Memorial Service for
Margaret A. Atkinson
January 9, 2009
Ecclesiastes 3:1–8
Psalm 121
Revelation 21:2–7
John 14:1–6
I.N.I. (In the name of Jesus)
Marge had a soft fuzzy blanket on her bed, a recent gift from Sue and Terry. I can’t remember the design, I only remember it was soft. And Marge liked it because it was a gift, and it was warm, and it was soft.
Like that blanket, today we wrap ourselves in the soft and warm readings of God’s Holy Word, so that we might be safe, we might be comforted, we might be transported to a place that is like home, a home with God.
There are so many ways to describe the soul that made such an impression on us that was Margaret Atkinson: the twinkle in her eyes, the brooding she exhibited when struggling with her mobility or a conflict, the delight in remembering how when her sister and she were put in charge of refreshments for Vacation Bible School, and children sought them out for hugs and kisses, they were forever remembered as “cookie grandmas” (those children when they became teenagers still sought them out for hugs and kisses). There was the assertive Marge, who when she was troubled enough by residents or staff at Hackett Hill, put on her Rosie the Riveter union organizer hat and effectively stated her case which resulted in action to improve her living conditions.
But for me as her pastor these past almost nine years, among all the stories and through all the visits, with her many hospitalizations and courageously facing a myriad of physical challenges, and an interesting combination of puzzled consternation and deep and easy love for her family, I would land on one lasting impression: the way Marge made a home, and found a home.
When she was at her best (which was most of the time), and not ill, and I walked into her room, or found her in the activity center which was her second home, Marge would say “oh, pastor, I was wondering if you today might come.”
Here at Christ the King we’ve had the privilege of guiding student interns who are preparing to be pastors, seminarians here today, Judy Converse and Bill Petersen. Both of them, if you asked, would say that when bringing a small communion kit of bread and wine and a Bible, and sitting down in Marge’s room, they would be in a holy place. God, with Marge and the means of grace provided holy conversation, blessed relationships, fervent praying, and a sacred trust. With her sister Evelyn providing much the same space in her own apartment, I have come to call Marge one of our church’s high priestesses. She welcomed Christ in her life, sought Christ in her life, and showed Christ in her life. She was warmed by the sacramental visitation as she was warmed by that blanket.
And here’s where the readings for today help. They frame God’s way of enveloping us in a time of death, a time of great loss. They give us ancient and abiding wisdom.
Ecclesiastes is the realist of the group. For everything there is a season. Things are always changing, nothing lasts forever, and that includes our way of life, and that includes our life.
The other readings tell us of yet another reality, seen with the eyes of faith. They describe something that is new and altogether fantastic, and held in the promises of God’s future.
With vivid imagery and the poetry of hymns, we are given a glimpse of a new place for Marge, for countless seekers and sojourners from times past, and for us who are still here. And that place is described as a new home, or a room with a view—of God.
If you were from Philadelphia, like Marge, crumbling rowhouses and abandoned buildings would be transformed into a city teeming with life and the best of the fountains for children to splash in.
And Jesus would invite you to come in, saying something like, “oh Margaret, I was wondering if today you might come,” and then you would find yourself in a holy place, with holy conversation, blessed relationships, fervent praying, and a sacred trust, in eternity.
The blanket that is the gospel from John 14 has us squarely in Jesus’ own preparing for his leave-taking, which means the journey to the cross, and his own dying. Up to this point we have been a part of his ministry on earth, where he crosses the boundaries that people were afraid or ill-equipped to cross, speaking with a women who had been married too many times at Jacob’s well and telling her he had water that would never make her thirsty again, touching a blind man’s eyes and restoring his vision, then walking into the stench of his good friend Lazarus’ grave and calling him back to life. Here was Jesus, walking around the places where we live, and going in particular to the places we would just as soon avoid or hide, and making them holy and whole. Now as we hear his conversation with his disciples he is making his own transition to a new life with God, ironically marked with his suffering and death. He speaks about this with his closest friends, saying that he has to go, and that they should know the way, which we have to assume is the way of the cross.
The disciple who doesn’t get it, the one who scratches his head, who broods about what he just said is Thomas. He is stuck on earth, feet planted in concrete, wondering where the heck Jesus is going while leaving us all behind.
Jesus speaks with clarity of a spotlight, and the noise of a loudspeaker: I am the way, the truth, and the life. Jesus himself with help us make our way from earth to heaven, through the cross, which for those who count him as that way, it in find life and light.
When she first came to Hackett Hill Care Center, Marge struggled to find her way. She was still recovering from a laborious hospitalization, far from Nashua, and not in her own “home.” Years later, as I reflected on this time with her, with great joy she acknowledged that over time she found a new life, in a nursing home. She decided and discovered that giving and receiving love would chart a new path for her. And her place in Manchester became her home, and her community, and expanded her family.
Marge had one more transition to make, and it is that one that we are gathering for and praying about today, making a new home with God. As we are here together, we might imagine that that home for all of us is closer than we think, even as we taste a little bread and a little wine, and in this place, in this time, are wrapped warm and safe in God’s love for us,
I.N.I.
The Rev. Timothy J. Keyl, Pastor
Christ the King Lutheran Church
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