Reading: John 11:1-45. Cheryl’s father had an affair with his secretary when Cheryl was just four years old. Cheryl’s mother, who had battled several bouts of depression, was overcome with grief and committed sui­cide. This left Cheryl, her two older brothers, and three sisters in the care of their father and his girlfriend.

The funeral was a somber affair: people were in shock at what happened and saddened to see the children left behind. There was also angry talk about the scandalous affair that was now public. People stared at the children and gossip abounded. Cheryl doesn’t remember much about it except that her father’s girlfriend sat at the very back of the church all alone. She thought that was strange because the children knew she was moving into their home that night.

Cheryl, her brothers, and sisters, all grew up, and though they didn’t really like their stepmother very well, their lives were basi­cally uneventful. No one had trouble with the law or drugs or had unwanted children. They simply grew up, secured good jobs, and moved away. Their family wasn’t very close; however, they did come together when there was a need.

When Cheryl turned 34, her stepmother – now 52 – devel­oped breast cancer. After a radical mastectomy and the removal of several lymph nodes, the prognosis was not good: the cancer had metastasized and spread into the chest area. They had caught it very, very late. The warning signs had been ignored and there was not much the doctors could do. She was near death.

Selfish and egocentric were not words to describe Cheryl, yet she felt tremendous guilt over not wanting to visit her father and stepmother, who lived only three hours away. Cheryl normally had minimal contact with her father. She didn’t harbor anger at him, but she didn’t really approve of his past behavior either. She didn’t have much to do with him.

Cheryl’s stepmother died within a week of her mastectomy. Cheryl decided she would go to the funeral and pay her respects. It was scheduled for Saturday. She would come to the worship ser­vice alone, hug her father, and leave immediately.

But that’s not how funerals go. One brother called and then a sister called. Could they all get together a little earlier to help their father set up food? What if they each brought something to take the burden off the father? There was no church involved, no women’s group to help. It was up to the children. Cheryl didn’t want to be involved, but she begrudgingly came early that Friday with two huge salads in tow. Her husband would pick up their ten-year-old twin boys after school and come to spend the night.

Slowly, the preparation time turned into a reunion of sorts. All the children were there. They talked about their mother’s funeral and filled Cheryl in since she had been so young. A brother just a little older than Cheryl shared how angry he was that his mother had shot herself. A sister shared that she hated the stepmother but was afraid that if she showed that hate, the stepmother might also shoot herself. There was much hurt in that home as the children remembered their past. But there was also much healing taking place. Nothing miraculous occurred. There was no flash of light, no lifting of hatred or resentment. But there was a strong sense of forgiveness as the children discussed what it would be like to live with a woman with untreated depression.

They tried not to make excuses for their father’s actions, but the brothers wondered if their father had reached the end of his rope when he reached out for his secretary. Could they understand a little better what had happened now that they were grown with families of their own?

Their father joined them that evening and saw all the prepara­tions. He was amazed and grateful. He told them he would have understood if none of them had come. Instead all six of his chil­dren were present. He shared how he met the children’s mother, a beautiful woman who had wanted to be a singer. Her voice, although pretty, was not exceptional, and she couldn’t bear the rejec­tion when she didn’t get singing parts in plays. She had become more despondent after the difficult births of each child, and only in hindsight did he see that she should have had medical intervention.

Cheryl’s father choked back tears when he shared how free­ing it was to tell his secretary that his wife was not well. They didn’t mean for anything to happen, but the father needed to talk, and the secretary was willing to listen. After weeks and weeks of talking and sharing their feelings, they had let their feelings be­come intimate.

He made no excuses for himself. He turned to his children and admitted that what he did was wrong, although in a way he never regretted the chance to unburden himself. He stood there with his head hung low and told them he didn’t expect forgiveness, just a little understanding.

The children were riveted. They had never heard so many words come from their father, much less personal words about the past, their mother, and their stepmother. Their father went upstairs to go to sleep, but the children talked through the night, questioning, debating, rebutting.

It was a good night. A good night to air their feelings, under­stand what the others felt, and clear misunderstandings. Cheryl says now that although she hadn’t wanted to go to the funeral, it was the best thing that ever happened to her family. It gave them a chance to be supportive of their father, find understanding, and to be with each other. Each sibling had to come to his or her own terms with the past, but Cheryl feels a huge sense of relief to hear her father’s side and to know her stepmother was emphatic about her love for her father. She feels that with time there is hope for reconciliation for all involved. They can never be the Ozzie and Harriet type of family, but they can become more of a family. Thanks to shared feelings, spoken words, and a funeral.

-- Constance Berg

Source: Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit

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We remember loving people from our past.

When someone we love dies, remember the good news of our Christian faith – that God is on both sides of the grave, and nothing can separate us from him. God is there, and that’s really all we need to know.

An old country doctor made his rounds in a horse-drawn carriage, accompanied by his dog. One day, he went to visit a critically ill patient.

“How am I, doctor?” the man asked.

The doctor replied, “It doesn’t look good.”

Both men were quiet for a while. Then the man asked, “What is it like to die, doctor?”

As the old doctor sat there trying to think of some words of comfort, he heard his dog coming up the stairs. Then, because the door was shut, the dog began to scratch at the door to get in.

“You hear that?” the doctor said. “That’s my dog. He’s never been in this house before. He doesn’t know what’s on this side of the door. But he knows that his master is in here. And because of that he knows that everything is all right.”

“Death is like that,” the doctor continued. “We’ve never been there and we don’t know what’s on the other side of the door. But we know our Master is there. And because of that we know that everything is all right.”

God loves us. He cares for us. And he has prepared a place for us and he is there – that’s all we need to know. When someone we love dies, remember, our faith teaches us, God is on both sides of the grave.

And so today we pause to recall the rich experiences we shared with loved ones who have died and to thank God for their presence in our lives. These memories bring happiness and sadness. We have said goodbye, but we sometimes have difficulty accepting the finality of the separation. Sometimes we even feel abandoned by God, as Martha did, and we tell God how we feel.

We know we will see our loved ones again in God’s time. This knowledge does not mean we will not feel sadness and loss. We accept these emotions and remind ourselves of how fortunate we are to have had time with our family members and friends. God blessed us with their lives. We will carry their memory throughout our lives.

Rev. Linh N. Nguyen