Now in God's airforce

Earlier today, we celebrated a funeral liturgy for a long-standing parishioner who dedicated his life to helping others.  Having learned the art of walking in faith, we pray that he may be rewarded for his trust.

Funeral homily for Albert Stephen Gallant

The gospel that was chosen for this celebration tells us that when the time had come for him to pass from this world to the Father, Jesus was speaking with his disciples.  He knew at the time when he washed their feet in the Upper Room that he would soon be separated from them, and he knew that his closest companions were finding it difficult to accept the fact that he would not always be with them.   He was fully divine, so he knew that he would soon be returning to the Father, but he also knew that those he loved most were troubled of heart.

A few days before his surgery was to take place, Al came to see me.  He was sitting in the back pew of the church when we met that day, and he quietly asked whether we could have a chat.  The possibility of success from the surgery that was forthcoming was a true source of hope for him, but mixed with this hope, there was also the fear that the surgery wouldn’t be successful.  Like the disciples, Al was at a crossroad: he had to go ahead with the procedure, even though he did not know what the future would hold. 

Walking forward into the unknown can be a very scary thing, and Jesus knew very well that his disciples were scared, so he offered them a few words of advice: Trust in God … and trust in me (John 14:1).  For some time before this, Jesus had opened his heart to these companions.  They had shared many moments together; they had laughed together, they had travelled together, they had shared the stories of their lives with one another.  Throughout this period, Jesus had told them many times about his Father, about the Father’s love for us, about God’s plan that at some point we would all live together in heaven.  Throughout this time, he had come to know them, to love them, even to trust that they would be capable of telling others about the Father and about heaven.  The disciples in turn had come to know, to love and to trust him, but faced with the real possibility that he might soon be gone, even though they wanted to trust that what he was saying was true, deep down in their hearts, they still found this difficult.

The surgery was a success, and by all rights, Al should have been well on the road to being restored to health, but our ways are not God’s ways.  In the days that followed the operation, other physical complications set in.  Like the disciples, Al found himself hearing Jesus’ words: Trust in me. There are many rooms in my Father’s house (John 14:2).

Now that he has returned to the Father’s house, we who gather here to pray for him, we who have had the great privilege of sharing a part of the journey through this life with him, come here looking for some way to comprehend what has happened.  When Saint Paul was teaching the early Christian community at Thessalonica about who Jesus was, he explained to them something that we have also come to believe: Jesus died and rose again, and it will be the same for those who have died in Jesus (1 Thessalonians 4:14).

In this life, Al spent many years as part of a team of dedicated individuals who even now continue to watch over the people this land, protecting us in ways we often are unaware of.  While we will no longer hear his voice with human ears, he will now be able to hear our prayers.  While we will no longer meet him here in this church where he so often came to pray, he will now look down upon us from his place in God’s house, watching over us and guiding our steps.  This truth we know because in Jesus, God has indeed destroyed death forever (Isaiah 25:8).  In fact, physical death opens a door for us into eternity, into everlasting life.