Mary Ann Logue—January 11, 2020
Mary
Ann and I clicked at first meeting. It may have been that we were both only
children. I can spot another ‘only child’ from across the room. We know much
about each other—how to be alone, how to entertain ourselves, how to keep quiet
when keeping quiet is good.
She
came from a remarkable Congregational background and lay ministry to join St.
Paul’s while I was Rector here, many years ago. I presented her for
confirmation and for ordination as a deacon and a priest.
We
spent many hours together discussing theology and our lives.
Bern
and I went to several of Frank and Mary Ann’s fabled Christmas parties and met
many people who came to mean a lot to me at them.
At
the lowest point in my life, when I resigned from St. Paul’s and was separated
from my wife, with whom I’ll celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary in
September, it was Mary Ann who sought me out and found me a job through a
friend of hers and supported me greatly as I put my life back together and
rejoined my family and eventually found my priesthood all new.
She
also served with me as the assistant Rector at St. John’s in Waterbury for
several years.
Every
Monday morning, she would come into my office with a list and tell me what I
needed to do that week. I would take the list and carry out her orders. I am
not the most focused and purpose driven person you’ll ever meet—so her gift to
me was to bring a list to focus on and realize my purpose.
We
were dear friends. After Frank died and she was without him, I would visit her
in Hamden, just to talk and keep in touch and share our lives.
She
always shared about Frank and her children and grandchildren. They were all the
love of her life. As active and involved as she was in the community and the
church, her family was the love of her life. God bless her for that.
I
won’t go on and on about Mary Ann and her accomplishments—you all know about
them.
All
I want to say is that I loved her and will miss her greatly. She shared
compassion and wisdom and great good spirit with me over the years.
I
thank God for her contributions to my life. And I’m sure all of you thank God
for the gifts she gave to you. I’m sure of that.
I
chose today’s gospel—it’s what I want for my funeral—and it’s all about love.
Love IS ALL WE NEED. Love of our families, love of our communities, love of our
church family, love of our country, love of our environment, love of our world.
Love of one another. That’s all we need. And Mary Ann had that love. Believe
you me—and I know you do—she had that love.
Here’s
something I shouldn’t tell you. And I certainly shouldn’t say it in front of my
bishop…
But,
here it is: I’m not sure what happens when we die.
I
would pray it was like one of Mary Ann and Frank’s Christmas parties. But I
don’t know.
I’m
not sold on streets of gold and angel wings. I just don’t know.
What
I do know is love is what matters and we do that on this earth, while we’re
alive. Like Mary Ann did, every day of her life.
But,
as a priest, I wear white at a funeral—not the color of mourning, but the color
of Easter, the color of Hope, the color of new life.
And
I rely on the words of St. Francis of Assisi, everyone’s first or second
favorite saint, once wrote: “Death is not a door that closes; it is a door that
opens and we walk in, all new, into the presence of the One who loves us best
of all.”
For
those of us still on our earthy pilgrimage, Death is a closed door.
We
are not with those who we love but see no more.
But
I believe and believe fair well, that for Mary Ann, Death was a door that
opened and she entered in all new—“all new”—into the presence of the One who
loves her best of all.
That
I believe—whatever it means—that I believe.
“All
new…all new…all new….”
Amen
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