1 Peter 1:3-9
We have gathered with sorrow in our hearts for the
loss of our friend, N, yet with the hope that God’s healing love will
be with us and shelter us, with the sure promise of resurrection.
Our hope does not end with death, for we believe
that it is not the end but only the horizon, the limits of what we can
presently see.
In the deepening twilight, an afterglow shines as a
remembrance of what is gone and a promise of what is to come – the sun rising
again and casting the colours of a new day. No matter how dark the night, we
will know, we will feel the pulse of a new morning.
Today’s scripture reading assures us that we have
been born a new to a living hope; we enter into the joy of God’s presence and
inherit the “imperishable, undefiled and unfading” joy of God when we arrive at
the far horizon. Although we don’t see Doug now, we love him. Even though we
will not see him anymore, we believe and rejoice that he is now participating
in the indescribable and glorious joy of God the Father.
All those who have known Doug unanimously say that
he was such a gentle and strong soul. He was a quiet man; this quietness was
the essence of a deep comforting presence which we all remember as one of Doug’s
shining gifts. If we sat with him in a room, not saying a word, we would be
comforted. Anybody who has known him has been touched by his calm spirit. I
think his meekness, his calm flowing strength, resembles the river Mira in Nova
Scotia where Doug grew up. We have met and loved the calm waters flowing in his
heart and soul which resembled the beautifully slow flow, width, and patience
of the river Mira. As Song for the Mira says in the first verse, “Out on the
Mira”, he was kind, helped people unwind, and if people came broken, his
presence helped people mend. This is how we remember him.
Doug loved fiddle music. He loved to dance. He loved
his family. He truly cared for them. When his family had to go through
tribulations, he became a rock for them. He always said that when he goes, he
doesn’t want his family to be completely sad and upset, but be happy “Because
you are together.” If he sees his family now, I Imagine that he would come and
reach his hand to them and gently encourage them, saying, “Get up, and dance.”
as he danced and danced and danced with Ruby, his youngest granddaughter, to
the fiddle music he loved so dearly.
We deeply miss this compassionate and passionate,
gentle person. But we don’t only grieve – we also celebrate all those gifts of
love he has given us during his lifetime and rejoice that he now enters into
the joy of God’s presence – beyond the horizon, beyond the sea, beyond all
sorrow, into a new being and a new day. May our memory of the “afterglow of his
smiles” brighten us whenever we remember him. May we all be happy, knowing that
we are together in celebrating his life and the heavenly joy we will all join,
in the end, together at the end of horizons. Amen.
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