All Manner of things will be well
(A homily by Rev. Hal Chorpenning)

Homily for Memorial Service
for Megan Nuttall McGrew
6 September 2003

It is an honor and a privilege for me to lead this celebration of Megan’s life. There will be no magic words spoken from the pulpit that will sanitize and vanquish the pain of her death. But, we will share together the love and the loss of this amazing young woman. We come together as a community of love and concern, and together as we spread wide our pain, and bear each other’s burden, and my hope is that it will provide a way toward healing – not forgetting or denying or moving on too rapidly with life – but of remembering and healing.

We gather here as Megan’s friends and family to hold you, Aaron, in our hearts, and to let you know that we’re going to keep holding on to you. And for Carol and Gordon, we will keep you in our hearts and prayers. And for Jack and Liz, we will be here for you whenever and however you need us. This is part of our covenant as a community of faith.

Last December, when I officiated at Megan and Aaron’s wedding, they made a covenant with each other and with God. In the vows they exchanged, Megan and Aaron said, “I choose you, and I give myself as I am, and as I will be, and I do it for all of life.” I want you to remember those words, Aaron. “I choose you, and I give myself as I am, and as I will be, and I do it for all of life.” You both were keepers of this covenant, and you are keeping it still, as is God. And when Megan gave you your wedding ring, she said, “Aaron, I give your this ring as a symbol of my love for you, my covenant to be your wife, to be faithful to you, and as a reminder of God’s presence in your life and in our marriage.” And today, I want to remind you that God was present in every moment of your marriage, and that God is present in your life and with Megan.

All of us who were present at the wedding made this pledge to you both: we “affirm our continuing support for Megan and Aaron.” We will honor our covenant with you and will be here to love and support you, Aaron, just as we come today in love and to honor Megan.

Last week, I was up taking a course at Ring Lake Ranch in northwest Wyoming, when I got a message from Dick Einerson, our associate minister, about Megan’s death. To say that I was in shock and awe doesn’t begin to describe it, and I’m guessing that many of you had the same reaction, followed by a hollow sadness and a sense of loss. I would invite all of us to sit for a moment with that feeling.  It is a real feeling that we need to experience, in order that we might move through it.

Then, I suspect like many of you, I started to ask why. Megan’s death is beyond our comprehension. There are things that some people say, especially when a young person dies, to try to find a quick answer to the why question and to bring consolation. “God needed her more than we did.” “God needed one more angel.” “It was just her time to go and be with God.” “God only gives us as much pain as we can bear.” None of these overly simple theological statements has a biblical basis, nor do they describe the God we know and worship.

Aaron, you needed Megan profoundly. You’d just begun your married life together, though you’d been in love for years. Gordon and Carol, your love for Megan and her love for you filled a deep need. What kind of a God would say, “I need her more than you”? The God we know and worship is not a selfish God, but rather a force of infinite generosity and compassion.

Was it just time for Megan’s life to end? Do we all have a specific allotment of days and hours to live? Is the God we know and worship a capricious timekeeper or a fastidious accountant? I don’t think so. God’s desire for us is wholeness and love; she is the God of kairos, God’s season – not of chronos, our grasping at every minute.

The God we know and worship is not testing us to how much pain we can bear. That’s sadism, not divinity. And if you try to read the biblical story of Job literally, you wind up with a God who, frankly, is not worthy of worship.

The God we know and worship suffers with us, even as we suffer. When we talk about Jesus’ suffering on the cross, we use the Latin word, passion. And when we talk about the enduring quality of Jesus’ life and teaching, and the enduring quality of the God we know and worship, we use the word compassion, literally “to suffer with.” I cannot help but think that if God had eyes that they would be filled with flowing tears, knowing what Megan’s family, and all of us, are going through. He understands our agony and our loss. You see, God, too, lost a family member who died too young.

Jesus, in John’s gospel, says, “I came so that you might have life, and have it abundantly.” And it was that God – the loving force of eternity – with whom Megan was, and continues to be, in relationship. Paul writes, “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God.”

It’s sometimes overwhelming to be accepted for who we are, to be loved fully and deeply, to experience love that comes without any conditions, yet this is the relationship God invites us into.

Our relationship with God continues in a different form after death. Paul talks of us exchanging a physical body for a spiritual body, and that is the sense I have: that we continue to be in relationship with and through God in a new way after death; it may even be enhanced after death.

About two years ago, I was part of a UCC delegation that visited the Presbyterian Church in the Republic of Korea. It was a wonderful trip: we were brought from place to place and from restaurant to restaurant by our Korean hosts in whirlwind fashion. Between the jetlag and the packed schedule and the incredible hospitality, the thought occurred to me: I don’t know exactly where we’re going next, but I know it’s going to be good. At first, all of us on the trip had some trepidation: we were in a foreign country where none of us spoke the language; the food was different; the homes were different.

But everywhere we went, we were greeted with incredible warmth and hospitality. Yes, it was different, but it was wonderful.

And I kept saying to people: I don’t know exactly where we’re going next, but I know it’s going to be good.

None of us knows exactly what the next world looks like. It probably doesn’t have harps and fluffy white clouds and people garbed in white robes. None of us know exactly what comes next. But God has brought us this far; why wouldn’t God bring us along on the next step? Megan was not alone in life, she was not alone in death, and she is not alone in life beyond death. I don’t know exactly where we’re going, but I know it’s going to be good.

The medieval German mystic, Hildegard of Bingen, wrote, “All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.” It won’t be easy for us; and it won’t be immediate, but all will be well. I know that’s what Megan would want her mom and her dad, her in-laws, her whole family, and especially you, Aaron, to know deep in your hearts: All will be well.

Amen.