Sun, Nov 12, 2017
For everything there is a season...
Ecclesiastes 3:1-12 by Craig de Vos
Homily from a memorial service held during the service on 12 Nov 2017
Series: Sermons

"Life doesn't always turn out like you think"--

those may not be the exact words that Mary used...

when she got up to speak at the Church Anniversary lunch back in June...

but that was the gist of it.

Of course, at the time, most of us thought that she was speaking...

as she often did...

of the stresses and strains of the past ten years following Myall's accident--

an event that, effectively, turned her life on its head...

and meant that so many of her dreams, pursuits, and everyday activities were put on hold...

or fell by the wayside.

Little did we know...

back in June...

that she was battling cancer and the early stages of dementia.

Without knowing it, Mary had, in a sense, come to say goodbye.

For, not long after that-- 

it seems--

she effectively stopped eating and started to waste away.

For her, it had all become too much.

She was tired.

And she'd had enough of life.

 

Life, indeed, doesn't always turn out how we imagine or expect.

There are twists and turns...

ups and downs...

tragedies and traumas.

Sometimes, the stresses and struggles can overwhelm us.

Sometimes, moments of joy and fulfilment can seem fleeting and far-between.

And sometimes it's hard to make much sense of it.

In the fourth century before Christ...

the philosopher who wrote the book of Ecclesiastes reflected upon those ideas.

And, in our reading, he offers a meditation upon life: 

"For everything there is a season".

Poetically--

by means of a randomly ordered series of polarities--

he seeks to convey a sense of the totality of human experience. 

Indeed, he suggests, polarity and dichotomy are of the very essence of our existence.

Life is...

and must be...

a mixture of good and bad...

joyful and sad.

But, more than that, he claims that there's a pattern...

a rhythm...

a cycle to life.

Too often, we think of life as linear--

a series of unique, unrepeatable events from birth to death.

He suggests, rather, that there's a circularity to life...

or, perhaps, better, a spirality.

Distilled to their essence, there are common experiences...

emotions...

choices...

that we confront and continually repeat.

In a sense, then, nothing that we experience is permanent or intransient. 

While that can seem quite pessimistic, it can also be quite reassuring:

the stresses and strains...

the traumas and tragedies...

the griefs and the pains...

are not permanent.

These, too, shall pass.

From this, the author suggests, the secret is to live in the present; 

to see each day as precious. 

Cast off that which will pull you down.

Endure what needs to be endured. 

Grasp hold of love, joy, and peace when they come. 

Or, perhaps, in the words of David Henry Thoreau...

it's choosing to live "deliberately" and deeply...

and to "suck out all the marrow of life"...

and not when I come to die, "discover that I had not lived".

 

Many of us have come today to remember Mary--

to give thanks for her life and to grieve her loss.

And the author would encourage us to embrace that grief...

to live with it and to live through it...

because this is its season.

There's a time for it.

But, he would also urge us to remember that there will be a time to move on:

a time to laugh...

and a time to dance.

As we come face to face with our own mortality,

and the death of someone we loved...

the author urges us to embrace life--

in its fullness and complexity--

and to keep on living.

 

Of course, at a time like this, it would also be easy to offer words of hope and reassurance;

to speak of resurrection...

heaven...

and eternal life.

So often, however, such words can ring so hollow.

They can be platitudes for avoiding the gnawing pain of bereavement;

so, too, notions about some future heavenly reunion.

Even the New Testament--

for all of its talk of 'resurrection' and 'eternal life'--

still only speaks in symbolic and metaphoric terms.

We do not really know what lies beyond our mortal existence.

Nor can we know.

And yet, in contrast to the transience and impermanence of our lives...

the Philosopher reminds us of the God who is eternal and transcendent;

a God who is with us, always;

a God who loves us with a love that is stronger than death...

and with a love that cannot be defeated by death.

It is from this God that we are born;

it is into this God that we die.

And it's to this God's safe keeping that we entrust Mary.