Those Shoes

Elizabeth O’Neill Memorial Service; Saturday, June 2, 2012

The Bustle in a House (Dickinson); John 10:11-16

Sermon preached at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church

            I knew Elizabeth the last five years of her life.  I remember one of the first times I visited with her in her home on Trafalgar Street.  We were sitting in the living room.  We had been talking about her early years.  Elizabeth had lots of stories.  She had lived a long life.  She had told me about her father, who was a doctor, and what it was like growing up.  She had told me some about her early teaching experience and meeting her husband and their marriage.  We had come to a natural pause in our conversation.  We were both taking a moment to sip our tea, and enjoy the quiet of the house.  Her eyes drifted down, and I waited for what I thought would be another pearl of a memory.  She pointed downward and said, “Those are not particularly attractive shoes”.   And she was right, they weren't very attractive shoes!  “You’re right”, I answered.  “But they are particularly comfortable ones!”  I knew then, that I really liked this woman.  She stated the obvious truth that most of us are too polite to utter.  Elizabeth did not use words loosely.  As a teacher of English, she knew the power of words and stories. 

            Someone had told me that Elizabeth enjoyed poetry.  She enjoyed reading it, but also writing it.  At that first visit, I asked if she might read me something she had written.  She picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table.  A great grandson had recently been born.  She had started a poem for him.  There was joy certainly, but also sadness.  He was a newborn infant; she was 95 years old.   She would never see this tiny child reach adulthood.  How odd that must feel, I thought, and how precious that short time with him must be.  In her poem, she wondered what kind of person he would become, what profession he would choose, what interests would capture his imagination.  She wondered where he would go; what stamp he would leave on this earth.  Our lives our stories we write with our living.  Elizabeth’s life was quite a story, one I hope you will share with each other downstairs after our service.  The stories of our lives define us, just as the stories of Jesus define him for us.

             Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd.”  In the ancient near east being a shepherd could be a hazardous.  A shepherd protected the flock, day and night.  During the day, he kept watch over the flock as they grazed, and if danger approached it was the shepherd who put himself between the wolf and the sheep.  At night, sheep were herded into a three sided enclosure made of rocks and stones.  The shepherd would sleep in the opening.  He would lay down in the entrance.  He prevented sheep from wandering out into the night, and predators from getting in to attack the flock.  The shepherd understood the connection between his life and the life of the flock.  They were part of an interdependent system.

            Sometimes we are the shepherds guiding and protecting and caring for one another.  Elizabeth was good at that.  She was a teacher, most recently in Greece.  Hundreds of students can thank her for introducing them to people and places and stories that have enriched their lives.  They can thank her for helping them to learn how to think critically and helping them learn how to clearly articulate that thinking.  After she retired, she continued working with students as a volunteer tutor at School 16.  She laid down her life for young people.

            Elizabeth was one of the founding board members of the Southwest Ecumenical Ministry program that last year celebrated its 40^th anniversary.  That program each year feeds hundreds of people in need with emergency food.  It feeds school children, families and seniors.  Over the years, her direct participation and commitment to that mission has aided many she didn’t even know.  She laid down her life for the hungry.

            In this place, Elizabeth has been a living presence helping when help was needed, serving on committees and on our vestry.  Attending services regularly until just last fall.  Her generosity of talent, time and treasure will not be forgotten here.  She laid down her life for us, and we are grateful.

            But several years ago the O’Neill family home was destroyed in a fire.  I can’t imagine what that was like for them.  Whenever Elizabeth talked about that morning, she described “vaulting the porch railing” with fire fighters to get out of the house safely.  I thought that that event would surely be the beginning of the end for her.  At her age it just felt like it would have been too much to recover from, too much loss, too much change.  But the community rose up to shepherd her and Steve. Community organized a dinner here to raise money to help both families displaced by the fire.  I think the caring presence of so many people was far more important than the money raised.  Community members helped them look for a new home. Her family pulled together and were brought closer through it.  Community brought meals and kept in touch.  They were enfolded.  We shepherd one another.

            Through it all, Elizabeth came here almost every Sunday morning.  She sat in that pew. She knew the shepherd of us all, and she lives fully with God now.  That’s what our faith teaches us.  God accompanies us in life, walking by our side through the good times and the bad.  God stands ready to support us when we’re weary, to listen when we worry, and to cheer for us when we are strong … and at the last to carry us tenderly home to live again with all those who have gone before us in faith.  Jesus died and rose so that we might know that life goes on after death.  Elizabeth is now part of that reality.  She has taken the journey she was so ready to take, even if we weren’t ready to let her go.  She is alive in God … experiencing new and wonderful places through God … still caring for others through God … still present to us in God our Shepherd. 

Amen.