Sermon - Janice Castor

I Corinthians 13:9-12          Luke 12:22-31                                               

                                                                   Through a glass dimly

     “I wish you could have known my mother, before all of this started.”  As one who often preaches at the funerals of persons whom I have only come to know in the waning years of life, I hear this too often.  And I agree with it.  I wish I had known – known them; known the family history; shared the celebrations and the valleys – it is regrettable that so little of that knowledge or history or cherished memory can be recounted and shared and celebrated and mourned on the day that we gather for a memorial service.

 “I wish you could have known…..”  There is so much to be known which will never be known and so much which cannot be shared.  This is not only true for Janice and you and I as we gather today, this is true for every man, woman, and child who walks the face of earth.

 My academic training was in theology but having spent thirty-three years in ministry to academic communities, I pick up all sorts of interesting tidbits from other fields of inquiry.  It always fascinates me when a laboratory exploration stumbles on something which is recorded in ancient sacred writings.  An instance of this is the cognitive science research which probes at the gap between what has been captured and stored in the brain and the information which the subject is able to recall and articulate.  There is a lot more going inside us than ever finds a way to be shared among us.  It is as if we do – indeed - see in a mirror – dimly.   Cognitive sciences are coming to affirm what Paul shared with the first century faithful.

 We will forever wish that we could have known or might come to know.  That completeness will continue to evade us, for as long as we remain captive to the body and brain of flesh.

 I arrived at St. Michael after Janice’s ability to remember and recall had diminished.  When we went to her home in December of 2019 I made a point of speaking to her and trying to explain who I was.  That was a silly thing – a selfish thing – for me to do.  Others in our group were much better in communicating to Janice who we were and why we were there.  In the strange and bizarre scene of a rag-tag group of off-key carolers – the only thing any could “fully know” was that someone was loved and appreciated and joyful.

 After the death of Charles, overpowering was desire to know how a loving God could stand by while such a horrific thing happened.  I have offered many replies to such questions, but never an answer.  The promise of Paul’s words in the reading from I Corinthians is that when I am on the other side of my grave I will see and fully understand.

 Till then.  We just sort of wait and hope and trust. 

 If I may, allow me to share another example of how powerful it is to wait and trust and hope – even when what we really want is to see clearly.  Janice was on at least one occasion confused as to the day and time for worship.  She was sitting in one of those chairs out there, a bit dim.  But it was there that she chose to sit, as she attempted to arrive at clarity.  Maybe those who find it impossible to hide that which we don’t fully understand are the ones who help the rest of us admit that we are befuddled and feel as if we are in the dark. 

  I wish I had known Janice before…. before she started her slide into confusion and before she suffered her heartbreak.  But the gift Janice gives, which I am attempting to bring into focus, is the awareness that we can never fully know or be known.  IF – what we mean by that is a complete knowledge or a warehouse full of significant memories.  Knowing is too often reduced to cognitive activity.  Knowing ought to be understood as something much more complete.

 Birds of the air and lilies in the field surely know something that we wish we could know.  Their absence of worry and stress and anxiety reveals how peaceful and calm existence is when we trust less in ourselves and more in the ones and the One who looks out over us.

 I would like to eradicate the notion that persons with dementia revert to a child-like existence.  What would it take for us to begin to receive from them instruction on the importance of the things which matter the most?  How might they teach us to forsake the insignificant pieces of the complicated structures we are so bent on preserving?  Rather than being labeled as one who has reverted to a lower of competency what if we received from them instruction on setting aside the agendas which stand in the way of profound and deep expressions of appreciation and love?

 Forgive me – for the simplicity of such a comment.  I do not want to be insensitive or naive about the realities of crippling diseases. 

 Those of us who falsely think we are shielded from such limitations might do well to learn from those cannot hide it any longer.  And all of us need to seek those interactions which honestly and fully share who we are and what we understand ourselves to be.  For as long as remain on this side of our own graves, we will see in a mirror dimly. 

 Thanks be to God for the invitation and the opportunity to push up against those limits and begin to anticipate the gift of full knowledge and complete understanding.

 Thanks be to God for the gift and opportunity to see clearly – as he has clearly seen us.

 Thanks be to God for the invitation to know completely – as we allow ourselves to be fully known by Him.

 Amen.