Sermon 3/1/2020 “A place for Kate”
Preacher: Jo J. Belser
Location: Church of the Resurrection in Immanuel Chapel, Alexandria, VA
Text: John 14:1-6
Day: Kate Donnell’s Home Going service
The whole time I knew Kate, she was dying. For almost eight years, I watched her struggle with congestive heart failure, diabetes, and a host of other very serious illnesses, including poverty and clinical depression. For almost eight years, I watched Kate survive one hospitalization after another and buoy herself with her church community and by clinging to her memories.
Kate’s favorite memories were of being a part of our choir; of singing with Jubilee Voices; of the school glee clubs she formed and directed; memories of in-person time with her “siblings of choice: Martha and John and Jean and even Dan; memories of her beloved cats and of a time when she could go wherever she wanted whenever she wanted; and memories of every good old gospel hymn she ever sang. The favorite parts of Kate’s recent reality were visits with Mary and Vance and Lori and Frances.
Kate had other memories, ones that didn’t buoy her up. She remembered times when the world and the church weren’t especially kind to lesbians or to her, times and places where she was told she had no place. She remembered being underemployed. She remembered being lonely a lot. And yet, Kate persevered. Many of you helped Kate to be able to persevere, and I thank you for that!
In recent years, it was Kate’s physical realities and lack of resources that made what little place she had here close in on her. For a long time, Kate held out for rides from her fellow parishioners because she wanted our company. In recent years she became terrified of walking. More accurately, Kate was terrified of falling. Every time she fell (which was often), it seemed she broke a bone. And, with her little red rollator to lean on, she couldn’t even do what I often advise each of us at Church of the Resurrection to do, “Hold on to the handrail!”
And yet, Kate persevered. I admired that most about Kate; she persevered.
We at Church of the Resurrection will remember Kate as a friend and fellow parishioner, one who really understood that the we are the church, not the building in which we worship. Kate even had a hymn to this affect she sang to us regularly.
Kate really understood community—Christian community—and what it takes to be a member of such a community. Kate was “all in” at Resurrection, to the extent she could get here and participate. Without a family of her own, Kate wanted us to be her family; she never really understood why no one would adopt her. Kate believed God gave her to Church of the Resurrection to teach us how to truly care for each other.
Here’s the rub, though: We liked Kate and now Kate won’t be around anymore to share our company. Grief or not, Kate’s loss hurts. There is one less of “us” today in our church family.
Death just plain stinks. Death and the industry of dying, and all the end-of-life indignities we experience. We know what happened to Kate will happen to us, too, one way or another. All too soon other people will be attending a celebration of OUR life.
And so, we have gathered tonight as much for ourselves as for Kate. Maybe we are still in denial about death. Maybe we hear death throwing down the gauntlet for us. Maybe we are still afraid of death, afraid to stare our own eventual death in the face. So, we are here tonight to say, “death well conquered, Kate Donnell” and “au revoir” (till we meet again). But we also come, I suppose, to lift the corner of the blackout curtain we have placed over thoughts of our own death, if only just a little.
Here’s how Kate conquered death: She took her doubts and her depression and her poverty and gave them to God. And she thanked God for providing for her through all of you.
Kate insisted on tonight’s gospel lesson for her home-going service. I tried to talk Kate out of her choice. I told her Jesus’ promise to prepare a place for all manner of people to be with him and his Father after we die is usually chosen for a loved one who was not a Christ-follower. But Kate just got her quirky smile and told me to “preach it,” delighted that the place where we will see God face to face promises surprising diversity.
Jesus knew he was about to be arrested and killed when he told his disciples he would be going away to prepare a place for them to join him after they died. Kate hoped and prayed—worked on trusting—that Jesus already had a place for her in his heavenly kingdom, one in which she could participate fully.
I once thought Jesus’ reference to his “Father’s house” and his promise of a place for us there was a metaphor, a very simplistic vision of what our afterlife will be like. “Why,” I wondered, “would we need shelter in heaven?” Then I learned that Thomas Aquinas thought our “final end” (heaven) is perfect happiness by having our desires perfectly satisfied.
So, for Kate, the promise of a place of her own in heaven wasn’t a shelter but a promise of a radically changed life: No more crying there. No more dying there. A place of her own, prepared just for her, decorated with her art, filled with her beloved cats and the most beautiful music you could imagine with some of those old-time hymns thrown in for contrast. In Kate’s heaven she would be—is—surrounded by those she loves and who love her, along streets made of gold and instant transportation anywhere and anytime she wanted to go. Oh, and us nearby, but for that Kate will have to wait.
