It's been a while since I last posted anything on here - so hello again to everyone who stumbles upon this blog!
A lot has happened. My son arrived, six years ago more or less - Thomas, named after my favourite disciple. More on my favourite disciple on another occasion, perhaps. I completed my curacy, and had the tremendous blessing of being appointed as Team Vicar to the South Cotswold Team Ministry, with special responsibility for St Mary's in Fairford, and more recently also St Mary's and St James', in Meysey Hampton and Marston Meysey. Incumbency has been thrilling and challenging and time-consuming, hence the lack of blogging here. Writing this feels good though, and I hope to make time for this kind of communicating in future.
But most recently the thing that has happened is the death of my mother-in-law, my wonderful husband Paul's mum, Madge. Taking the funeral of a family member is strange and difficult and moving all at the same time. I've done it once before, with Paul's dad Doug, and I was glad to be asked to step up once again. He asked if I would share the address I gave at the funeral, so here it is.
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Address for the Funeral of Madge Cornell
Leading a funeral for a family member is a rare and tough thing to do as a priest. This is only the second time I’ve done so - the first of course being here in St Peter’s church seven years ago, as we said goodbye to Doug. The plus of course, is that you know the person much better than most of the folk you usually lay to rest. The downside however is that the emotions at play are felt that much more. I’m glad to say I was able to get to know Madge. Over the twenty years I’ve known her we’ve learned a lot about each other, and my life is definitely richer for having known her.
Madge was a firecracker. She was passionate and hardworking, dedicated wholly and fully to whatever she put her mind to.
The story of her courtship with Doug is fantastic. Here was this troublemaking Northern boy, who spent half his time sneaking away from sentry duty to come and flirt with her, and the other half whitewashing stones on a charge because he had snuck away from sentry duty to come flirt with her, and they fell in love. He was away for years in the war, and then home he came to make good on those sweet words shared while he was whisking her away to the Compton Basset dances. Her father didn’t approve. To say the least. He refused to give his blessing to their marriage, and that was a serious thing back in the 1940s. With no blessing, there could be no marriage.
Now some girls might have bowed to their father’s wishes, and given up on their hopes of wedding bells. After all, father probably knew best. This mischievous Durham lad had no prospects, no respect for authority… he was trouble. But not Madge. Her father was a stern man, and he ruled his household with a firm hand, but she, the youngest of 8, wasn’t going to back down. She held out until she turned 21, an adult in the eyes of the law, and then ON HER BIRTHDAY she married her Northern lad, and took him into her family home to live with her and her no doubt furious father.
That took such courage, and such dedication. She knew what she wanted, and my goodness, she was going to get it.
Learning to drive is another marvellous example. Madge had decided she was going to learn to drive, and pass her test. She wasn’t good at it. Most definitely not a natural. But she had put her mind to it, and nothing was going to stop her. Four times she took that test, and when she finally passed it, that was enough. The test was the challenge. Once she’d done what she’d set out to do, she was satisfied. The dragon was slain. Onto the next challenge.
Madge was unfailingly hospitable. Even when she was beginning to suffer from dementia and her health was failing, the very first thing she’d do on you coming through the door would be to offer you a cup of tea, a bite to eat - surely you couldn’t have eaten lunch yet, let her just put a little something together for you.
She loved Paul and my son, little Thomas, who came along pretty recently, and her great grandchildren, Andy and Georgia’s little ones as well. Some of her mothering instinct definitely came to the fore again when she was around them, and it was a delight to watch Madge and Tom tentatively beginning to talk to each other and form a relationship all of their own. Tom always enjoyed coming to see Granny and Tilly the Cat (all one concept, for Tom) and her enjoyment shone through as well.
Madge didn’t have an easy life, but she faced the challenges that came her way squarely, and with great courage. Doug’s death, most recently, we all feared would be a pain that would be hard to bear, but Madge bore it. She tightened her belt, took stock of herself, and kept going, pragmatic, dogged, persevering. That was just what she was like.
As I think about Madge’s life, about the ups and downs she experienced, the triumphs and the difficulties, I’m reminded of nothing so much as the seasons. Madge, the daughter of a tenant farmer, knew the natural world well, and knew as well as anyone might, the flow and movement of the rural year. How the seasons turn, from spring to summer, from autumn, to winter. And so Madge saw changes in her life: love and loss, success and failure, joy and sorrow. In life there is a time for everything, including in the end, finally a time to leave this existence and to move on to whatever waits for us. This timeless truth was something Madge knew well, and didn’t fear.
At this time of year we see it clearly - as the weather turns and the evenings close in, the winter can be dark and cold. At its worst it can make us forget that the world was ever different. It can be hard to imagine that brighter days might lie ahead – but even in the darkness, we have to trust that the light we remember isn’t only for the past, but something that waits for us, on the other side.
Faith wasn’t something Madge spoke much about. But she counted herself a Christian, and indeed spent her childhood with her sisters praying and singing in this very church.
As a Christian, we believe that Jesus made some strong promises about what happens after death. He speaks about his ‘father’s house’, a place with many rooms, and space for everyone who wants to be there. He speaks about ‘Paradise’, a place of rest and light. As he was being crucified, nailed to a cross between two thieves, he spoke to them. Although one was unrepentant, the other knew he had done wrong, and expressed his sorrow and desire for forgiveness. Jesus spoke to reassure him: ‘this day you will be with me in Paradise’. And finally he speaks about ‘eternal life’, where there is no death or decay.
And how do we find our way there? We do it by following Jesus, and obeying that single command that all the law and the prophets could be boiled down into: ‘love the Lord your God with all your heart, and your neighbour as yourself.’ Love.
Love is the answer. We heard St. Paul describe it, in our Bible reading just now. Love. Endlessly patient, endlessly enduring, endlessly humble and self-effacing. Paul was writing to bunch of brand new Christians who hadn’t quite worked out how to be Christians yet. They were fighting among themselves, bickering over who was the most important, who had the most special gifts, who should be the ‘leader’. And Paul corrected them. This is all stupid, he says. ‘Who’s the most important?’ what a load of rubbish. Following Jesus is about loving, and that kind of behaviour isn’t love.
Madge, as is true for all of us, had her flaws. She was imperfect, and made mistakes. But I do believe that she loved. That she was a woman who loved fiercely and fully, and honestly strove to do the best for those she loved. I do not doubt that this day she is indeed welcomed home.
And what does this home, this paradise, this eternal life look like? It’s hard to say. In this life we are limited by our senses. Science tells us that there is so much more to the universe than we could ever perceive with our senses alone. So to imagine a new existence without limitation, without pain, without time or death… that’s a hard thing to do. Jesus speaks to us using description and metaphor - gives us a taste of his father’s house in the things he does and the stories he tells. It is a home, a wedding party, a banquet. It is water turned to wine, hurting people healed, five thousand and more fed with food to spare. If that wine included a Blossom Hill merlot then I’m pretty sure Madge would feel right at home. A place of welcome and flourishing, where anxiety and darkness and fear no longer prey on us. Our human frailty no longer limits us. We see clearly for the first time. As St. Paul says: ‘now we see in a glass, darkly - then we shall see face to face.’
Jesus’ promise, in a new life, an eternal life, is for Madge, and for us all - that just as God raised Jesus, if follow him, so he will raise us. The details of that place might elude us, but God’s love for us is sure, even if our imaginations fail.
So my belief, my hope, that I hold out to you today, is in that new life. In the knowledge, that if we follow Jesus’ way, death need be fearful no longer. That even trapped in the depths of winter, spring is waiting for us, and on the other side of the darkness, a reunion, in a place where there are no more shadows, no darkness, no tears, no pain… only light and love.
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God bless you all.
