A SERVICE OF THANKSGIVING
FOR THE LIFE OF RALPH P. BROOKS, JR.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 8, 2005
CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH, PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
HOMILY PREACHED BY THE REV. LESLIE G. REIMER
Lord of all gentleness, Lord of all calm, give us, we pray,
your peace in our hearts at the end of the day. Amen.
If there has ever been a moment to reflect on the impermanence
of all things, we have arrived there. We come together today,
this wonderful gathering of people, to celebrate and give thanks
for the life of Ralph Brooks. We come aware of our mortality
and mourning the one who is no longer among us. What are we
to say about death and life, about the impermanent and transitory
nature of things and people we cherish?
Ralph himself, as he concluded thirty-three years as Rector
of St. Andrew's, used the image of the laborers and the artisans
building the great cathedrals. He spoke of people who labored
an entire lifetime to build one small part of a building whose
magnificence they would never live to see and who passed on to
the next generation the work of continuing to build for the glory
of God. Recently, Ralph found an image that was a bit more personal
and contemporary. What if life is a movie, and the worst affront
and irony of all is that you are not the main character and beyond
that, you don't get to be there for the beginning and you don't
even get to see how it ends.
What are we to say and think and believe when our favorite
character, the one we thought would have the last word in the
final episode, is prematurely and unexpectedly written out of
the script?
David Servan-Schrieber, in an essay called Birth of a
Soul, chronicles the thoughts of one of his colleagues, a
young physician getting ready to die. Here is how David Servan-Schreiber
describes that young man's experience:
He becomes aware of the importance of each thought, of each of
his words, and more importantly, the importance of making gestures
of love toward others He now sees them all as the seeds of an
eternal harvest. For the first time, he has the feeling that
he is living in each moment. He blesses the sun that caresses
his skin and the water that refreshes his throat.
"How come I feel all this gratitude when I'm going to die?'
And then there's the wind, too: the wind on his face. "Soon,
I shall be the wind and the water and the sun, But most of all,
I'll be the sparkle in the eye of a man whose mother I took care
of or whose child I healed. See, that's my soul." (David
Servan-Schreiber, M.D., Ph.D., originally published in the magazine
Psychologies as "La Naissance d'une Ame"
subsequently published by Shadyside Hospital)
The importance of making gestures of love toward others.
Ralph chose the Gospel reading for today, in that way he had
of recalling Biblical characters and stories and finding the
resonance between them and our human personalities and human
experience. For him this story seemed to be an expression of
his gratitude for the compassion and care which he required and
received as he became ill, for the very concrete and costly love
shown to him by family and friends in a time of weakness and
difficulty. He saw in the woman in this story someone who was
unafraid to do what needed to be done, knowing that she was in
some way preparing Jesus for the time of his death. He was deeply
grateful for that faithful, fearless care and compassion in his
own life as well.
For us, though, this story is about Ralph's way of being
in the world, about his way of touching people in very deep and
personal and concrete ways throughout his life and ministry.
It is a story which might have as its parallel the story of Jesus
washing the feet of his disciples, of a servanthood grounded
in the realities of life. Ralph's life was a life so filled
with the incarnate love of God in Christ that it spilled out
effortlessly into the lives of those he met. It is here, in
this story, that our memories, our appreciation, our gratitude
find a place, as we remember the ways in which Ralph touched
our lives. Here is a place for the Ralph each of us knew. Ralph,
who could find as much revelation in spotting the one olive shell
to be seen on the entire beach on a walk as he could in reading
three books at once philosophy, theology, history, science,
trying to see the intertwining connections and relationships
between the ideas. Ralph, who was able to pray by name in the
Prayers of the People for every person at the 9 o'clock service
at St. Andrew's people whose stories he carried deep within
him and people whose names he had just managed to find out minutes
before. Ralph, who could listen without any sense of shock or
judgment to whatever human concern or experience a person might
bring to him. Most of all, Ralph, who was always willing to
help.
In absolute understatement he would often say. "I've
been helping these people." I've been helping these people.
What that meant was being able to sit in silence with people
whose lives were shattered, being able to negotiate awkward and
painful issues and help people find a way forward. "I've
been helping", he would say. Helping meant going off to
the office, or to yet another Vestry meeting or Calvary Camp
Board meeting. It also often meant going into the living rooms
of Squirrel Hill and the northern and eastern and southern suburbs
and Highland Park as well, to sit and to be with people in the
most profound possible way. Helping, with that fearless willingness
to touch people in the moment, across barriers of judgment, with
welcome and forgiveness and grace and acceptance to touch
people where the real needs were and where the real help could
be given.
The soul of Ralph Brooks is in the enduring and vibrant life
of the congregation of St. Andrew's, in the clear and centered
and continuing mission of Calvary Camp, and most of all in each
of us who in times of doubt or wondering or questioning or pain
hear within ourselves the awareness of a calm, wise presence
and just the right words to help us feel and think and believe
our way on the path to peace.
As many of you know, the chapel at Calvary Camp is built
on the edge of a cliff overlooking Lake Erie. The stained glass
window in the chapel is a cross looking out over the lake. On
countless work weekends, across decades, it was the job of Ralph
Brooks and the fearless electrician Don Albitz to climb high
ladders and put big green fiberglass shutters against that window
to protect it from the ravages of the Lake Erie winter winds
and storms. Generations of campers have been able to see through
that window because it was preserved by the arduous and scary
task of going up the ladder and finding a place in the wood where
the screws would still hold.
Ralph was willing, always, to go to those risky, vulnerable,
difficult places, to be right at the edge, to be leading the
way, to be thinking beyond, to be available and ready, and to
make sure that everyone else had the opportunity to see through
the window and to look toward God.
How can we feel all this gratitude when Ralph has died?
Look toward the window, through the cross, to the wind and the
water, and the sun, and deep into the mystery of God. Amen.