ASHBY PONDS, VIRGINIA AND EVENTUALLY MOVED TO LONG TERM CARE. VIVIAN TOOK CARE OF HER FOR FIVE YEARS AND THE TWO WOMEN DEVELOPED A BEAUTIFUL AND LOVING FRIENDSHIP UNTIL NANCY’S DEATH IN FEBRUARY, 2024. (SEE VIVIAN’S BACKGROUND AT THE BOTTOM OF THE ARTICLE.)
REV. AARON FULP-EICKSTAEDT
Immanuel Presbyterian Church, McLean, Virginia, February 24th, 2024.
Relatively late in his own life, the great Russian thinker and dissident Alexander Solzhenitsyn, wrote the following reflection. “On the surface of a swift flowing stream the reflections of things near or far are always indistinct; even if the water is clear and has no foam, reflections in the constant stream of ripples, the restless kaleidoscope of water, are still uncertain, vague, incomprehensible.
Only when the water has flowed down river after river and reaches a broad, calm estuary or comes to rest in some backwater or a small, still lake—only then can we see in its mirror-like smoothness every leaf of a tree on the bank, every wisp of a cloud, and the deep blue expanse of the sky.
It is the same with our lives. If so far we have been unable to see clearly, or to reflect the eternal lineaments of truth, is it not because we too are still moving towards some end—because we are still alive?”
On days like today, when we mark that the water of Nancy Buchanan’s earthly life has flowed down its last river and has come to rest in deep stillness, there are a few things that we can, perhaps, see more clearly than ever. One of them is the difference a life lived fully like Nancy lived hers can make. Not in splashy ways that drew attention to herself. Not in ways that are likely to be written in history books. But in ways that had meaningful impact, not just on you who are her beloved family, and her cherished friends, and her dearest caregivers, but also the rest of the people whose lives she touched. A life lived like Nancy lived hers, a life lived in love and compassion, characterized by listening, and kindness, and a non-judgmental stance towards others produces lasting ripples that extend from generation to generation.
Jeff, you did such a fine job of speaking to the particularities of Nancy’s life, her active childhood, her ongoing connection to her classmates back in Missouri, the fact that she was always up for adventure and travel and some new experience, whether it be a trip to a foreign country or a visit to new restaurant. You talked about the way Nancy cared so deeply for Steph and Tracy throughout their lives—and how that care and nurture helped them grow into the women they are today. And Steph and Tracy, you each told me about how your mom was always your best listener and advocate throughout your lives. How about those ripples? You spoke to the work she did as a librarian over the years—paid and volunteer—and I can’t help but think of the books she helped put in people’s hands. Then there’s your grandmothers love for you Andy—and how the way she gave care and attention and took delight in you shaped you into the person you are today, including passing on a love for and aptitude for cooking—but also the sort of heart that would be attentive to her whenever you came home for a visit.
The energy we put into the world around us matters. Being kind, making space, listening, maintaining connections, smiling rather than frowning, being positive—Nancy embodied that. And in the stillness of her passing, it is crystal clear the impact she made—and the legacy she passed on to those who knew and loved her best.
The other thing that a day like today brings into focus is that the water of our earthly lives eventually does reach what Solzhenitsyn called the broad calm estuary of death. The swift flowing stream empties into another body of water, and on its way, what happens next can seem uncertain and incomprehensible. There is a mystery to death and dying that we will never be able to plumb on this side of it, so I love what the Apostle Paul says at the end of his great chapter on Love in 1st Corinthians. Now we see, as in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part, then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three. And the greatest of these is love.
It is possible to live a life of love and kindness and come to the end of it and still be deeply perplexed, and even needlessly troubled, by what comes next. Especially as our bodies and brains wear out, and even betray us. Which is why we not only celebrate Nancy’s life today—and give thanks for the way her love and kindness will ripple on into generations yet unborn—but we also confidently speak of eternity and the promises of God, a transcendent living spiritual force of life and love.
The passages of scripture I read today all speak to the promise of God’s constant and abiding care for us, not just in the here and now, but in the hereafter; not just when we feel near to God’s heart but also when we feel as far as from it as we possibly can feel; not just when we mistakenly think we can wrap our minds around eternity, but also when it seems hopelessly shrouded in mystery.
So the Psalmist in Psalm 139 speaks of God’s knowledge of him being so high that he cannot attain it, and how the divine is acquainted with all his ways, and says that there is nowhere he can go to flee from God’s presence. Not heaven, not the place of the dead, not the farthest limits of the chaotic sea. Even there your hand shall lead me and your right hand will hold me fast, he says. If I say let darkness cover me, and swallow me up, if deep depression or dementia set in on me—none of that will keep God from finding and loving me. That kind of love and presence is not based on our initiative and our mental capacity—it is based in the never-ending relentless grace of God. The kind that walks with us through the valley of the shadow of death and dementia and follows us through all the days of our life until we dwell in the house of the Lord forever. I come to the end and I am still with you, says the Psalmist.
The Apostle Paul, many centuries later, would write of how our bodies are like earthly tents, temporary shelters that house our souls, and like tents are subject to wearing out, to fraying and decaying with age, or to being destroyed much more quickly than that by accident or illness. And Paul, that old tentmaker, would thank God, that though our outer nature is wasting away, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
Sometimes it can be hard to trust that, even for a pastor. So Jesus had to tell his followers that they didn’t need to let their hearts be troubled or afraid, because even though he was leaving them, he was going ahead of them to make a place for them in his father’s house, then Thomas, who must have been Presbyterian because he wasn’t afraid to ask a question or express a doubt, said, “We don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Well, the way, of course, was living in Love, that love Jesus came to show us how to live. Which none of us does perfectly, but some of us, frankly, do better than others. So thank God for the grace that meets Thomas, and us, where we are—and reminds us that when this life is over, we are still in the loving hands of God.
That’s part of the Gospel truth that we celebrate today—that Nancy lives on not just in our hearts, but also in some way in that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Death doesn’t get the last word. Love does. Nancy is home with God and with all those she loved who have also passed on.
But the truth that death doesn’t get the last word isn’t just about what happens to us when we die or what happens to those we love when they die. It’s also about how we live on after someone important to us dies—or how we live when someone we love proves to be all too human. Which is why I love how, later in John chapter 14, Jesus told his followers that after he was gone, the Holy Spirit whom God would send his name, would be their teacher. The Spirit would teach them everything and remind them of all that he had said to them.
The Holy Spirit is our advocate and teacher, reminding us of what Jesus and Paul taught when we most need to remember it. Which is not that life will be easy, and no hardship will ever befall us, but that when hard times come—when the cancer, or the dementia, or the death of a mom or a grandma or a beloved rabbi like Jesus comes—life and love will continue. As Nancy’s life continues in you—because her memory is indeed for a blessing—and in some way it also continues in God.
The water of Nancy’s life has flowed on into eternity. And today, for a time, perhaps we see in clear focus. We see what matters and we know what really lasts. One day, we too, will see God face to face as Nancy has now. We will know fully, even as we have been fully known. And we’ll be reminded of the truth that only three things abide. Only three things finally last. Faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love. Amen.
VIVIAN SAMSON-DE HAVILLAND, “VIVS” to her family and friends, was my classmate. Although she left the Philippines a long time ago in February 1979, like Nancy, Vivian managed to keep in touch with her classmates on a regular basis. She sent me a copy of this Memorial Meditation given by Pastor Aaron when her dear friend Nancy, who she took care of for many years passed away. It was timely because I was talking to Vivs about Jesus’ rivers of living water flowing from within us when we believe in him! (John 7:37).
We asked the permission of Pastor Aaron and Nancy’s family if we could post his very profound and poignant message in White Butterfly. Thank you so much!
(Celery, White Butterfly at whitebutterfly.ph)