I Sing a Song of the Saints of God

Outside of St. Clement’s Church a bagpipe played Amazing Grace. After the last note died away, the bell tolled 22 times, for each year of Ravi’s life. This was when reality hit Robert and me like a freight train. This was real. We were sitting in our son’s funeral, and this was very real. Our closest friends sat next to us in the front row. Michael sat behind me, whispering in my ear, “All you have to do is breathe.” The opening hymn was one of my childhood favorites, I Sing a Song of the Saints of God. The second verse was changed a tiny bit for Ravi and for those who cared for him.

“They loved their Lord, so dear, so dear, and his love made them strong; and they followed the right, for Jesus’ sake, the whole of their good lives long. And one was a teacher, and one was a nurse, and one spoke of love without using words; he showed it in courage and grace every day, and I mean to do so too.

The Old Testament reading was read by my dear friend Hamp Smith, Isaiah, 65:17-2-, 20-25. Psalm 139: 1-10 was read by my beloved Sister-in-Law, Cindy. The New Testament reading was read by another dear friend, Michael Moore. The sequence hymn was Praise My Soul the King of Heaven. Cindy took the descant which soared to the rafters. Michael followed her with the bass. The Gospel was Matthew, 18: 1-5, 10-14. The sermon was given by Joy Caires, who has graciously allowed me to share her words.

“May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be ever acceptable in your sights, Lord our strength and our Redeemer. Amen.

Here at St. Clement’s, we often speak of the importance of knowing who we are and to we belong as beloved children of God. I believe that knowing this truth is essential to our faith, for it is a truth that reminds us of God’s love for us, places us in the constellation of all creation, and assures us that the boundaries of our lives are vaster than anything we can imagine. And, as someone privileged to have known Ravi, however briefly, in the here and now, I have the honor of witnessing Ravi’s knowing.

A knowing, grounded in his first glimmers of existence: fearfully and wonderfully made; knit together in his mother’s womb; and baptized into the household of God. Ravi received communion, and in doing so helped make a broken people whole. Ravi was anointed and blessed with oil of gladness. Ravi ambled through the world with joy and wonder. Ravi knew his people and his people knew him.

And, what a gift, for those people. For those of us who experienced the unfiltered delight he evidenced; the open-hearted way which endeared him to so many; and the way in which he entrusted himself tot he loved and understanding of his friends and caregivers.

All of which is to say, that Ravi; without ever needing to use the words of his mouth-showed us the mediations of his heart. And, in this, we are blessed. In this, we are comforted. In this, we can learn what it means to be brave in the face of disease; to find happy in the little things; and what it means to be set free.

To be set free from pain; to be set free from the burden of a body worn out by cancer and its treatment; to be set free of our need to keep him here, for us and with us, always.

Which is why this liturgy is meant to be a joyful one. An Easter liturgy with every Alleluia upon our hearts. A service that send a clear and pointed message that Ravi has been born from this life into the life that it to come.

In the Christian faith we are assured that Ravi’s death is not the end of Ravi’s story and that he is and will always be a part of us. That’s what is meant when our prayers remind us that we do not sing alone. We sign with angels, archangels and all the company of heaven, of which Ravi is now part, of which we will all come to be.

Liberation and devastation. The complicated trugh of this moment AND of our faith.

One of the comforts that Harriet and Robert have described, in the process of living while dying, is the space that they created with Ravi in his final days. A space dedicated to Ravi’s comfort. A space consecrated by the love they shared. A space in which Ravi had the ability to tell his parents that he was sad, that this was hard, and that, even then, he was happy. Happy, and sad, and hard. I can think of no way, more profound, than those words to sum up the joys and sorrows of this life.

Some of you may be wondering how Ravi, who did not use mouth words, communicated his faith. Humans tend to get very invested in the words we speak, and we forget that God’s love and liberative power are not limited by the spoken word. God does not the words of my mouth nor any of our mouths to demonstrate the depth and breadth of God’s love. The raging sea; the still waters; the embrace of a child; the quiet in a garden; peace at the last. It would be a tragedy if we could only rely on the words of our mouths to understand the glory of God.

Which brings me to speak a truth, I do not think that any of you are here because of the words we will speak. I think you are here because you are sad, you know this is hard, and you are so very, very glad that Ravi was happy.

I think you are here because you love Robert and Harriet and want them to see that love conveyed by your presence. I think you are here because you want to be part of the love that endures all things- a love that Ravi so aptly demonstrated in his living and in his dying.

Because of this, I invite you to take a break from the spoken word and listen, oh so carefully, to the words of the heart. Let us observe a moment of silence. Amen.”

With these words, Joy stepped away from pulpit and sat down. Suddenly, a ray of pure sunlight shone through the stained-glass window and illuminated those of us sitting in the front row. Clearly, Ravi was telling us that “all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.” Thank you for reading my blog. Be good humans. Peace, Harriet.