Funeral Homily

Willis "Bill" Burget

Wednesday, 4 November 2009
The Rev’d Lloyd Prator

New York City

When we gather, as we do tonight, to remember a friend who has died, we have an opportunity to think about what we believe concerning the destiny of those who have preceded us in death. We come to such a moment filled with a welter of emotions. As Isaiah says in the first reading, we come with a shroud over us; we come with a burden of death that is almost more than we can bear.

The burden of death was borne by Bill and his friends as his earthly life began to be eroded by disease and suffering. What we consider this evening is a burden that began long before the actual event of Bill’s death last week. Those who cared for Bill have borne this burden for years. Consider those who cared for him in his home, the nurses and attendants who took care of his every bodily need as his life and health began to wane. From our perspective, here at St. John’s, we consider Randolph Trumbach, who saw that in the last years of his life, he found his way here to be a part of our congregation. An endeavor which took great energy and devotion, and which has been the subject of much appreciative appraisal by members of this congregation. It is over, Randy, and you can now lay this burden down, for this the first man you ever loved, you indeed loved to the end.

When a man comes to bear a degenerative neurological disease, such as Bill suffered, the deepest, most inestimable burden is that which he bore. None of us can know, except in occasional glimpses and insights, what it was like to struggle against a burden of disease and impending death of the sort he faced. To live with a body and a mind that have gone off in silent revolt is a horror none of us can really imagine.

In the face of this burden, particularly that burden borne by those who loved Bill, what does the Christian faith have to say? Here is where we find our hope.

Our God is a God who lifts burdens and calls to lay down that which we can no longer bear and to come to a party. Isaiah, in the first reading, talks about the Lord of hosts preparing for all people a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And he will destroy the shroud cast over all people. God bids us come to the Eucharist, and here to hand over the burdens we can no longer bear and to break bread and share wine in the name of Christ who conquers death. So, in the first instance, come to the party.
And in the second instance, God prepares for us a new body. Paul the Apostle carefully outlines the mystery of this new creation in the second reading. Our old bodies, which wear out, are sown in the ground like a seed, and in a new realm of reality, a new body grows in their place, a creative act of God in Christ. The old physical body, which had indeed worn quite out for poor Bill, is replaced by a spiritual body which like the realm in which it lives, is eternal. A new body. No longer beyond his control, restored to even better than the best it had ever been. A body freed from limitations and suffering, a body renewed by the lifting of the shroud of pain and death.

I did not know, until quite recently, that Bill had been a singer, and in fact, had contributed his vocal talents to at least one other Episcopal Church in Manhattan. In the end, of course, the disease took away the ability to sing, and that enthusiasm was only occasionally evident. One thing that endured to the end was his delight in singing the ancient chant of the Lord’s Prayer, which we always sing here and which we will sing tonight. One enduring vision of heaven pictures the faithful around the throne of God singing to the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. How delightful it must be for Bill, freed from the burden of his illness, to lift his voice in song within the nearer presence of the one who taught him the song, and offer his chant of praise to the Father in Heaven from a proximity we can only guess about.

Tonight we give thanks to God for all his blessings, and bless and consecrate the bread and wine of the feast, and sing that great prayer which our Lord himself taught us. As we join our voices, sharpen your perceptions and open your ears. In the distance, in the very great distance, you may catch the crystal clear tones of a heavenly descant. Better than he could ever sing before, Bill lifts his voice in prayer to his redeemer. And with him we proclaim that the kingdom, the power and the glory are the Lord’s now and forever.