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| Rehearsing the Entrance Rite |
The following videos are of the Obituary that was read, and the Sermon preached. The sermon is in two separate files.
The Text of the Sermon follows:
“From Where will my Help Come“
Requiem Mass for Ruth Caroline
Terrass Hiller
The Feast of the Transfiguration
10 October 2013
St. Paul Church, Oakland California
Wisdom 3:1-5, 9
Psalm 121
Revelation 7:9-17
St. John 10:11-16
INI
The Ancient Question
From
age to age men and women have always had the psalmist’s question before them,
“From where will my help come?”
The question at the heart of Psalm 121 also lies at the heart of our
living, and our continuing in life.
My mother requested this psalm, and I suspect that it was both her
concern and life question as well.
As our world expands, as we know more and more about what we are and
from whence we have come; as we see farther than our fathers and mothers saw,
and as we descend into the deep parts of existence, we wonder all the more
about what our purpose is, and who will help us to accomplish it. And then there is the simple question
of why we are here today – what is our purpose in these ceremonies and
words. Is it death that gathers us
today or something more than that?
“From where will my help come?”
The
author of the Book of Wisdom is wrestling with large themes. What is it about death? Is the end really the ancient
understanding of Sheol, a dark place of the dead, or is there something better
– something more. Then he trots
out a bunch of words in which we can indeed find some level of help: peace,
hope, blessedness, worthiness, understanding, abiding in love. Are these answers for us this
afternoon, and more importantly, are they answers for us as we leave this
place, going back into the detail of our lives? “From where will my help come.”
For my mother,
each of these states was something for which she yearned. In her final days she was earnestly
seeking peace, and had a strong sense of hope. Her sense of self was that she was truly blessed in her
marriage to Carl, her husband whom she continued to grieve, and blessed in the
presence of her children. Her
attachment to her family, especially her husband, shines in a text that she asked
be read as a lesson. It is so
short that we did not include it as a reading, but I include it here as an
insight into her soul.
“So Jacob served seven years for
Rachel, yet they seemed to him like a few days because of his love for her.” (Genesis
29:20)
She sought a
worthiness of life from her religious life that provided for her an
understanding of life itself. In
all of these things she abided with God in love. They were her answers to the ancient question.
An On-going Curse.
Just
below the surface in Wisdom’s hope and dialogue about what it means to be alive
is the real question of death. The
author wrestles with big questions:
suffering, death, the torments of life, and destruction. This makes a great deal of sense since
the book probably comes to us out of the experience of the Jewish Diaspora, the
questions and musings of a people who had left the land of promise, learning to
live in a new place, with different ideas. “From where will my help come?”
Our
time changes so quickly and so completely. When I look at what has been accomplished during the span of
my mother’s life I am stunned by all of the change. For many such change is a joy and a positive aspect about
life. For others change is death
in disguise, as civilization hurtles toward an unknown destination. Think about your attitudes about
life. If you are young then all is
possible. As you age those
possibilities begin to diminish, and death becomes more and more visible.
Our
age cannot fathom death, and seeks actively to avoid it. In dealing with the lovely people at
the Funeral Home and the Cemetery, I began to be aware of all the exquisite
means that were taken to have me avoid death. It is not only in circumstances such as this, with the death
of our mother, that we see death lurking, but also in other matters of
life. Have you ever lost a job or
been threatened with its loss? – death.
Have you lost your home or value in your investments? – death. Have your career goals or life goals
been diverted or lost? – death.
Has a look in the mirror reminded you that all is not suppleness and
beauty? – death. Our culture’s
answer to this question has been one of denial. “From where will my help come?”
Resting Assured
The
Wednesday before she died, I had lunch with my mother. As her world continued to implode
around her, I sought to find points of interest that would spark a conversation
with her. It was a question about
the death of her parents that brought both tears and light to her eyes. She remembered them in faith. She delighted in the ordinary things
that they did and brought to her life.
She saw Christ in them and hope in them. And then she wept – taking in her loss, but still having
hope.
I
love the question that the Seer, the Divine, is asked by the Elder in
Revelation, “Who are these?” I
also like the passage from Hebrews 12:
Therefore, since we are
surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us rid ourselves of every
burden and sin that clings to us*
and persevere in running the race that lies before us while keeping our eyes
fixed on Jesus, the leader and perfecter of faith.
Both
of these viewpoints have an awareness of death that moves beyond what our
culture and time would have us believe.
It is as the words of the Requiem sharply state, “In the midst of life
we are in death” which is followed by the question, “of whom may we seek
succor?” “From where will my help
come?” In Hebrews the help comes from the example of the witnesses that so thickly
surround us – both dead and living.
We are in a great community that has experienced both death and
life. We are in a community of
hope. What we do here today
centers our hope on the Jesus who leads us on and feeds us with life. It also centers on this community –
those who have gathered here, and those who gathered with us in heart and mind
to stare down death and to accept the life that is offered to us.
The
Gospel for today speaks of a Jesus who knows us. We struggle, at times, to know ourselves, and to know those
about us. The image of hope here
is that there is one who knows us completely, and accepts us completely. This is a hope that is not a reaction
to death alone but to the business of living as well. Perhaps it is an answer to the question, “From where is my
help to come?”
Sometime
on the cusp of Sunday and Monday, Ruth awoke, and turned on a light. It was then that she reached out to
continue her life. She arose, she
collapsed onto her knees, and in a posture of prayer she died. “From where is my help to come?” In this she serves as an example of how
to always be not only accepting of life, but also reaching out for it. It is also an example of accepting
death, rest, and peace.
In
our meal, this afternoon, both the one at the altar, and the one that follows
in the undercroft, let us accept
that we are known of God, and that God comes to us in ordinary things, and
events, to be our help, our grace, our life. And then, like Ruth, let us turn on a light – a light for
others to see and with which we can see others in their need. “From where will my help come?”
SDG
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