Memorial Service for Virgil McDowell

This afternoon I drove over to Gilbert on S. Greenfield Rd. to attend a memorial service for a dear man who was once an elder at Redeemer. His daughter, Rosemary was my piano teacher in highschool. Both she and her sister, Marcia delivered a sweet eulogy that gave everyone a pretty good synopsis of his life. We sang Blessed Assurance and at the end Be Still My Soul. After singing Anglican hymns for the past several months, (strange, archaic and unfamiliar) these old familiar songs were like the taste of honey. Two of the grandchildren took turns reading appropriate scripture about death and life after death. The sermon was SO apropro...he talked about what death delivers us from and to. Death is the surest cure for any disease, it takes away our tears, our pains, our losses, our fears. It takes us out of the realm of sin and regret, foolishness, sadness, hopelessness and angst. It transports us into the loving arms of our very real Saviour who in turn died for us. It delivers us into the realm of light and glory and beauty where all things are made new. And here's what i think. It allows us to be unhampered by who we have become here and to become who we were intended to be...all possibilities fulfilled and hope is transfigured into reality. It says we will know as we are known. I think Virgil is with his wife Rosemary and her mind is clear and she totally understands how dear and faithful he was to care for her long after she had ceased being herself with Alzeimers. I was so amazed to meet some of his many grandchildren, to talk to Marcia and Rosie, and reunite with so many folks I haven't seen in many years, many of whose names escape me. There was Swede and Doris Johnson, Dr. and Mrs. Brown, Starr and Paul Meade, Sherry Dunse, Ginger, the Skibetas, and many others. Funerals seem to be a sort of weird bridge, allowing us to cross over for brief moments into the now of each other's lives, united by a common past and momentary present. I am just so very glad I took the time and effort to drive down there. There was a definite sweetness to the whole thing. The last thing Sherry told me as she turned to leave was "My mother (Virginia Strigas)really loved you, you know...she really did...".