A few of you called her mom. A few others of you called her Gram. Most of us called her Betty. Just don't call her Elizabeth. That always elicited an eye roll! Betty was a wife, a mom, a grandmother, a "fairy" godmother, a sister, a niece, an aunt, a cousin, and a friend to many.

Born and raised in Berlin, Betty was a life-long member of this congregation. She was shaped by early events in her life: helping her dad with his florist business - and then losing him when she was only 13. How many of you know that she started driving at 13, to help her dad deliver flowers. She told me THAT story last week, with a gleam in her eye.

Her dad's death was hard on her. She never forgot the pain of losing him so young, and what that was like. His death also meant a move to a new neighborhood, where she would eventually meet Jim. After marriage, they lived in the house Jim grew up in, on fourth street for all but two years of their married life.

Betty had hoped to go to nursing school, but there was no money for that training. Instead, she worked in the office at the Brown Company and she worked seasonally at Gill's. She did book-keeping at home. She raised wonderful children. She crafted and knit. And she contributed much to the life of this congregation.

When Rev. Ellie arrived at St. Barnabas, Betty handed her a piece of paper onto which she'd written all of the things that she did for the church. It had 27 different things on it. And, she'd say, with that characteristic Betty twinkle, that's not all of it.

Usually in a funeral homily, the preacher tells a bit about the person's life, and then tries to connect it all to God. With Betty, there was no distinction. All that Betty did flowed out of her love of God and her faith.

On Sunday, Leo and Pamela Carrier and I were talking about Betty. Leo said that Betty was responsible for the character of this congregation. "If we are welcoming, and hospitable, and have a sense of mission in the community," Leo said, "it's because Betty modeled that for us." We are a better place because of her being in the midst of us. She taught us all, by word and example, how to live.

Last night, Scott's friend Dave, one of the pall bearers, essentially said the same thing. Betty and Jim welcomed him into their home when he was young. "I was like the fourth child," he said. "And now, as an adult, I try to model that same behavior for my boys, so I can pass on the gift and values the Betty and Jim gave to me."

The gospel reading that Rev. Ellie just read for us from John's gospel is part of the service that we use in this church for communion under "Special Circumstances." Betty and I had many communions under special circumstances in recent months. At home, when she didn't feel well enough to come to church. And several times in recent weeks at AVH. I always read this passage to her, and then, in my reflection I would tell her that I'd chosen it because it reminded me of her.

Betty's faith was a deep part of her life. Her conviction was always strong. Even in the hospital, even when she felt really lousy (though she never complained about that), her faith and trust in God, and her joy in life never failed. A few days before she died, I told her that on the outside, she seemed really cheerful (despite being in the hospital and being enrolled into hospice). "How is it in here," I asked? "Just the same," was her smiling reply, that twinkle in her eye.

On Friday night, the night before Betty died, her friend Sophie had a dream. Betty (and all the knitting ladies, I think) were in Sophie's kitchen. I have to go home now, Betty said, standing up. She buttoned up her coat. I have to go home now.

Friends, the grief that we feel now at Betty's death is normal. Our hearts are broken because we loved her, and she loved us. It's hard to imagine a world without Betty in it. But Betty is home. She is reunited with the God she loved so well and loved so deeply.

And, she lives on in each of us. She lives on in the stories we tell. She lives on when we are loving and hospitable. She lives on as we pass on the values she taught us to the next generations.

And so today, I give thanks for the life and witness of Betty Marquis. I give thanks for having known and loved her. And I give thanks for what I have learned from her. I also give thanks that the physical suffering that she endured in recent months has ended and that she is free from her earthly body and is now living in closer communion with her God. AMEN.

Advent 3 Sermon: Philippians 4:4-7

I don't usually write a manuscript for my sermons. However, when Betty died yesterday; I decided to jettison my JBap sermon in favor of preaching on the Philippians passage. I began writing this post this morning before church, to help me get my thoughts in order; I finished it on Sunday night. I have no idea how much this represents what I actually said, because once my sermons are preached, they are over. However, several friends have asked what I said this morning. It went something like this....

Friends, this isn't the sermon I was planning to preach this morning. I had prepared what I think was a pretty good sermon on John the Baptist. It talked about the ways in which Luke's version of this story differ quite markedly from Matthew and Mark's versions, and what that might mean for us.

And then, Betty Marquis died yesterday morning. Her daughter-in-law Lisa called to tell me the news; I hung up the phone, and these words, from Philippians 4 came into my head unbidden: May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of God's son Jesus Christ. We use these words often in this Church. We use them as the blessing every Wednesday in the chapel at the 10AM service, and I've been using them as the Advent blessing here in the church on Sundays.

As I thought about this passage, and our grief, I realized that today, we needed the comfort of these words. I don't want to presume to speak for anyone else, but I know that today, I feel a combination of relief and sadness, joy and grief. Relief because Betty is finally free of the body which gave her such pain and grief in recent weeks and months, and sadness because I miss her. Joy because Betty has gone to be with God, and grief because she's no longer here with us. Perhaps you are feeling some of the same things.

They say that preachers often preach the sermon that they most need to hear. I know that this is the sermon that I need to hear this morning. I hope it's also the sermon that you need to hear. I found these words from Philippians comforting; I hope that they will be the same for you.

Paul wrote this letter to a church that he founded. He had a deep relationship with the people there, and loved them deeply. He wrote to them from prison. His primary reason for writing was to offer thanksgiving for a monetary gift they have sent to him. His secondary reason is to express his love for them and to encourage them in their faith. It's a short letter, and very beautiful. You could read it in one sitting, probably in 15-20 minutes. And I encourage you to do that.

The Christians in the church at Philippi faced some of the same issues facing the early church all over that region. There was some disagreement among church members. There were those outside the church who were trying to draw believers away from God. Christians faced persecution. Paul wrote to encourage the Philippians in all of those situations.

Today, as we gather together to worship God and join together in fellowship, these words that Paul wrote to the church in Philippi have particular meaning for us. Here the words that Paul speaks to the church at Philippi. Rejoice. Be gentle. The Lord is near. Pray. Rest in the peace of God.

Paul's words of exhortation serve as encouragement to us, as well. If you want a brief description of the life of faith, this one would serve.

Certainly, those words describe Betty and her life. She was a model for us of living out a life characterized by joy, gentleness, prayer, and faithfulness. She never doubted the nearness of her Lord. We who knew Betty and loved her are lucky. We had, in Betty, a living example of what living out this life of faith looks like.

That joy thing - it's complicated. Today, we lit the pink Advent candle. That candle stands for joy. There's some irony in that for us, I think. Today, we might not be feeling particularly joyful. Life as we know it has both sorrow and joy. Last night, when Betty's family gathered to begin planning the funeral, we laughed and we cried. I learned things about Betty that I'd never known. Did y'all know she was a speed demon?? That's how life is: God is with us in our sorrow and our joy. It's not up to us to fabricate that joy for ourselves.

In the coming days and weeks, as we continue to gather and tell stories about Betty, we will give thanks for her life and witness among us; we can honor Betty's memory by following her examples.