In Loving Memory
Beth Bowers Rogers
December 26, 1968 - June 22, 2013
We met on a sunshiny afternoon in the beautiful garden where Beth and her friends had painted a zillion pictures. She loved that space. Beth chose that spot to be married. She chose that spot for her husband's memorial service less than a year before. And then--looking out on the stream that ran through the garden, the plants lush and green--a cluster of about twenty-five family members and friends gathered to say goodbye to Beth. They asked me to speak and these are the words I chose...
As I thought about what I wanted to try to say today I
remembered a story by the great preacher, Fred Craddock. He lived for a while
in Oklahoma. And there was a little town nearby named Kingfisher that had a
weekly newspaper. One of the columns in that paper—and the only reason they
took the paper—was by an Arapahoe Indian woman. She called herself, in English,
Molly Shepherd. He said he loved reading her articles because you never knew
what she was going to say. In broken English she told about tribal customs, of
songs and funerals and giveaways and prizes for those who had come the longest
distance to a funeral. He said that in her own broken English way she had a
gift for words.
There was one of her articles that Dr. Craddock said he would never
forget. It was the Friday afternoon paper after the assassination of President
Kennedy. She wrote that day, “Molly has no word for you today. Molly has
nothing to write today. Molly has no words today. Molly goes through the house
all day saying, “Oh…Oh…Oh.”*
And that is the spirit of this afternoon. We’ve all been
stumbling around these last sad days saying: “Oh…Oh…Oh.” For sometimes the
anguish and the hurt are so deep there are few words to express how we feel.
Saying all that we come to remember Beth. Born the day after
Christmas in 1968. And she died on last Saturday. She was 44 years old. I
baptized her one evening when she was about eleven. She was a good friend of my
son, Matthew and they grew up together.
Beth had two children Noah and Holden. I love that picture
that Jo Carol took on a good, good day when the sun was shining and everyone
was happy. It would be great if we could stop and just freeze such moments.
She was married to Brian just over a year when he died
suddenly. And they were married here where we are and when we had the Memorial
Service for him—it was here in this spot. My son, who could not be here today
reminded me that here he and Beth and the rest of Brenda’s art classes painted this spot, he said, from one end to the
other. And Beth loved this place and it is fitting that we stand here
and remember.
The Apostle Paul said, “Finally, beloved, whatever is
true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, what ever is pure, whatever is
pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is
anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”
And so we do think today on these things. We are all made up
of many selves and many faces. We all have a dark side and Beth certainly did.
But that was only part—we remember how bright she was, how she loved to laugh,
how she was a good artist and always loved art and animals and nature. She
finished the Culinary School in Atlanta. She served as a chef and was a good
cook. She attended the University of Georgia for two years. But one of her
great contributions were her two children: Noah and Holden. Let me say to both
of you that though this is a hard, hard time and it will take you a long time
to untangle your feelings—remember that you have two grandparents that love you
more than anything and will do all they can to help you in the days ahead. So
remember whatever is good and just and pleasing…for this was part of this
special life.
But we, your friends and family--come today to speak
especially to Brenda and Jim and Noah and Holden. On Tuesday evening the line
was long as people stood to hug you and speak to you. The parking lot was full.
They came for you and you all are surrounded—then and now--by a circle of love.
Don’t forget Tuesday and don’t forget this afternoon. All the people that put
aside their own sorrows and griefs to stand by you in this time. It didn’t
matter really what they said—for most of it will be a blur—but you have been
lifted up by friends that have come with the casseroles of love they brought
and the cards and the Memorial gifts that will come in and the prayers and the
tears that say over and over we love you and we stand by you. Don’t ever forget
this.
But there is another reason that we come here. We all need a
hopeful word on this hard day. We all need a word of grace that somehow will
help you and us through the hard times and the dark days. One of my favorite
lifelines are found in the words of the Apostle Paul:
“Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will
hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or
sword? No, he said. “In all these things we are more than conquerors through
him who loved us. For I am convinced that 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 in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Jesus stretched out his arms and said come ye—all ye weary
ones and all ye heavy laden ones--and I will give you rest. He took us all in.
Dear Beth is in his arms—not because of what she did or did not do—but simply
because those arms hold her and all of us too.
A friend of mine lost a 9-year-old daughter quite suddenly
on a cold winter day. She was diagnosed with leukemia and died less than six
weeks later. And in this father’s grief he wrote these words. They are for
Brenda and Jim and Noah and Holden and for us all.
“Was the grass really ever green
Were the sounds of birds really clearly heard
And did we picnic in the park only six short
months ago.
Here in mid-winter they seem so far away
The naked trees, the leaden skies seem always
to have been
And seem out ahead for all time,
Were things really ever green
And will spring come back again?
Yes the spring will return
The gray, dull days of cold will pass
The routine now imprisoning us will be broken up
A new excitement will be awakened by new possibilities.
The despair which now engulfs us will subside
A word of hope will come to us
Our presumption that all is lost will be replaced
For a renewed
expectancy.
Future will become a possibility again.
. . . .
The sadness now weighing upon us will be lifted
Joy will speak her acknowledgment of grief and
will sound her
call to us
The cause of sadness will not have vanished
But joy will come in spite of it
But joy will come in spite of it
We will laugh again
We will sing and dance
We will celebrate the life now given us.
. .
. .
(And then the old griever wrote…)
Were things really ever green
And will the spring come back again
Yes, yes as sure as e’re it were here
Yes, yes as sure as winter’s here
Yes, yes, as sure as God is
The spring will return
And it will be green again.”**
This is my hope for us all. And so I close with one of my favorite Benedictions that
comes from the Roman Catholic Mass for the Dead.
“Into paradise may the angels lead her; at her coming may
the martyrs take her up into eternal rest, and may the chorus of angels lead
her to that holy city, and the place of perpetual light.” Amen.
*Story by Fred B. Craddock, in Craddock Stories
**Abbreviated version of poem by Temp Sparkman
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