A Service of Death and Resurrection

This morning I attended the funeral of a saint.

The sanctuary was bathed in the colors of Lent and stained-glass windows.  Stained glass—broken and then pieced-together to tell a beautiful story—such a symbol of redemption and restoration.

The photos shown during the prelude were filled with sunny smiles and celebrations—days of youth and promise, maturity and fulfillment.

The casket was the work of a carpenter, hand-rubbed and beautiful, fitting one who cherished the loveliness of nature. 

The service brought together a collection of friends who had spent years doing life together.  But in this season of life their paths cross intermittently, most often at times such as this.  Today they are especially mindful of the treasure of friendship and the blessing of each other’s company. 

The tributes were thoughtful, beautiful, engaging.  Hers was a life well lived.  “She tended the moments that mattered,” said one.  “I will miss her,” concluded another.  And I thought those four words might be the most significant tribute any of us could ever receive.

The Scripture was read.  The faith was sung.  The Gospel was proclaimed.  And it was beautiful.

And each of us left with a fresh reminder of the gift of life, of the importance of faith, and of our own mortality.  And that death does not have the last word.

“I am the Resurrection and the Life.  He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.”                    – Jesus (John 11:25)