Lord, thou hast examined me and knowest me.
Thou knowest all, whether I sit down or rise up;
thou hast discerned my thoughts from afar.
Thou hast traced my journey and my resting places,
and art familiar with all my paths.
For there is not a word on my tongue
but thou, Lord, knowest them all.
Thou hast kept close guard before me and behind
and hast spread thy hand over me.
Such knowledge is beyond my understanding,
so high that I cannot reach it.
Where can I escape from thy spirit?
Where can I flee from thy presence?
If I climb up to heaven, thou art there;
if I make the grave my bed, again I find thee.
If I take my flight to the frontiers of the morning
or dwell at the limit of the western sea,
even there thy hand will meet me
and thy right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, 'Surely darkness will steal over me,
night will close around me',
darkness is no darkness for thee
and night is luminous as day;
to thee both dark and light are one.
(Psalm 139: 1-11, NEB)
In the name of God Almighty, Father of all mercies; obedient Son, full of compassion; and Spirit - holy: moving through us throughout our lives. Amen.
This psalm seems to have been made with Charles Mills in mind. When you listen to the stories of his long life, you realize that God has been with him in all sorts of places - from the wings of the morning - in the airplane; in the depths and in the distances on the waters of the Isles; in faraway North Africa and the Italian front; or close at hand, at the dinner table with a child across from him, who is learning from a gentle teacher.
And you hear about his hands: gentle, at work; physician, healer: bringing new life into the world. And you hear, too, from Margaret, his companion in adventure and partner for so many years of life.
We are here to celebrate his life - to thank God for it, even as he takes his place among the souls gathered at the heavenly Table seeing now our Lord face to face.
We will miss him - and we will see him again.
In the hope of the resurrection, Death is not the last word: in the presence of the Lord we are united as one people across time and space. Our God, for whom darkness and light are both alike, is not daunted by the passing of time. In this moment, we mourn Charles - and yet we know he is in Christ eternally alive to the eternal presence of the divine and holy One who will gather us all to himself in the fullness of time.
May we, as we remember Charles and bring forward all the stories and all the love we can bring to the moment of the passing of this beloved man- husband, father, grandfather; physician and friend- may we hold him in our hearts as we hold Jesus our Savior strong to our conviction in the hope of Rest and the promise of the Life to come. Amen.
Celebration of the Life of Charles Mills, November 1, 2008.
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Showing posts with label John 14:1-6. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John 14:1-6. Show all posts
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
the dream is ended
May I speak in the Name of the Son, in the Power of the Holy Spirit, to the Glory of God the Father. AMEN.
On the last page of the last chapter of his last book for children, C. S. Lewis wrote:
“The dream is ended: this is the morning…” the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures…had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.
***
This is not the end of the story. It is only the end of the beginning.
The story began, in this earthly realm, 93 years ago. Allison Morrison lived a long and full life, a memorable one, with memories left behind that we can begin to share today, as you meet each other and hear each other’s stories – of Allison getting together with folks on Friday mornings at Pancake Haus, of Rob and Allison anchoring their pew at the 8 o’clock services, of their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. This is the part of the story that we know: but the story continues beyond our knowing, as Allison is received where she is known best of all, in the presence of God.
For each of us this life is only the beginning: death is not the end: life, in Christ, goes on into eternity.
We can share in the presence of Christ in this community together, in Eucharist: Allison and all those who have gone before us, share in that communion, too: in the presence of the Lord.
“Our journey,” Archbishop Sentamu has preached, “is towards oneness with God. As we journey, our calling is to make manifest to everyone the compassionate face of God made visible in Jesus Christ.”
We follow Jesus. We follow him to life in the presence of God. Someday like Allison each one of us will see him face to face. When that day comes, may we be like Peter, who, hearing on Easter morning that Jesus was alive, ran to the tomb to greet his risen Lord. In the meantime, may we run or walk, may we journey, as if Jesus were walking beside us – his presence a forgone conclusion.
“Jesus is in fact the presence of God’s truth and God’s life in the world,” Lesslie Newbigin writes, “and to know the Father means to follow the way which Jesus is, and which he has opened” for us, through the veil between this life and the next, “by his living, his dying, and his rising from the dead.”
The presence of God, the forgiveness of God, the grace of God, are all around us and present to us. It is a matter of us becoming present to Him.
Quite often we may feel his absence, as if he were gone. But even at those times he is right beside us, grieving with us in our sorrow and despair.
Sometimes we may forget how he sees us: the Lord sees the person he made and that he loves. He sees each of us in aspiration – in the Spirit – and sees the child of God within us. However distorted that image may seem to be, from time to time, it is there, shining behind the clouds of sin and desire, of folly and disease, and on the day that the Lord greets us, as he now greets Allison, we will shine with the reflected light of God’s glory and his loving greeting to us.
“Come my child, my beloved. Come home to the place I have made for you. Come to the table – and sit at the banquet – and rejoice in the presence and the plenty of God.”
May God in his grace abundantly enfold you, bringing you into his peace. Amen.
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Edmonds, WA
March 15, 2008
Memorial Service for
Allison Morrison (October 11, 1915 – February 15, 2008)
Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33
Psalm 121
Revelation 21:2-7
Psalm 106:1-5
John 14:1-6
(C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle, the last chapter, the last page.)
Archbishop of York, “We journey towards oneness with God“, Monday 12 February 2007
Service of commemoration of the 30th anniversary of the martyrdom of Janani Luwum at Westminster Abbey, London
(http://www.archbishopofyork.org/261)
(Lesslie Newbigin, The Light Has Come, Eerdmans, 1982, p. 182)
On the last page of the last chapter of his last book for children, C. S. Lewis wrote:
“The dream is ended: this is the morning…” the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures…had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.
***
This is not the end of the story. It is only the end of the beginning.
The story began, in this earthly realm, 93 years ago. Allison Morrison lived a long and full life, a memorable one, with memories left behind that we can begin to share today, as you meet each other and hear each other’s stories – of Allison getting together with folks on Friday mornings at Pancake Haus, of Rob and Allison anchoring their pew at the 8 o’clock services, of their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. This is the part of the story that we know: but the story continues beyond our knowing, as Allison is received where she is known best of all, in the presence of God.
For each of us this life is only the beginning: death is not the end: life, in Christ, goes on into eternity.
We can share in the presence of Christ in this community together, in Eucharist: Allison and all those who have gone before us, share in that communion, too: in the presence of the Lord.
“Our journey,” Archbishop Sentamu has preached, “is towards oneness with God. As we journey, our calling is to make manifest to everyone the compassionate face of God made visible in Jesus Christ.”
We follow Jesus. We follow him to life in the presence of God. Someday like Allison each one of us will see him face to face. When that day comes, may we be like Peter, who, hearing on Easter morning that Jesus was alive, ran to the tomb to greet his risen Lord. In the meantime, may we run or walk, may we journey, as if Jesus were walking beside us – his presence a forgone conclusion.
“Jesus is in fact the presence of God’s truth and God’s life in the world,” Lesslie Newbigin writes, “and to know the Father means to follow the way which Jesus is, and which he has opened” for us, through the veil between this life and the next, “by his living, his dying, and his rising from the dead.”
The presence of God, the forgiveness of God, the grace of God, are all around us and present to us. It is a matter of us becoming present to Him.
Quite often we may feel his absence, as if he were gone. But even at those times he is right beside us, grieving with us in our sorrow and despair.
Sometimes we may forget how he sees us: the Lord sees the person he made and that he loves. He sees each of us in aspiration – in the Spirit – and sees the child of God within us. However distorted that image may seem to be, from time to time, it is there, shining behind the clouds of sin and desire, of folly and disease, and on the day that the Lord greets us, as he now greets Allison, we will shine with the reflected light of God’s glory and his loving greeting to us.
“Come my child, my beloved. Come home to the place I have made for you. Come to the table – and sit at the banquet – and rejoice in the presence and the plenty of God.”
May God in his grace abundantly enfold you, bringing you into his peace. Amen.
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Edmonds, WA
March 15, 2008
Memorial Service for
Allison Morrison (October 11, 1915 – February 15, 2008)
Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33
Psalm 121
Revelation 21:2-7
Psalm 106:1-5
John 14:1-6
(C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle, the last chapter, the last page.)
Archbishop of York, “We journey towards oneness with God“, Monday 12 February 2007
Service of commemoration of the 30th anniversary of the martyrdom of Janani Luwum at Westminster Abbey, London
(http://www.archbishopofyork.org/261)
(Lesslie Newbigin, The Light Has Come, Eerdmans, 1982, p. 182)
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