Funeral Homily for

Pamela M. Brown

Saturday 20 August 2011

The Rev'd Lloyd Prator

Rector

New York City

That day we all dreaded came earlier this week. For years, we held hands with our beloved Pamela as she journeyed on against the degenerative evil of cancer, meeting each new dimension of her illness with the strength and courage we knew to be so typical of her. At every step, she seemed more concerned about us than herself, and while there may have been dark moments, say, at three in the morning when she could not sleep, and at such moments the demons may well have come, but to us, for us, she showed strength, courage and hope.

My point in this homily is that she still shows us that strength, courage, and hope. She is still giving us gifts of faith because we Christians believe that in Christ her life begins anew. As John the Evangelist put it in the gospel, we believe that she has gone to another room in the home that Jesus has prepared for all of us. This week, early in the morning, she slipped into that other room, and quietly closed the door behind her. All of this happening seventy years from the day that the door of earthly life opened for her.

The hope of Christ is this: consider for a moment the paschal candle which stands at the head of the coffin here in the center aisle. It was lighted at Easter and carried into a darkened church to celebrate the resurrection of Christ. This is the noon of the day; right now, but in our hearts, at least I know, in mine, this is a time of darkness. We look for light in the midst of darkness, hope in times of despair. And the Paschal mystery reminds us that that hope is here with us, no matter how dark life may seem. Pamela was baptized into the death and resurrection of Christ. At the moment of her baptism, she went under the waters of new life, and, for a moment, under water, she was dead. And she rose from those waters, probably with a yelp of surprise, if I know her, to show a mystery: That mystery is that seventy years later, when death came, it had lost its final horrible power. Follow me, said Jesus, and I Will bring you to the waters of new life. And that is the mystery we celebrate today.
And yet, it is sometimes the Old Testament which speaks to us most clearly about faith. In the first reading, from Wisdom, the writer told us a vision of a new Israel: There would be a new feast prepared for all people on the holy mountain of Israel. And for that great feast, we all wait. We wait for a rich feast with fine wines well strained, a banquet which is a symbol of the richness of this life, but also a sign of the life to come.

Pamela lived a life in which party and celebration were central points. Maybe it was because, on the face of it, her life was so scarred with tragedy and loss: The death of her beloved Ace, in 1989, the brutal tragedy of her daughter’s death in 1996, the ups and downs of a career in that most volatile of business, the fashion trade. The suffering of illness and the frustration of serial treatments, each with hope and despair. And then the ordeal of her own dear son, as he now comes to the final few years of a prison sentence. Arlander is here with us today, through the care and thoughtfulness of the staff at Eastern Correctional Institution, and I want them to know how grateful we are for their kindness. They did not have to make this happen, but they did, and we thank them.

But for whatever reasons, feasts and celebrations were an important part of her life. She always cared that others had a place to go for holidays and festivals, she opened her home to many of us, year after year. And hers was always a voice for making this parish a more welcoming place, more attractive, more inclusive, and always clear about the inclusive gospel of Christ.

Isaiah reminds us at the end of the reading that we must wait. Samuel Beckett, the great author reminds us in his appropriately named Waiting for Godot, that waiting is much of the human enterprise. And as Pamela has left us in death, we now wait for that day when we join her. Her life is a reminder that there is an agenda for our waiting time. Her life showed us that the agenda includes feasting and celebrating, especially with those in need, drawing near in love to the God who made us, building and strengthening his community in a way that helps it more effectively proclaim the love of God to all people. For these things she stood and by her witness, she speaks of her commitment to Christ and to his community the Church.

The mysteries of life and death elude us; so much suffering seems to be so pointless and unjust. But while we wonder about the meaning of all of this, quietly on Wednesday morning, Pamela slipped through the door into that other room of the house. Not unnoticed, you can bet. Pam was noticed in any room she entered. One of the things people first noticed about her was her graceful beauty, bearing the dignity of age in a way that few can ever do. In her life she spread many of a party for us, her family and her friends. And on that morning this week, she came to the final party, the greatest feast of all spread in the New Jerusalem in the presence of the hosts of heaven and the Host of the Feast. “We were waiting for you,” are the Words spoken by the one who is the Word. . “It took a long time and the journey was not easy. But you are here and there is a place for you right next to me.”

From that place at the table in the New Jerusalem, she prays for us who are still on the way, and who gather this day at this table, which is but a pale copy of the one which awaits us in heaven, at which our beloved Pam has found a place.