SERMON PREACHED BY
THE REVEREND DR. HAROLD T. LEWIS, RECTOR
CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH,
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
AT A REQUIEM MASS FOR THE REPOSE OF THE SOUL OF
PAULINE CARPENTER MANNING
MONDAY 7 MAY 2007

 

 

"Martha said to Jesus, 'Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God.'" (John 11:27)

 

 

In the annals of ascetic theology, that branch of theology that deals with spirituality and self-discipline, there is a phrase that in recent years has fallen into desuetude. But since we are gathered today to commend to God's eternal care the soul of our beloved Polly, a nonagenarian who had an appreciation for things ancient and venerable, I make no apology for using it. The phrase is "holy death." A holy death is a departure from this life which is peaceful, sublime, sanctified, even inspirational. In a holy death, the person is not anxious or wracked with fear, or concerned about whether he or she has set things right with family or with God. In a holy death there is complete and utter confidence in God's mercy. In a holy death there is no torment or angst. As a holy death approaches, the person dying can visualize the angels coming to bear his or her soul to Abraham's bosom. The hymn on the lips of the person experiencing a death would doubtless be "Abide with me."
I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave thy victory?
I triumph still, if thou abide with me.

 

My sisters and brothers in Christ, it is my firm belief that Polly Manning experienced a holy death. When I visited her two days before her death, a radiant smile came over her face. She knew the end was near, and she was smiling. She whispered that she was glad to see me, and that she would be happy to receive Holy Communion. She made the responses, she recited the Lord's Prayer, and she received the Body and Blood of Christ. She smiled again, and with all the strength her frail body could muster, she held my hand for a long time. I took leave of Polly, and the vision of her smiling face is still seared in my memory. The Blessed Sacrament was the last sustenance of any kind that ever passed her lips. She was at peace. I said to myself, "It doesn't get any better than this." In dying, Polly taught us how to live.

 

It was a privilege to know Polly in the last ten years of her life. When I came to Calvary, she was a spry 85, and could still drive herself to church and to her various errands. Like many at Calvary, I lived through her Great Move. Changing residences after decades in the same home was nothing less than traumatic for Polly, but, truth be told, it was probably even more traumatic for those intimately involved in getting her from A to B. Although a devoted and scholarly librarian and the proud possessor of a Phi Beta Kappa key, none of the dictionaries in her libraries contained the word "discard." She firmly believed that there would be someday further use for pieces of string or even the plastic rings that keep caps on milk bottles. So in her orders to her moving team, she used the same words that Jesus used to instruct the disciples at the Feeding of the Five Thousand: "Gather up all the fragments, and let nothing be lost."

 

As her strength failed, and, tragically for a lover of books, when she lost her ability to read, she could do less and less for herself, and I visited her periodically to bring communion. Conversations would be about growing up in upstate New York, about the house she grew up in, and the house that she and William lived in when they married (I think it was the same house), her days at Cornell. She told me more than once about the day William died in their home, and Arthur McNulty visited right away. And of course she had stories about Weezie, (although her versions of those stories and Weezie's didn't always agree). And Polly beamed with pride when she spoke of our tall, strapping grandsons. Polly was, blessedly, lucid and even witty until the end.

 

Today's Gospel, which relates the story of Jesus' visit to Mary and Martha after the death of their brother Lazarus seems especially appropriate. Martha, of course, was the Type A sister, always flitting about, whipping up a soufflé, making sure everything was just right, while Mary was the contemplative, quiet sibling. Polly was definitely Martha's alter ego. We can well imagine her taking on Jesus, berating him for not getting there sooner, making demands. We can imagine, too, her saying, "Oh yes, I know all about the meaning of Resurrection from Sunday school and Confirmation class ---- been there, done that." But most important, we can see the light bulb come on when Polly's Lord tells her, "I am the Resurrection and the life." We can see Polly coming to grips with being in the presence of Jesus when he asks her if she believes that whoever believes in him will have eternal life. We can easily envision Polly responding with confidence, "I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world."

 

This is the very confidence that Polly displayed when, having served her Lord faithfully, she made the transition from this world to the next. This is the trust she displayed when she said with the Blessed Apostle, "I have fought the good fight, I have kept the course, I have finished the race." This is the very hope she demonstrated as she experienced a holy death, singing
Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes:
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee,
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

 

+Rest eternal grant unto Polly, O Lord, and may light perpetual shine upon her. May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace, and rise in glory. AMEN.