For Mary Ellen (Hines) Hinkle
March 11, 1927-April 19, 2005
Some of you know that my mom died last month. In March, she was diagnosed with an abdominal abscess and diseased gall bladder. On Wednesday of Holy Week, she had surgery for both. She never bounced back after surgery, but rather weakened over the next four weeks in the hospital while she struggled with imbalanced electrolytes, edema and malnutrition. At the end, she apparently succumbed to an infection.
Years ago, in response to my annoyance over someone else's funeral sermon, Mom had said, "You preach mine, then." It's true that I wanted to preach in part so I wouldn't have to sit in the pew and think, "No! That wasn't my mom, and that isn't the gospel. You're doing it wrong!" about someone else's sermon. Yet what may have started out as the decision of a preacher unable to "let go" turned into something good. I found as I did this that it was amazingly healing for me to be able to bring together my love for reading Scripture with my love for my mother and my reflections on her last weeks.
Special thanks to Mom's pastor, Grace Werzinske, for suggesting the Isaiah text.
Isaiah
25:6-9; John 14:1-6
April 23, 2005
A couple of days ago, I heard a rumor that my Aunt Madge had brought sticky buns to my sister’s house. That afternoon, I said to Hank, “Let’s walk over to Kay’s; I need to do some research for the sermon.” Sure enough, the sticky buns were there: butter, brown sugar, pecans: “Yep,” I concluded, based on this most difficult of research assignments. “I’m home.”
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