This morning, I went to the funeral of a friend for almost 30 years.
She and her husband stood by me in one of the hardest, most painful moments of my life.
She planned everything about the service--including inclusive language in the prayers and readings--and great music from a piano, saxophone, choir and soloist.
Two women priests--a couple I've know since I've been in CT--gave the sermon brilliantly.
Her husband, also a priest though when I first met him he was a law professor, made moving comments and read a poem I'll include below.
After the sermon, I left, full of both grief for her and joy for her life. By that time the service had lasted an hour and ten minutes, with communion still to come.
Then, this afternoon, I was on a zoom call with 6 of my favorite people--who I met through the Mastery Foundation and my leading of the Making a Difference workshop.
Though their was a purpose to the call, it was full of fellowship and joy. There was a 'connection question' to pull us together. It was "what is your relationship to the unknown and to miracle."
I shared about my feelings from the funeral--facing the miracle of life and the unknown of death.
A day of high emotion for me.
WHEN DEATH COMES by Mary Oliver
When death comes like a hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all he bright coins from his purse to buy me and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox
when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility, and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body as a lion of courage and something precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Rest In Peace, Jill.
Ponder all that, my friends....