TLDR: This blog was written in between the funeral of Rachael Keener on January 10th and Cathy LeJeune on the 17th. I have been thinking greatly about the lives of both of these women and what they teach us. Some of the lines below are used in their funeral sermons. Enjoy.
I have spent a great deal of time over the years preparing sermons for celebrations of life. Each one is different, because each life is different. Yet, the longer I serve as a priest, the more I notice a quiet pattern: faithful lives continue to preach long after the final hymn is sung. Over the last two weeks I have been reflecting on the lives of two remarkable women, Rachael Keener and Cathy LeJeune, whose funerals we celebrate on January 10th and 17th respectively. Rachael was taken from us at age 98, while Cathy was a bit shy of 63 (In fact, Sunday would have been her birthday). Their journeys were different in circumstance but deeply similar in faith. Their stories reminded me that a life rooted in God does not end in silence. It continues to speak, to teach, and to invite those of us still in the dance to live more fully.
Rachael lived a long and faithful dance that produced three children, “two boys and Paula,” as she liked to say. For those who measure life in minutes, hours, and days, her life was a very successful one. But Rachael measured life differently. She measured it in courage, faithfulness, and trust in God’s providence. Her story showed great spiritual hunger and courage. After many years as a Methodist, she sought out an Episcopal church in college because her pastor could not answer some of her religious questions. Later, despite family resistance, she chose to be confirmed. She did not follow God out of convenience or habit, but out of discernment, and she remained faithful to that calling to the very end.
Courage defined Rachel’s life. She lost her mother at the age of three and was raised during the Great Depression, yet she described those years not with bitterness, but with gratitude. There is no trace of resentment in her writing, only the quiet confidence that God loved her and would provide for her and her children. That same courage accompanied her as she raised three children overseas, worked as a single mother, and built a professional life at a time when women were often told to mind their place and stay home. Her courage allowed her to break free from the constraints tradition placed on women in the 1950s and 60s. She did the things that mattered to her because she trusted in God’s provision for her life.
Cathy’s death has been very hard for her family and friends to deal with. I personally considered her a dear friend and supporter. Her life preached the same gospel of trust, though it unfolded in different ways. Her family was her greatest joy: a loving husband, 3 great children, and a grandchild who filled her life with delight. She was an educator by vocation and a servant of the church by conviction. Over the years, she poured herself into many ministries at Saint Dunstan’s, but the In His Steps program had a special place in her heart. She and Mitch led this program with faithfulness and love for five years and they greatly loved their team. What I remember most about Cathy was her attentiveness to people. During one particularly difficult season in my own life, she called not to talk about church logistics or ministry outcomes, but simply to ask, “Is there anything we can pray for?” She listened calmly and lovingly, and she carried those burdens with her into prayer. That kind of listening is holy work, and it was characteristic of Cathy.
Like all of us, Cathy also walked through valleys. The last year of her life was painful and marked by great difficulties. Yet even then, she never lost sight of God’s mercy and love. Her faith did not depend on circumstances. It endured when the road became unclear and the destination felt distant. As I reflected on her life, I was reminded of a story told by the nineteenth-century poet and clergyman John Todd. Orphaned at six, Todd was taken in by a kind aunt who raised him as her own. Years later, as she lay dying and fearful of what lay ahead, Todd wrote her a letter. He reminded her of the night she had welcomed him into her home, staying awake with a candle in the window until he arrived. “Someday soon,” he wrote, “God will send for you to take you to a new home. Don’t fear the summons, the strange journey, or the messenger of death. At the end of the road, you will find love and a welcome awaiting.”
That journey home is a metaphor for life itself. Our journey has peaks and valleys, moments of joy and seasons of sorrow. Sometimes the road is clear; sometimes the woods feel dark and endless. There are times when we look into the distance and cannot see the goal line. God feels far away. We feel abandoned, uncertain, and afraid. Yet Jesus tells his disciples, “I go to prepare a place for you, so that where I am, there you may be also.” This promise fuels our faith and our hope. For Christians, death is not the end of the story. Faith tells us that there is immortality coursing through our spiritual veins, and that our story continues in God’s own presence.
Courage, then, is not bravado or denial. Courage is faith that endures after marriages end, after children are lost, after bodies weaken, and after the horizon of life begins to narrow. Courage is fed by faith, and faith tells us that death is not the last line of the story of our lives. From Rachael and Cathy, we learn important lessons. The first is simple but demanding: life is going on all around us, and we only have two choices, we either get busy living or we get busy dying. Faithful living means engaging life fully. It means dancing, rejoicing, loving, laughing, and refusing to stand passively while joy is still possible.
The second lesson is that people matter. Relationships matter. Love matters. Life is too short to leave things broken when we exit the stage of life. Today is always the right day to repair what can be repaired and to cherish those God has placed in our lives. The third lesson is that a healthy relationship with God is fundamental to a meaningful life. God’s love is the only force strong enough to lift us from sadness, anger, and anxiety. A life without God ultimately makes little sense, because we were created for relationships with God and with one another.
For those of us still walking through the valley of the shadow of death, still in the dance, and still in the fight, both of these lives speak of hope. They remind us that the light will be on when we reach the clearing, that the door will be open, and that love will be waiting. Today, I believe deeply that there is hope in the name of Jesus of Nazareth. There is hope in his sacrifice, and there is hope in his constant invitation to come, to trust, and to rest. When we accept that invitation, our lives are changed in ways we cannot imagine. Relationships are transformed. Fear loosens its grip. Joy finds room to breathe.
Faithful lives remind us that the Christian goodbye is never a cry of despair. It is a cry of confidence. Salvation has already been purchased. The journey does not end in darkness. Eternity is not an abstract idea; it is the promise of our faith and the destination toward which we are all traveling. And when our time comes, we trust that we will see the light in the window, feel the arms of God around us, and finally be home.
May our Lord continue to bless you,
Fr. Roman+
