Sermon Preached by the Rev. Harold T. Lewis, Rector
Calvary Episcopal Church, Pittsburgh
at the Burial Office and Requiem Eucharist for Paul Joseph Ross
Tuesday, 20 June 2000
"In my Father's house there are many mansions." (John 14:2)
We human beings have a penchant for describing deaths in one of two ways. Keeping in mind the Psalmist's declaration that a lifespan should be threescore years and ten, and, if we are lucky, fourscore, we deem the deaths of septuagenarians and octogenarians to be timely. But we deem as untimely the deaths of those whose lives fall short of that Biblical standard. So it is that we are tempted to say that the death of Paul Joseph Ross is untimely. "He was too young to die," some will say. Others comment that he had so much more to offer, and would have, had he lived a little longer. Still others point to virtuosi like Heifetz and Stern whose artistic skill matured and mellowed with age, and say that they would have wished such good fortune for Ross. And so it goes. This morning, I would ask that we reexamine our conventional wisdom. In the first place, in the eyes of God, who reckons existence in eternities and not decades, the difference between 59 and say, 87, is infinitesimal. Isaac Watts' hymn drives the point home: "A thousand ages in thy sight are like an evening gone; short as the watch that ends the night before the rising sun." If that reasoning doesn't grab you, try this: Instead of zeroing in on the quantity of life, giving people credit for longevity, let us learn to concentrate on the quality of life, and give people credit for what they are able to accomplish, despite the limited time allotted to them. Jesus, it will be remembered, walked this earth for a mere thirty-three years. Martin Luther King was felled by a sniper's bullet nine months shy of his fortieth birthday.
By this measure, Paul's life was long and rich. It can be said of Paul what can be said of very few, that his life, his livelihood and his passion were all the same -- music! He took great delight in making music, offering music, teaching music, living music. And no one can say of Paul Ross' music what the emperor is alleged to have said about Mozart's -- that it was made up of "too many notes." To Paul Ross, who knew all too well the disadvantages inherent in black skin and economic deprivation, music could open doors. In a city whose residents seem reluctant to cross its many bridges, Paul believed that music could bring together people of disparate cultural and ethnic groups. In a town where languages are outward and visible signs of distinct ancestries, Paul saw music as a universal language capable of facilitating communication among people who might normally not talk to each other. In a town of jocks, Paul Ross, during his years of providing leadership for the Pittsburgh Symphonette, proved that young people could learn discipline, cooperation and teamwork as much in the orchestra pit as on a hockey rink, baseball diamond or gridiron. If indeed, (according to an African proverb unabashedly purloined by Mrs. Clinton) it takes a village to raise a child, Paul Joseph Ross was an elder in that village whose inhabitants entrusted their children to his lavish attention and loving care.
My sisters and brothers, our lives are like symphonies, except that our final movements are more likely to be andante or even largo, instead of allegro or presto. So it was with Paul. He slowed down toward the end, the prognosis was discouraging. But to the astonishment of his physicians and to the delight of those of us who loved him, a miracle happened. Paul was one of the few parishioners with whom I had the pleasure of enjoying a lively conversation three days after administering last rites. He was his old self --- perky, jocular, fun-loving, gracious. But more to the point he was grateful, grateful for this reprieve, an opportunity for amendment of life, an opportunity to have life once more and to have it abundantly. An opportunity to be with his family; an opportunity to putter around the kitchen; an opportunity to listen to his music. But it was not to last. A final infection set in, and there was no miracle this time. At first I thought that this was some kind of cruel trick, to be given hope, only to have it taken away. But I underwent a theological version of an attitudinal adjustment. I realized that what God had done was to decide to end Paul's life with a coda. Now musically, a coda, literally a tail, is defined as "a closing section of a composition that is formally distinct from its main structure." That coda provided me with a moment of grace I shall never forget. I had the privilege of bringing communion to Paul at his home, his beloved Charlotta, and little Matthew and Sarah (in a lion costume) at his side. A serenity, calm and peace enveloped us as we partook of the Body and Blood of Christ. Paul's face was beaming.
It was as if Paul had heard the words of Jesus in today's Gospel. "In my father's house there are many mansions. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And when I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, and where I am you may be also." Paul departed this life with the blessed assurance that God had prepared a special place for him where even as we speak, he is sitting in the first chair of the celestial orchestra, formerly occupied by Mr. Paganini, performing Mozart's Coronation Mass. But in his private moments, I imagine that he is playing a plaintive obligato to accompany the words of an old hymn:
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll,
Then whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
My sin -- oh, the bliss of this glorious thought --
My sin -- not in part, but the whole --
Is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul.
And the heavenly chorus will take up the refrain:
It is well, it is well,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
+ Rest eternal grant unto Paul, O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon him. May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. AMEN.
Please feel free to contact Dr. Lewis
if you have questions or comments about this or any sermon.