The Funeral Sermon
Reading 1 John 4:7-12
The reading we have just heard seems a strange one for a funeral service; it is more suited to a wedding and indeed, is often used in that context. So, why has this reason been chosen? Perhaps the answer will become clear as I progress.
If we are to read our newspapers and watch the news on television it would seem that we live in a world devoid of love. This week has seen the fifth anniversary of 9/11. We have heard once again of the ‘War on Terror’- a war that has so far claimed an estimated further 72,000 civilian lives and the lives of over 3,000 service personnel in
It seems that death and destruction have become the stock trade of the media, and it would be easy to assume that the world was full of hate and that love was dead.
But that is not the case. What go unreported are the thousands of small acts of love that take place day by day. In the rubble of
In our country the same is true. We hear of the gunning down of a 15 year old boy in Moss-side,
So why am I saying all this? I am saying it because Zita was one of those unnoticed people who quietly got on with helping and loving people. Very rarely did she get into the news, and those outside here circle of family and friends most likely never knew some of the things she did. It is not for me to list them here - that is for those who will give the tributes, should they so wish. I simply need to say that Zita showed love to all: her family and friends, of course; but also to those who, through no fault of their own, needed care and attention, but most of all love.
Zita dedicated much of her life making sure that those with whom she had contact, did not feel unwanted and for that we give thanks to God today. Sometimes those acts of love were not without cost. In times, she too was in pain but that did not stop her. Love can be costly, but never as costly as it was to God. “For God so loved the world that he gave his son. Zita’s loving acts may not have been earth shattering but when added to similar acts that happen minute by minute, hour by hour and day by day, they help create a power that can never be defeated, a power that always triumphs in the end because it is the very power of God : for “God is love.”
So, today, we thank God for her example. However, hopefully we can do more than that we can follower her example and the example of others like her, in bringing a little more love into the world.
So the reading from 1 John is most appropriate. “Beloved, let us live on another for love is from God.”
This tribute will be in two parts. In the first part I will attempt to tell you a little about the Zita you don’t perhaps know, because I know that many of you who join with me today, could stand here and give this tribute and most of you know of her life in the village and involvement with St Raphael better than I.
My mother was very much her father’s daughter. She imbibed and shared his fierce belief in people, his ability to be and remain independent in his judgements and actions, but to work within the structures of the society he lived in. Both mothers’ parents came from seafaring families, where men and women were separated for months at a time. During these times men needed to sew and cook and women needed to maintain property and manage the family affairs. So it was that Mother and her siblings were all taught to sew, cook, clean, and decorate regardless of gender. This got both of my parents into trouble from time to time. For example, the first time my mother was ill, it came as a bit of a surprise that she had to give my father detailed instruction on how to boil an egg. My mother horrified her mother-in-law by painting the window frames. I should add that at the time she was sitting on the window sill, painting the outside of an upstairs window and she was quite heavily pregnant.
Mother’s father was a teacher and for that he was viewed as a rebel by the family. The same strength that enabled Grandpa to persue his career in education was shared by mother. This enabled her maintain her stand for those and for that which she believed in. None more so, than in her successful resistance to all the pressure and well intended advise regarding my sisters education.
Mother grew up during the great depression of the nineteen twenties, a time when there was no welfare state. Her father was the headmaster of an elementary school. Grandfather took his duties very seriously. She told us about two brothers who had been expelled from their previous schools. Grandpa took them in to his school. He eventually found they could draw and he encouraged them in this. She told us that when they left school they eventually made a name for themselves as artists. Mother and her siblings regularly lost second best coats or shoes to children at his school who had none. Nor was this the sole province of my grandfather. Mother remembers coming home from school to find her mother rifling the beds for blankets. Granny had gone to assist a farm workers wife who was giving birth to a baby. There were no blankets or coverings in this womans home apart from newspapers. Grandma had no spare blankets so everyone in the house had one less blanket on their bed.
Like the Queen, mother’s life was governed by her strong sence of duty. Whatever the personal cost, mother would always act according to that which she perceived as her duty. She never talked about it, but it underpinned everything she did.
I do have to say that at times she was very sorely tried. She once told me that, following her engagement to my father, she was introduced to his extended family. She found the inspection by elderly aunts quite vexing. On one occasion she was asked if she liked housework. When she replied in the negative, she was asked why she wanted to get married. I believe her honest blunt reply rather shocked this victorian lady.
I would like to tell you about when we grew up, about the chickens, about her care for her mother-in-law and her own parents, her sacrifices, the fun times like the impromptu picnics at West Mersea, the embarrassing times like the washing up in the oven and holding up the London train because she lost her shoe on the track.
I would share with you the love of dancing she shared with my father, Sequence dancing at Kesgrave and the gold medal.
After