In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and
of the Holy Spirit. Christ is risen. And he is
risen. We gather as what I can only call a church
family on this day for a very important duty
to sing away Matryoshka Eleanor. And in fact,
the way we have been singing this morning and
what we sing about is at its very core the gospel
of our Lord Jesus Christ. And what a beautiful
plan of providence it is to celebrate this funeral
during the Paschal season. If there's any moment
when we should be clear on what we're singing
about, on what the good news is, and how it relates
to Matushka Eleanor and to you and to me, That
moment is now. When Christians say Christ is
risen, we are openly declaring our allegiance
to one who is greater than the most powerful.
The most powerful rulers, no matter who that
ruler is, whether it's Caesar Augustus or Herod
or Stalin or Biden or Trump or whoever. Our allegiance
is to a king and victor who can and did defeat
death. This is amazing. This is the fulfillment
of God's promises to Israel, the defeat of sin
and death, and the launching of a new creation
through Jesus Christ. God's kingdom is being
inaugurated on earth. And yet, here we are at
a funeral. At a funeral of one of this risen
king's loyal handmaids. And it's so natural for
this to be hard. 1600 years ago, St. Gregory
of Nyssa lost his brother, St. Basil the Great,
and was reminded of the words of today's epistle
reading, the one we just heard, by their sister,
St. Macrina. But I do not want you to be ignorant,
brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep,
lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. Macrina
quoted this apostolic saying, but Gregory writes,
And I, with my heart still seething with pain,
asked, How is it possible for me to achieve this
attitude, since there is a natural aversion to
death in every person, and no one can endure
the sight of another dying? There is a natural
aversion to death in every person, In fact, St.
Gregory goes on to say a hard but frequently
proven fact, that those who are dying themselves
flee from it as much as they can. We have a natural
aversion to death in every person. And of course,
that aversion is so heartfelt. When the person
who has fallen asleep is a mother and sister,
and grandmother, and mother in the faith, and
of the parish. We as humans have a number of
ways to deal with moments like these. I notice
how easily we talk about having a, quote, celebration
of life for someone who has died. When I was
thinking about this homily, I even started to
second -guess myself for wanting to use the perfectly
fine word funeral a few times. Probably because
we as a culture have been shying away from that
word. I think we usually mean celebration of
life as something retrospective, something about
the contributions and joys of a dear one's life.
But as I was thinking about Matryoshka's passing,
it occurred to me that yes, in fact, we are holding
a celebration of life. For as we have been singing
over and over again in recent days, death has
been trampled. Christ is risen and life reigns.
This doesn't mean that death no longer happens,
but it has been stripped of its power. It has
been defeated. Its sting is gone. And the fate
of Matryoshka Eleanor and of every single person
here today is in the Lord's hands. As the Lord
Jesus himself said to Martha, I am the resurrection
and the life. Whoever believes in me, though
he die, yet shall he live. And everyone who lives
and believes in me shall never die. The God -man
Jesus acknowledges physical death in his phrase,
though he die. But more than that, he proclaims
eternal life beyond that. Somehow, in ways we
don't and can't and probably shouldn't try to
understand, in the now of God, Matryoshka Eleanor
lives in the resurrection and just judgment of
God. More alive, I dare say, than any of us praying
here today. So we celebrate life, more abundant
life. This is our claim. This is our hope. This
is our thing. This is the key to the Apostle
Paul's words today about sorrow. Death is still,
in fact, the enemy. It is a tragedy. It is not
the way things are supposed to be. It is wrong.
Even if we can't put it into words, we feel the
wrongness of death. We have that aversion that
St. Gregory speaks about because it isn't part
of the plan. It doesn't fit nicely and is full
of impossible paradoxes. A loved one's passing
is sad. but can also feel like a relief. We terribly
miss someone we love, and yet, against our will,
we start to forget. It feels incredibly messed
up to feel relief for the departing or for ourselves,
but that's because, yes, death indeed is messed
up. And so, yes, in defiance of that, we do celebrate
life and life more abundantly. We celebrate it
in rebellion against the power of death, in opposition
to its influence, and in allegiance to the risen
Christ. And in the providence of God, Matushka
Eleanor lived a long life, full of service and
in hope of this resurrection. Others could speak
much more completely about Matushka's life and
work and witness, but since 1928, Matryoshka
has been in the midst of the life of the Church,
in different ways and in diverse seasons. My
own perspective of Matryoshka is an incomplete
one. As the wife of her late husband, Father
Michael, my earliest memories of her include
being in Healdsburg when my own father and Father
Michael were shooting the breeze for way too
long in the middle of the street about whatever.
on a Sunday afternoon in front of their homes,
and Matushka beckoning Father Michael, I think
it was two or three times, ultimately, to return
to the important, full -of -life activity at
hand, the assembly of an extended family, children,
grandkids, I don't know the details, there was
a lot of Margitages in the home that afternoon,
that had gathered that day. Our longtime former
Archbishop John, once pointed out that the priest's
wife bears with her husband the labor and suffering
of service, remaining hidden in Christ, offering
her prayers and life for the sake of the flock
entrusted to her husband. St. John Chrysostom
goes even further, calling for the priest's home
to be a haven of virtue, a fortress against the
assaults of the world, and an image of the heavenly
kingdom. In all of her ministries, wife, mother,
grandmother, sister, or mother in the faith,
or even in her most recent ministry of being
the one cared for, it seems to me that Monteshka
Eleanor quietly proclaimed that heavenly kingdom.
And that strengthens our hope. I spoke earlier
about the saving words from the Apostle Paul.
that we do not sorrow and grieve as others who
have no hope. St. Augustine preaches to us that
Paul didn't just say that you may not be saddened,
but that you may not be saddened as those who
have no hope. He continues, it is unavoidable
after all that you should be saddened, but when
you feel sad, let hope console you. St. Augustine
goes even further to encourage us by reminding
you and me that we shall come to that same life
as Matushka Eleanor and all our departed loved
ones, gone to rest before us, where, more than
ever, this is St. Augustine, their dearness to
us will be proportional to the closeness we shared
on earth, and where we shall love them without
fear of parting. It's a blessed thing to mourn,
as we also hear in our Lord's own Beatitudes.
But we mourn at this temporary parting with hope.
And that hope is the hope that Matryoshka Eleanor
and each one of us have in the source of life,
the risen and reigning Christ. And that hope
is, as we proclaim, that hope has blunted the
sting of death. Christ is risen and death is
overthrown. Christ is risen and the demons are
fallen. Christ is risen and the angels rejoice.
Christ is risen and life reigns. May the same
Christ, who has become the first fruits of those
who have fallen asleep, forgive his handmaid
Eleanor for any failings and grant his eternal
life to his faithful servant who has fallen asleep.
and to each one of us. To him be glory and dominion
unto ages of ages. Amen. Christ is risen. Indeed
he is risen. Let us praise the Lord. Lord, have
mercy. May our Lord Jesus Christ, through his
divine grace, gift, and power,