Funeral of Edith Pierson – Psalm 121
Have you ever sat and watched the sun going down, been struck by the beauty of the sunset, the purples and reds and blues painted across the sky as the day that God has made comes to an end and the quiet of night takes over? There are few things more beautiful than that moment when the sun’s rays suddenly flourish into the sky and then disappear over the horizon. Edith, I think, would have liked to think of her death as beautiful like that, a last bit of artwork in the painting of her life as it came to a close. A long, summer day, filled with joy and warmth, sometimes oppressively difficult but always progressing on in the beauty of God’s creation, a work of art that overwhelms the senses and shines out to all. Edith was privileged to live until the shadows of the setting sun had lengthened and the evening had come; the business of the world was hushed, the fever of life was over; the artist put a few final brushstrokes on the painting of her life, and then the work was done. How beautiful is the sunset of a life like this.
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It is a beautiful death, because it comes at the height of a beautiful life. Edith’s life was lived here in Holden for it’s greatest part. She and her family were instrumental in the building up of the community here—founding members of the church, growing friendships among the Swedes who settled here and made a wonderful life in central Massachusetts. Edith’s family seems, at least from the distance from which I’ve been able to view it, a good one—people who formed her into the fine woman she was. She never quite understood why it was that she outlived so many; “I always just seemed to get better,” she said, whenever she was unwell, and others, I suppose, didn’t. It shows that she wasn’t overbearing, proud, self-absorbed; she saw herself as just as good as anyone else. And yet, the friendships she made and maintained—and still had, even at the age of 101, show something wonderful about the quality of her life.
The sweetest words one could ever hear, the most beautiful blessing that could come at the end of one’s life, would be to hear those words spoken by Jesus when he said, “Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a few things, and so I will make you ruler over many things. Enter now into the joy of your Lord.” It’s clear that Edith lived a useful, devoted, beautiful life. She gave much and contributed much to many. She filled the world with her own artworks, painting and bringing beauty into the world. The world has been made better for her having lived, and the Kingdom of Heaven was revealed in her efforts. Surely, the hand of life’s all-wise Judge reaches out to her even now with the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
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Hers is a beautiful death also, because death comes as a friend in old age. I really mean that. So many of us wish that life would never end, and perhaps even wonder why death should be a part of our world at all. Let’s face it, I’m still just a kid in comparison with Edith; in our younger years we think we are invincible, and death seems so far off. We wish it might never come.
But there’s something not quite right about that. After all, knowing that our years are limited makes them precious. And even if we could live forever, we’d find that we wouldn’t want it. Who would want to live a never-ending existence on earth through endless years of struggle and change, pain and worry, conflict and work, with no possibility of escape? Life would become boring and dreary, with no height, no depth, no challenge or achievement. How awful it would be if day would never end, if the sun would never set.
Reflecting on Edith’s life, we may be quick to think we should all be so lucky to live to be 101 years old. There’s some truth in that, and yet for the time that I knew Edith, just these last two years of her life, she was pretty unhappy. When she fell and broke her arms, she started to wonder why she had to keep on going. The friends and family who surrounded her in this last bit of her life brought meaning to even this time. But even so, in her living so many years, death must have come as a friend indeed.
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And too, Edith’s death is beautiful because there are rays of promise for a better tomorrow. The sure promise that God gives us is that death is not the end; it is only a new beginning. It is going to bed on a cold, black night, and waking again with the sun shining anew.
The sun sets, and then the sun rises again. And in our liturgy, we proclaim the mystery of faith, that Christ has died, and Christ is risen, and that Christ is coming again. Through our Baptism, we are promised a share in that resurrection with Christ. His coming again is a promise that is not just about him, but about us too. We, too, are coming again. And that new life that comes with Jesus Christ is beautiful, and breathtaking, and abiding. And nothing, not even death, can separate us from that promise, that love of God that is made sure in Christ Jesus.
Have you ever sat in the early hours of the morning and watched the sun come up, seen those first rays of light suddenly flourishing over the horizon and slowly spreading across the hills and bringing light to the whole world? As it stretches across the canvas of the sky, brilliant colors are painted on the heavens and the world comes awake, with brightness, sound, joy, life! Jesus Christ is the light of the world, the light that no darkness can overcome. And in that light, you and I, and Edith, all of us will forever abide, as the beautiful and beloved art work of our God. Amen.