01/17/1935 - 10/25/1966

10.25.1966
During the ordinary course of days, we encounter countless situations which impact how our life will proceed on any given day. Less frequently we face obstacles or opportunities that can impact the course of several days or even several weeks but such changes don’t often result in a dramatic redirection of our lives. There are days, however, when a single event can change everything and the arc of life spins off in a new, sudden, unexpected, and unknown direction in a previously inconceivable way.

October 25, 1966 was such a day. I went to sleep the night before an 11-year-old boy part of a family of four, counting my father, my mother, and my sister. When I woke early morning on the 25th, long before dawn, I heard the voices of my grandparents and my aunt and uncle. I knew immediately, with a now familiar sense of dread, something was catastrophically wrong. I got out of bed and went into the living room where, with my eyes blinking before adjusting to bright lights, I learned my 31-year-old father had died of a heart attack.

Nothing would ever be the same for any of us. My father was highly educated in a brand-new field then called Special Education and he held a management position with the Great Falls school district. The course of my entire life from the day of my birth up to the day he died was influenced by his pursuit of advanced education and the advancement of his career. We have always considered the job in Great Falls to just be the beginning of a long career and we have speculated he would have many other offers to move into other opportunities. Who knows what might have come after Great Falls? A federal job in Washington? A bigger school district out of state somewhere? A teaching job in a college or university? All of those possibilities slammed out of existence in a blink.

We were suddenly bereft of our leader and needed to begin our lives again. And we did. 50 years have passed and on my older son’s next birthday he will be the same age as my father was when he died. There have been many times when I paused to consider what might have been but as the years drifted by, the images of unrealized futures have darkened against the light of what came to pass for each of us. What is left is just a powerful, yet undefined, sense of what was lost or gained in a single moment just after midnight on October 25, 1966.

The most powerful impact I can articulate is that his absence from our lives has defined each of us, my mother, my sister, and I, just as radically as if he had lived beyond that day. I have learned to no longer ask how God could have allowed such a thing to happen but instead to ask what we should learn from the experience. 50 years later we are still learning because virtually every day brings a reminder of a past that is certain and a future that was changed forever.

Today I no longer fear and grieve at his absence as much as I have learned to be open his to his presence in all of the little ways that construct his legacy. When the 25th slides in while we are sleeping tonight, however, it will be appropriate to pause and remember and to consider what might have been. Other tomorrows will come soon enough.

I think I am going to have a son.

Danny's Song

I listened to Danny’s Song today for the first time in a very, very long time. Suddenly decades compressed into hours and the 70’s were only yesterday, maybe even this morning. The album the song was on was released in 1971 while I was still in high school and given how popular it was, we listened to it countless times. In the beginning, the lyrics offered hope and a picture of how my life might unfold.

Perhaps, like Kenny Loggins, I would find a good woman, get married and have a son. At least that is what I hoped for, what I wanted but could never count on with certainty. We just don’t know what our futures hold whether we are 20 standing on the first steps of adulthood or 60 and have reached the top of the stairs.

In time, I met the woman and we married. Years went by and we listened to the song often and hoped. And hoped. And dreamed. After more time a son came but left before we got to walk with him. Still more time passed and then came another son. This one became my Danny. Our Danny. As time continued to pass, there was daughter who joined our first son but then, finally, came a second Danny. We have two Dannys, two sons who walk through life with us.

When I listened to the song in the days after our children came, I no longer was moved to live in anticipation but instead felt fulfilled and experienced satisfaction from being a husband and father. Today, the song took me to a very different place, one of appreciation, recollection and remembrance. It is a good place. I have a good wife. I have good sons. They, together, are the reason I have had a good life.

People smile and tell me I am the lucky one and I know I am. We have come far from the beginning and we have 2 sons. They are free, to be like doves, conceived in love, yes, but they live every day in our love and are busy about the business of making families of their own. Danny 1 and Danny 2 are the reason the sun shines above us no matter the time of day or the kind of weather. We ARE the lucky ones.

Colors

A couple of interesting things happened to me last week. First, last Saturday morning, I brought a sweet young barista at Starbucks to tears. Second, on Thursday I saw a sunset for the first time, I mean I really saw it the way others see a sunset. The events, strangely enough, were tightly connected and were caused by the same phenomena.

Here is the rest of the story. I am color blind. It is no big deal in the scheme of things. At worst it is a nuisance. For example, there a times when I can’t tell if a traffic light is red or green until I get close enough to see the shape of the light and can determine if the light illuminated is the top of the three lights or the bottom. After years of riding with me at all hours of the day and in all weather conditions, my wife instinctively knows when I might have trouble reading the light so she simply calls out the color. It is no big deal. Neither one of us give the issue a second thought. For us it is a matter of routine and I appreciate not having to ask. She appreciates not worrying about me running a red light. It works for us.

When I am shopping for things and color is an issue, it is not uncommon for me to ask for help. There are times when I simply can’t tell what color an item might be so I just ask. I have learned it is better to ask someone who works in the store than just a random stranger. I have also learned that the color blind ask for help regarding colors far more often than I suspected. Just this week a sales associate in a store told me she is asked for color assistance just about every day. So I am not alone.

My colorblindness is a source of amusement for coworkers, friends and family. Some people don’t understand colorblindness. They think I don’t see any color and I live in a grayscale world. The term “color blind” is deceiving. I can see colors well enough. It just can’t tell some of them part sometimes. Other colors I can never tell apart. Like I said, it is really no big deal. I have learned to manage my wardrobe to avoid mistakes but if you really want to mess me up, cut off the tags on which I have written the color and I won’t be able to tell red from green from brown.

Since I have been color blind my entire life I really don’t feel like there is anything wrong with me. There are no special rules to help the color blind. No accommodations to help us get through life such as changing traffic signals from red and green to blue and red since most of those who are color blind would easily be able to discriminate between blue and red much more easily. I would think it would be silly to lobby for color blindness to be considered a disability.

I never really considered what it would be like if I could change I how I see the world by seeing colors the way the rest of world see it. I just don’t see color blindness being like true blindness, deafness, limited mobility or physical limitations. I am not handicapped. I am certainly not defective. I might be a touch defensive. Just a touch.

The world began to change Christmas day when my uncle talked about seeing videos on the internet of people putting on some special glasses which supposedly correct colorblindness. Some of the videos depicted people, mostly men, being overwhelmed by the experienced and actually breaking down emotionally seconds after putting on a pair of magic glasses. We talked about the subject for a while but then I forgot all about for a few days. On New Year’s Day, my uncle called me again to tell me he had seen another video of a man breaking down in tears after putting on the glasses and seeing the eyes of his children. He told me to google the glasses and see where it might me lead me. I did as he suggested.

The Google search led us to a website for the manufacturer of the glasses, Enchroma. My wife and I spent a significant amount of time reaching the science behind the glasses and how they worked. The following Monday I ordered the glasses from the manufacturer and was told to expect a 4-6 week delivery delay. I was surprised when they arrived on Friday. Since it was after dark when I got home, I decided to wait until morning to give them a try.

The day dawned dark and gray. The sky was overcast as morning brightened and I suspect the dull, flat light would not really be the best time to test the glasses. It was not long, however, before I couldn’t wait any longer to give them a try so I opened the box, put on the glasses and went over to window and looked out to and wondered if the world was about the change. It didn’t. My first impression is that images looked sharper and the sky had more depth but I was not experiencing anything life altering. My wife has beautiful green eyes which I absolutely love. I looked in her eyes and while they were as beautiful as always, they did not appear to be any different. My heart sank. 

After having my hopes raised, disappointment settled in over the morning.

The literature from the manufacturer instructed users to allow some time for the changes to take effect. I was not expected a gradual change. I wanted to see instant results but didn’t. I decided to just put on the glasses and wear them as instructed on my ride into the office. During the course of the trip, the sun began to peek through the cloud. Things started changing gradually. Red started really look red. Brown looked brown. Pink and tan looked different from each other. The literature warned me that I might find myself distracted as I got used to using the glasses. I should have paid more attention because I nearly drove up on a curb when I realized that I house have driven by every day for years was actually red and not green. Still, as fascinated as I was by what I was experiencing, I was not overwhelmed and I still felt a little disappointed.

I decided to stop at Starbucks to get some coffee to take into the office. I waited my turn and place my order. As the barista handed me my cup, the sun broke the clouds and even though we were behind a tinted window, the sunlight streaming in lit up her green eyes. I was dazzled. Tears streamed out of my eyes and I found I could not even talk. I clearly startled the girl who, as it turns it out, is the daughter of a friend and co-worker. I stumbled through a really sketchy explanation of what was happening. The point I was finally able to make is that I was seeing green eyes the way they were meant to be seen for the first time because of the special glasses I was wearing. In the next instant she also teared up. The two other baristas behind the counter came over. One had dazzling blue eyes. I teared up again. I could not help it. It just happened. In a few moments all three of them were crying with me.

I am still getting used to the glasses. We have had a string of dark days and we are locked into the colorless says of winter. I wore them into a store one day and I could not force myself out of the fruits and vegetables because I was locked in all on all of the colors around me.

The rest of the story is that Thursday afternoon last week I was traveling back to my sister’s home and as we drove, a beautiful sunset developed over Mt. Helena. I saw all of the colors the way most take for granted. I cried again. Maybe it was the emotion that was overwhelming us. We had just left the funeral home where we made arrangement for husband’s funeral. I could not get over the notion, however, that John, her husband had sent me a sunset to appreciate and to remind us that even in the darkest of times, we should have hope and faith in the light that chases away the darkness.

Green eyed Maggie at Starbucks served me my coffee this morning with a big a smile and question about how I was getting along with my glasses. I told her was making an effort to avoid causing tears, either someone else’s or my own. She smiled even brighter. I can hardly wait for spring. Colors are coming. 

For John........


Eulogy

January 11, 2016

Thank you again being with us today. We have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of love shared with the family over the past week. For everything that has been done and for all else to come, thank you.

This is the time take a few minutes to remember John. A eulogy should be more than a recitation of the facts like we read in the obituary. Instead we should remember the simple truths about a person which when added together define the essence of the person who has passed.

There is a famous poem called “The Dash” which tells us that what defines a person is what happens between the date of birth and the date of death. The dash represents the time a person lives out the fullness of life.

So what are some of the simple truths about John? There are a few words we can use as tools to assist us in uncovering those truths.

The first word is commitment. John was committed to his family, first in time he was committed to his parents and also his sister Lesley. John was committed to Marcia as a friend, a partner and a spouse, and then he was committed to his children, Jackson and Jessica. He was also committed to the family he married into and we, in turn, were committed to him.

So what did commitment look like to John? It looked like vacationing with Marcia, whether the trips were to distant places like San Francisco or Seattle or perhaps just enjoying a leisurely canoe trip down a nearby river. Commitment looked like attending every one of Jackson’s baseball games he possibly make and he was committed to the point of often keeping score. Now that is something which really demands commitment.

Commitment looked like following Jessica from one dance event to another so he could be with her and watch while she did what she loves to do best.

Commitment was being willing to travel near and far for family events. We should remember sitting on the shore of Lake McDonald visiting and laughing together. Meanwhile our children attempted to throw every rock on the beach back out into deep water as part of a grand rock skipping contest. Our last memory of a family gathering with John will be this past Christmas. It was a very sweet day and it was so unexpected.

As I look around I see many faces who remind me of other truths. John was committed to his profession. For John to be a lawyer was to have achieved his highest vocational calling. He truly loved the law and those who knew him as a lawyer respected and admired him greatly whether the person was a partner, ally or an opponent. He was a great man and he was a great lawyer who showed us how to be an extraordinary advocate without creating enmity in what can be a bitterly adversarial occupation

There a number of other words which describe the dash between the dates we should touch upon.

Kindness.

Patience

Gentleness. He always spoke gently, both in the words he chose and the tone he used while speaking.

Wise. He was often the smartest man in any room he happened to be in but he always tried to use his intelligence to find wisdom wherever it could be found.

Loving. He loved. That is all I need to say. He loved and reveled in being loved in return.

The last word to use to describe the dash between the dates is humor. John had a wonderful sense of humor which he shared generously. If I were to ask just half of you to recall a single time when John not only caused you to laugh but also made you feel good about it, we would be here for hours.

Today is a day for us to share such stories with each other but not just today but also in the coming days, weeks, months and years. Memories are the most important thing to remember about the time the dash represents. Marcia asked me to encourage each of you to continue to share stories about John with each other and with Marcia and her children.

There is one last thing to share, something I don’t think I have ever shared with anyone but it is something I think will be fitting conclusion.

Some 18 years ago I was privileged to see my nephew Jackson for the first time. As you might expect I was nearly overcome with emotion. I glanced at John and I saw that sly grin we all loved so much. You know the look I am talking about, don’t you. We all knew that look. I just knew something unexpected was coming. And it did.

He said to me, “I think I am your favorite person in the world.”

Of course, I was enormously fond of John but it still seemed to be a very strange thing for him to say. Without allowing me to consider the statement for long, he continued, “I am your favorite guy because I married your sister, fathered her baby and made her happy.”

Of course, his precise words were not exactly appropriate to repeat while we are here in the sanctuary but you get the point. I promise you this – we laughed long and loud over that.

A couple of years later I had the opportunity to see my niece Jessica for the first time. Sharing a wee dram of fine single malt Scotch with him later, I reminded him he was, in fact, still my favorite guy in the world and we shared another good laugh.

In the past few days I have come to realize that his telling me he was my favorite guy was not just funny but that it speaks to the greatest truth about John, the truth that defined his time was between dates.

You see, John made the decision to wake up every day determined to be the best husband and the best father he could be and he spent every day for the rest of his life doing just that.

This is the great truth that gives all of the other simple truths meaning and purpose. If a man commits to making his wife and children happy, what more could any brother want?

For this brother, the answer is nothing. There is nothing more to want except, in this case, more time for him to be with us. Still, however, we treasure the time with him we were permitted on this side of the veil.

Thank you and God bless you all for being here.

Wreaths Across America

Remember. Honor. Teach.

12/12/15 – Fort Harrison, Helena MT

Opening prayer

Thank you for inviting me to be here.

I am not an ordained clergyman but a man grateful to worship our creator as I freely choose. That free choice did not come without sacrifice. The ultimate sacrifice. 

Paying respects to those who made the sacrifice for our freedom is why we are here.

We gather here today to honor and pay homage to the things which bind us together as a people within one nation. Though we are all unique, we can agree on the enduring power of the human spirit which defines as a country.

I invite all of you join me in a moment of silence to allow us to collect our thoughts and to focus on the gratitude we all have that today we woke in country where freedom, liberty and individual are valued before all else. Without the sacrifices of those we remember today, our individual wills might have been lost, melted into nothingness by the evil forces which relentlessly seek to do us harm and destroy our sovereignty.

No matter what we may believe, there is something more here than just ourselves, something greater than just what each of us could ever bring to this place. Many of you have been willing to risk the loss of your lives to protect those things we cherish and we thank you for that willingness.

During the silence, if you wish to join me in prayer, please do so but I ask that we all reflect on the full measure of courage, commitment, duty and loyalty that allows normal humans to step into extraordinary circumstances and become heroes.

Silence

Thank you.

Closing Remarks

We began today with a moment of silence. I am going to invite you to join me again in silence but while we don’t speak out with words, please let human spirit within each of us speak out to the silence. As we leave this hallowed place, please let what we have seen, heard and felt hear nourish the unending gratitude and appreciation we owe the fallen. If you pray, I invited to again pray with me but let us all reflect on what we have heard that we may better pack away the words and thoughts of remembrance that we came here to share. Remember them when see a flag gently waving in the breeze or when we gazing upon the haunting whiteness of gravestones. We are free today because of them. We owe them everything we can offer.

Silence

Thank you. Let us depart secure in knowing we have shared the blessings of belief and freedom our nation provides because of the willingness of the many to sacrifice for rest of us. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

Shepherd

Long before God, through His son Jesus, taught us to call him “Father” and long before we were called to an intimate knowledge of Him, human to human, through Jesus, God revealed himself as a shepherd to us. Throughout the Psalms, God tells us that He is our God and we the people he shepherds. The only name we were given by him for us to call him was “I am” but we could understand his nature by thinking of him as being a shepherd.

While we all relate and are comforted to God as a shepherd, much of what it means to be a shepherd is no longer part of our modern understanding. In the US, the numbers of sheep being raised has plummeted many fold over the last 50 years. While we still see flocks of sheep as we drive through the country side or walk through the stalls at a fair, the common language of the shepherd has been lost. Flocks, diminished in numbers, are still tended but the work is done by men and women who go out to the field to tend the sheep but then return a home that is not out in the fields or pastures with the sheep.

When I was very young there were still great flocks of sheep throughout the west and in my home country of Beaverhead and Madison counties. My great uncle kept both sheep and cattle, something that was not common until the 50’s and 60’s years. Most of the large sheep ranchers hired shepherds to accompany the flocks during the spring, summer and early fall months while the sheep were in distant pastures and ranges. I have only the slightest memory of a shepherd who must have worked for my uncle and his brother-in- law who owned a neighboring ranch.

As a caution, I cannot be certain if the memories are real or if what I remember is really just a blending of images and learned knowledge piled up in my head over the years. If what I share is not the truth, literally, I hope to share a truth we can all grasp.

My uncle’s shepherd was a Basque man who seemed old and very mysterious. He wore dark clothing very different than the denim and button up shirts we all wore and his hat looked like a stretched out Irish flat cap similar to hats worn by many of the Irish in Butte and Anaconda instead of broad brimmed western hat associated with ranch life. I don’t recall his name, if I ever knew it, so I will just call him “Artzain” which, according to Google is the Basque word meaning shepherd. He was the only person I have ever known whose vocation was to be shepherd.

Artzain arrived in mid spring when lambing season was getting started and he lived in the bunk house behind the barn through the spring until lambs were weaned and it was time to move the sheep out to the summer range. Artzain drove a WWII vintage Dodge Powerwagon pickup equipped with an old style shepherd’s wagon modified to fit in the bed of the pickup. The wagon was originally an old buckboard with a modified Conestoga type design. Inside was a bunk, a small wood stove and some pots to cook with and limited basics to serve as food stuff.

From the time the sheep reached the summer range until the first frosts signaled it was time to move the flocks back to the winter pasture, Artzain remained with the sheep 24 hours a day except for one or two days a month when he drove back to the range to collect his pay from the my uncle. Artzain would take a few dollars from the envelope and head into Dillon for a day or two before heading back to the range. My uncle would then put the rest of the pay back in his big desk until the end of the season. 

There were rumors what Artzain would do while in Dillon. Some of the stories involved big dinners at the Lion’s Den. Others involved lots of drinking at a bar frequented by other ranch hands and shepherds which sometimes involved in some fisticuffs between shepherds and cowboys. The only thing I can really remember was that Artzain said he went to Dillon so he could go to mass at St. Rose of Lima. Coming from a protestant family, the concept of a Catholic Mass was the biggest mystery of all. He spoke in very heavily accented and broken language and seemed communicate best through facial expressions and hand gestures. I was never exactly sure what he was saying but given the frequent laughter that marked their exchanges, my uncle and he understood each other well enough.

At the end of the season, Artzain would take a few dollars from the pay envelope but then have my Aunt mail the rest somewhere. After the business was done, Artzain drove away to where I don’t know but would guess it would be the join the other Basques living in Idaho or Utah. I don’t know to who or where the money was sent but it was clear Artzain did not trust himself with the cash. At some point the story ended. I don’t recall when exactly but as my uncle and aunt prepared for retirement, much of the ranch was sold at the same time the demand for sheep great diminished. My father finished college and we moved further away so we spent considerably less time at the ranch. Artzain and the rest of his kind faded first from the landscape and then from memory.

This story is not so much about who Artzain was but what he did and how his vocation could be associated with God and we who are his flock.

So what does a shepherd really do? We think of a shepherd as being in charge, being a master, if you will, of his flock. This seems to fit in well with the social construct of the ancient near east in which culture as defined by a master/servant relationship. Everyone had a place either as a master or servant in any particular setting and from the very top of a community to the very bottom. A master would tell the servant where to go, what to do, when to do it and so on. The servant would comply or be punished. The rules were very simple.

It is easy to see God as shepherd who masters throughout the Old and New Testaments. Our entire history as a people of God is that of a people called to respond to the will of God. God called us out of Egypt, he told us what to do to feed ourselves in the desert during the Exodus and gave us a law to follow to seek his favor. Truly, if the shepherd says “Go”, the sheep must to go where directed or risk consequences.

There is more, however. Artzain remained with the sheep day in and day out. Whether the sun was gently and warm or blasting hot, whether wind was a comforting breeze or a freezing gale, whether rain was gentle or poured down, whether the moon rose up to brighten the darkened night sky or clouds obscured its journey, the shepherd remained. What the sheep encountered, he encountered as well. If a coyote edged in at night, the shepherd would keep watch to drive him away. If an eagle circled over a young lamb, the shepherd would stand guard. The shepherd suffered with the sheep, he tended their wounds, searched out the lost sheep and kept watch to be sure they ate well but did not overgraze a pasture. He was not just their master, he served them as well.

To understand God as shepherd is not to see him as just a master but in the person of Jesus, we see him as our servant. He brings us what we lack, he knows what we want.

Want

We pray in the Psalm we shall not know want. What does it mean to not know want? This Psalm is familiar to me from all the way back to first grade when we were taught to recite the Psalm by memory. To a 6 year old, to not know want is to have all of the basic needs provided. Clothing, food, shelter, toys and so on. Beyond those things, to not know want was to feel loved, cherished, cared for and to note be alone. At 60, I have come to believe to not know want is more than having physical needs met. We all experience illness, thirst, hunger, grief and poverty even if don’t know any of them in great measure. We have witnessed those who have been struck by those things in great measure remain faithful to God despite their hardships. The lesson from them is to not know want is to embrace Christ and to seek food and drink only he can offer us which brings purpose and value to our human lives and find consolation and compassion which will bring comfort from affliction.

The shepherd cannot hide from the blazing sun or dry up the snows and rains which threaten life. The shepherd cannot stop the wind or prevent all danger from finding the flock. The good shepherd remains with the flock and shares and understands their joys and sorrows. He celebrates their success and comforts them when they are injured. The shepherd knows everything that happens to his flock and he shares in their lives. In return the flock knows the shepherd and they rely on him for everything. The lesson for us to be like the flock and know God and to rely on him for every need and we will be freed from want.

The psalm concludes with the answer to the riddle of what it means to not know want. It is to know that through green or parched fields, through still or raging waters, through the very moment of death, we will know goodness and mercy all the days of our lives. Mercy, to know mercy regardless of all else is to always to be from want.

Mercy is the gift of the Shepherd to his flock that surpasses all other things. 

Committal Service - Carey Ann Hert

Fort Harrison Cemetery- Helena, MT

November 12, 2015

I suspect most if not all of you feel like what has happened over the past few days is unreal. The fact we have gathered here today to say goodbye to Carey must feel very, very strange. These feelings are normal and they almost always happen when death visits someone close to us.

During the time we have gathered together, I hope we can experience a good goodbye and share time that is filled with laughter and with tears.

I spent some time with Carey’s great friends Kelly and Michele to learn about Carey so I could make this time personal for you. One thing we learned is that both Carey and I love Celtic Spirituality. That shared appreciation allows me to weave some thoughts and feelings from Celtic spirituality into this service.

Over the past few years I have spent considerable time studying the work of the late John O’Donohue who was a Catholic Priest and theologian but was also a native Irish speaking philosopher and poet. I even spent time in Ireland last year pursuing my study. I have found his insight into human nature extraordinarily comforting and encouraging and he speaks to me not only as a Catholic but as someone who has also searched for those things of ultimate concern that bind all of us together regardless of faith. I hope you also find his teaching comforting. Let us begin with these thoughts on death.

WHEN DEATH VISITS . . .

Death is a lonely visitor. After it visits your home, nothing is ever the same again. There is an empty place at the table; there is an absence in the house. Having someone close to you die is an incredibly strange and desolate experience. Something breaks within you then that will never come together again. Gone is the person whom you loved, whose face and hands and body you knew so well. This body, for the first time, is completely empty. This is very frightening and strange. After the death many questions come into your mind concerning where the person has gone, what they see and feel now. The death of a loved one is bitterly lonely. When you really love someone, you would be willing to die in their place. Yet no one can take another’s place when that time comes. Each one of us has to go alone. It is so strange that when someone dies, they literally disappear. Human experience includes all kinds of continuity and discontinuity, closeness and distance. In death, experience reaches the ultimate frontier. The deceased literally falls out of the visible world of form and presence. At birth you appear out of nowhere, at death you disappear to nowhere. . . . The terrible moment of loneliness in grief comes when you realize that you will never see the deceased again. The absence of their life, the absence of their voice, face, and presence become something that, as Sylvia Plath says, begins to grow beside you like a tree.

We all know that to have a loved one die is to know true sadness and to experience profound grief. For all of you there is sadness and grief that Carey is gone, sadness and grief because she had to suffer from a terrible illness and to die so young. The sadness and grief are real and to deny them would be to wound yourself in way that healing will never come. It is ok to be sad and to grieve but the sadness and grief should be for we who have remained behind but not for Carey. Let’s hear what John O’Donohue has to say about grief:

We do not need to grieve for the dead. Why should we grieve for them? They are now in a place where there is no more shadows, darkness, loneliness, isolation, or pain. They are home.

Here are some facts about Carey.

Carey Ann Hert was born December 9, 1969 in Helena, Montana and died on October 25, 2015 in Kirkland, Washington. She was the wife of Carey Hert, the mother of Justin, Colin and Brittin and the step-mother of Tyler, Ryan and Ashlee. She was the sister of Charleen, Harley and Trampus and the Granddaughter of Charlene. Of course she was also a cousin, niece and aunt and, to an even larger number, a great friend.

These things, though, are just facts which cannot describe who she was or the impact she had on all of you over the years of your lives together. In an obituary we read a person was born on a certain day and died on certain day.

On most gravestones, the date of birth and the date of death are separated by dash. The day we are born and the day we day are really transition dates, they don’t really describe our lives. We live our lives in the dash. Let’s talk about the dash that was Carey’s life.

The dash for Carey represents the joy she knew when each of you, her children, were born. The dash marks when you and she met, fell in love and married, Carey. The dash are days she spent you in Cabo. The dash is when she convinced you, Carey, to buy a Harley so she could look so beautiful riding behind you with her arms around your waist. The dash is about her love for fast cars with big engines. The dash was marked by Carey’s love of shooting and hunting. The dash, of course, is when Mackey wormed his way into her heart.

There is more - the dash is when Cary’s anger at you would boil up like a summer storm but then fade away to be replaced by the sweetness of forgiveness which would grow up and join you together again. For Carey, more than anything, the dash was a time of passion, a passion for each of you and for all people. There is something about passion that became very clear to me as I visited with Michele and Kelly and later when I looked at pictures of Carey. Her passion was indomitable.

Through your tears and laughter I promise you this. Her passion will keep her close to you. The mark her passion made on each of you is indelible and will keep you company on your own journeys. I believe this with all my heart.

Why is there suffering and death?

A question each of us has today is why Carey had to suffer and die. Every day we hear about miracles of people with terrible diagnoses being healed and who get to go on with life. It would be normal for you to ask how a loving God could let something like this happen not only to Carey but to anyone who knows pain and suffering. The simple answer is not an easy answer but it is a true answer. It is because God created us to be free and freedom has to have choices and consequences or it is not really freedom.

In the bible when we read about miracles performed by Jesus, he does not say to those healed, “Go, your faith has healed you.” Instead, he says, “Go, your faith saved you.” Healing is about the here and now and it is temporary. Even if we are healed today, inevitably our lives will come to an end and we will encounter death. Being saved is about the hereafter. The real promise God makes us is that he is with us always through all the days of our life and he will offer us a place in eternity with him.

I do not believe it was God’s will that Carey should contract cancer and die but I believe that what has happened is part of God’s plan for us. Life is the time when our souls inhabits a body. Eternal life begins when our soul is freed from our body. Carey is now free. The Celts believe this, “The human journey is a continuous act of transfiguration.”

Because of her human death Carey has transfigured from a body with a soul to a soul in the presence of God.

From Celtic spirituality we also learn this: If you live in this world with kindness, if you don't add to other people's burdens, but if you try to serve love, when the time comes for you to make the journey, you will receive a serenity, peace and a welcoming freedom that will enable you to go to the other world with great elegance, grace and acceptance.

This happened for Carey.

I also believe in the infinite mercy of God. I know He has looked deep into Carey’s heart and he will grant her his peace, a peace we will be able sense but not touch. I also believe God will help us with our own sorrow if we look to him for help. The reason I am here with you is that I believe with all my heart and soul that if we believe in God and seek his mercy, we will never die but will live with him forever.

Passion

Before we say goodbye, there are just a few more things I would like share. From Celtic spirituality we also learn the way we look at things is the most powerful force in shaping our life. That means a person of great passion inspires passion in those people fortunate enough to journey with her. Here a just a couple of things which prove the point.

Michele Wigert wrote this:

Beyond personal possession, the greatest gift Carey gave us was a moment, or a lifetime of her and presence in our lives; that, in itself is priceless.

Shauna ask me to share this:

She was a bright spot in my life and now when I look up at the twinkling of stars, I will think of Carey’s twinkling eyes and her incredible laugh!

Becky wanted to say this:

She was her husband’s love of her life. They had a too short but wonderful love story. Her strength, beauty, sassiness and charm endeared her to many people.

Goodbye

Here is a question. Where is Carey now? This is what the Celt’s tell us.

When the soul leaves the body, it is no longer under the burden and control of space and time. The soul is free; distance and separation hinder it no more. The dead are our nearest neighbors; they are all around us. A great theologian was once asked, “Where does the soul of a person go when the person dies?” He said, “no place.” Where else would the soul be going? Where else is the eternal world? It can be nowhere other than here.

This what my faith enables me to believe. Those close to us are not far away. They are as close to us as our next thought, our next memory. When we remember Carey, she will be right there with you. Her passion for each of you did not end with her death. Our faith allows us to believe that. The tree that grows in us that I talked about early on is the tree of life that is covered with leaves of memory. As time goes by, the memories will soften and sweeten and you won’t remember just what happened during her illness and passing. You will remember the sound of her voice when she answered the phone. You will remember the times when she told you she loved you and you will remember when you told her the same thing. I promise you heaven is right here in front of us. You will know it too if you allow the kindness of memories to show you what you cannot see today.

Blessing

It is time to say our final goodbyes to our sister Carey. Allow me to offer this blessing of her ashes before we place her to rest.

Carey, may perpetual light shine upon your face and the faces of all who rest here with you.

May the life you and all these others lived unfold further in spirit with God and all who have gone before you.

May the remembering earth hold on to every memory you brought.

May the rains from the heavens fall gently upon this place.

May the wildflowers and grasses whisper their wishes into the light and delight you.

May we reverence the presence of you and those who rest with you in the stillness of this silent field.

May God bless you and keep you close to you, may he let his grace settle upon you and may he keep you in his peace.

As for us, bless us and keep us, keep your face turned toward us, and grant us healing and peace.

Amen