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For a grandmother in comparison to a young girl's death

The Sacrifice Of Love

Psalm 23

Think for a minute this morning about Emolen's journey these last couple of years. It has been a journey filled with limitations, frustrations, depression, and pain, especially these last couple of weeks. A journey that was difficult for her to go through and for you to watch. But as you think of those difficult times, think also of these beautiful words of scripture, and think of Emolen herself speaking them to you. These are words that she surely knew. So, listen for her voice.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want;
He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters;
He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life;
And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
-- Psalm 23

I think those are in fact Emolen's words to you today, words whispered from the other side of the mountain that leads from this life to the next; whispered back by sweet Emolen. Someone said of her the other day, one of her grandchildren said it, that Emolen was made to be a grandma. I think that's right. Grandma's are sweet and gentle and kind and full of love. Emolen was such a woman; a gentle little lamb of God who has now been swept up by the strong shepherd arms of God and taken home to be with the rest of God's flock of saints. And from there she says to you, "The Lord is my shepherd, and the Lord is your shepherd. I have no wants, and you shall not want. For this God is a good shepherd who leads us out of every deep, treacherous valley, through every shadowy darkness, past every enemy, even the last enemy of death, to a party place where our cups overflow and goodness and mercy follow us everywhere we go."

And maybe you can even hear her, under her breath, speaking to those doubts even the best Christians have about death, maybe you can hear her saying, "Knew it all the time. I knew it would be like this."

The Lord is her shepherd who has now taken her home to his house where she will dwell forever. Now I don't say those words as a way of telling you not cry, for though she may have no wants today, that's not the case with us. We do have a want. Whenever a particularly lovely little lamb is taken from us, no matter how confidently we believe that she herself is joyful and whole and new today, no matter how happy we are that she is out of her pain, an empty place is left in our lives. And whenever we go to that place -- we cry.

When my grandfather died, I was six years old and I went to live with grandma for a while. In Grandma's house, there was a room in the basement that Grandpa had made into his workshop. After Grandpa died I used to love to play in that room. I remember that Grandma would come, often, and stand in the doorway to that room to watch me playing. But, whenever she would come and watch me she would also cry. I didn't quite understand so one day after many crying times I asked her about it.

"Grandma, why do you always cry when you come here?"

She looked down at me, took my hand and said, "This room was Grandpa's room. I used to come down here all the time and stand in the doorway, just like I do now, and watch him fixing things, or building, or doing whatever he did down here. Watching him work here somehow made me feel good. And sometimes, he would look over at me and smile, no words, just a smile, and I knew he loved me. There are lots of memories for me in this room. There's lots of Grandpa here. But now when I come here, his memories are here, but he's not, so I miss him and I cry."

They were beautiful tears, tears of love. Tears that needed to be cried.

I never liked it when Grandma cried, but I also knew when she did, how much she loved Grandpa. They were beautiful tears just like the ones you all have cried, and will cry for Emolen.

When Grandma moved from that house, I was ten then, and I remember that after everything had been taken out of the house and everyone else had gone with the moving van to the new house, Grandma and I went back in one last time. I went in to say good-bye to the house I loved, she had another good-bye to say. We went to the basement together and she went into that room: Grandpa's room. I stood outside and watched her through the door. She looked around with that one last time look. She ran her hand along the workbench, came to the door, looked at me, turned back to look into the room and mumbled something I could barely hear. But I knew what she was saying. She said, "Good-bye, dear."

She was, of course, crying. The tears were welling up in her eyes like waves and washing over the sandy beach of her cheeks. So I knew that even though she was saying good-bye, still Grandpa lived on in her warm heart.

Wonderful memories brought beautiful tears.

So hold tight to your memories. They have the power of life in them. Let your tears speak, for theirs is the beautiful language of love. And believe in the Good Shepherd's care of his little lambs, for in this belief is the peace that passes all understanding.

Let us pray. O Lord -- we rejoice today in the knowledge that sweet Emolen has come home to be with the Good Shepherd and his sheep. There is a part of us that is deliriously happy for Emolen today -- for her wholeness and joy -- but there is another piece of us that cannot be happy today -- a piece that cannot help but feel a sorrowful sadness -- for we miss her -- the gentleness and kind words -- the good times at Grandma's house -- the love of a mother who cared -- the selflessness that was a witness to us all. Use our memories that she might live on -- use our tears to begin to heal us -- use our faith to grant us deep peace -- until we meet again. Amen.

(Read John 14 and Matthew 25:14-21.)

Here is why I chose the Matthew passage for Emolen's service. The other day, the day after Emolen died, I was watching the news and heard about the fire in a nearby town that killed a young girl. A young girl, with her whole life in front of her, killed. It made me think of the difference between that death and Emolen's. This girl was young. Emolen was old. This girl was healthy. Emolen was not. This girl had her whole life in front of her. Emolen's was behind her. This girl died before her time; before she had a chance to bloom and flower. Emolen's life was properly over. It was her time.

It was, I thought, the difference between many regrets and no regrets. But then I thought of something that Becky had said about her mom just a couple of weeks ago; something I had been only vaguely aware of. She told me that Emolen had at one time been a promising pianist and maybe could have gone places had not she put her talent on the back burner for the sake of her husband, and family, and farm.

Maybe there were regrets in Emolen's life. Maybe if she'd been born fifty or sixty years later, in the time of women's rights, maybe she'd have made different choices. Maybe she'd have done something, been someone. Maybe in Hollywood, or at Carnegie Hall we might have heard something like, "And on piano tonight, Ms. Emolen."

Of course, if she'd been born sixty years later, she may not have been named Emolen, and she might not have married. It would be something like, "Ms. Rachel Fitting," and some of you would never have heard that introduction because she'd never have had time for a family. But she could have been somebody, and sometimes I sensed some regret that she hadn't pursued her music. I realized that maybe these two deaths, the young girl and the old woman, weren't as different as I at first thought.

Regrets over both of them; the life not lived and the life not lived quite as it could have been. The parable from Matthew came to mind. I thought of a talent given and not used to the fullest, Emolen's musical talent, gone to waste. But how could I preach about that at her funeral? How could I talk to her family about her unfulfilled potential?

So I thought a while; turned over in my mind what to do about this wasted gift. Slept on it. And awoke yesterday with the conviction that it wasn't a wasted gift at all. It was a gift given up, given away, for love. For love of a man. For love of a family. And no such gift given away for love is ever wasted.

A true story is told of a young French soldier in World War I who was seriously wounded. His arm was so badly smashed that it had to be amputated. He was a magnificent specimen of manhood, an athlete of some promise and the surgeon was grieved that his athletic gift would be wasted and that he must go through life maimed. So he waited beside his bedside to tell the young man the bad news himself when he recovered consciousness.

When the lad's eyes opened, the surgeon said to him: "My boy, I am sorry to tell you that you have lost your arm."

And the young man replied, to the surgeon's astonishment, "Sir, I did not lose it; I gave it, for love of my people."

I do not know the circumstances of Emolen's youthful life. I don't know how talented she was and why it was that she gave up her gift. But all my experience with the elder Emolen leads me to believe that she was a selfless woman who willingly made sacrifices of all sorts for the people she loved. She was a woman who understood Christ's words, "Unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies it remains alone, but if it dies it bears much fruit." And, "For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it."

Gifts given away in love bring a great return. Maybe not in this life, although God certainly saw fit to raise up a plentiful harvest of music around this woman who threw away the seeds of her gift, and he did bless her with your love, and the love of many friends who thought the world of her. But the real return, the great dividend, is paid only when we leave this life. And today, Emolen, this lovely lady who gave up her gift for love; who gave away her life for others, is reaping her reward. She is reaping joyful, abundant, vibrant life in the unending celebration that is the kingdom of God.

And on piano this morning folks, the lovely Emolen.

That's the way it ought to be, and in God's kingdom today, that's the way it is. Amen.