A sermon for Saint Michael’s Episcopal Church, preached by the rector, the Reverend Thomas James Brown, at the requiem of Stuart Clark Halladay, on Friday, 9 March 2007. Stuart was born 22 June 1912; he entered his eternal home on 4 March 2007.
Several years ago one in our parish organized a secret pal society. It worked like this: senior members of the parish were given the name of a young person in the parish, and a few tidbits of information about the child. Then, over the course of a few months, the elder was responsible for secretly sending the child notes and trinkets.
Stuart Halladay, already in his 90s, volunteered to be among the elder participants in this society. His child, now a 5th grader, was a shy young girl whose expertise in drawing was already established, and whose capacity for reading had set records at the Dummerston School. Joanna received notes and drawings, but she didn’t know it was Stuart. She guessed a few other suspects. What young girl would think a 90-something old man with a blue blazer who used a cane could create such beauty? She knew her admirer was an artist, but there was no reason for her to know that the hunched over warm grandfather—the one who sat near her mother and grandparents and great-grandma was a highly-accomplished graphic artist.
At the end of the season the organizers gathered the elders and the children to reveal the secret admirers, and that was the day a very special friendship blossomed. Stuart’s and Joanna’s friendship is one which Joanna shall never forget, I’m sure.
But it was a friendship that Stuart never forgot either. This was so characteristic of him—to cultivate and nurture friendships with young people, with people who were different from him, with people who might have something more to teach him, with new people, and even with people who held opinions which differed from his. Stuart’s stance toward life was among the most selfless of any I’ve known.
It was his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, the one who opened the eyes of Stuart’s heart, and who gave him the inheritance of everlasting life, that led Stuart to selflessness and kindness. And so it’s right for us to celebrate Stuart’s twinkle, his independence, his good will and cheer, but the gift of this liturgy is principally about his opened faith-filled heart and the glorious inheritance which became his on Sunday morning.
December 17th of last year was really the last time Stuart was out of his house. He was here in church for something quite extraordinary, even unnecessary. He was not at all comfortable with our dedicating those rose-colored vestments in his honor. In Claire’s memory, okay, but he didn’t want much to do with them…and his reticence was founded not only on his low-church, protesting underpinnings, for sure, but also on his selfless nature. He wasn’t comfortable when things were about him. His birthday party last June was yet another example. There’s no way he would have permitted a splash of any kind, especially one like that party, because he would have had to put himself first, even for just a few hours. It took Sue’s persistence and even a few fibs to get him to the restaurant. Yet both events—the vestment dedication and the birthday party—were absolutely about him, and they were about Stuart because of the lavish grace he freely showed.
But the selfless nature, the friendship and joy, were not at first ours. They were first showered upon Claire, and then upon Peter and Chris, then upon his grandchildren, then upon his extended family, colleagues, and neighbors. And in these latter months his joy transformed the lives of his caregivers. In short, all of us are beneficiaries of his light, some of us for a lifetime, others of us for a season.
In the letter to the Ephesians, Paul talks about God’s good pleasure, and how God lavishly bestows on us the glorious richness of grace. Riches of grace lavished upon us! God lavished grace upon us, and for 94 years, Stuart lavished his precious light upon this world. We were touched by that light—every single one of us—and that’s what makes today sad. Will others bear Stuart’s light for the next generations? Of course! Stuart’s light is inextinguishable because of the power of Christ, who in the fullness of time gathers all things, in heaven and on earth. This is a promise, and it’s a promise marked on our foreheads just as clearly as it was marked on Stuart’s forehead. It comes in the form of a cross, and it’s a seal of our inheritance as well as Stuart’s: it’s the Holy Spirit.
For those of you who are visiting us this morning, you don’t know that two weeks ago today we gathered in this place, at this very hour, to celebrate the requiem of yet another loved one, one who possessed some of the very gifts Stuart did. So this early part of Lent has taken on an unusually somber note; it’s a blessed paradox that a season which points to spring has been a winter like no other. Yet the coldness of these latter days, gives way to the promise that we’re not here to preside over deaths. We’re here, even during Lent, nay, especially during Lent, to celebrate resurrection. Stuart’s wonderful, expansive heart finally gave out to an even bigger expanse—his inheritance of the immeasurable greatness of Love.
So we put away Lent this morning. Instead we bring out the Paschal Easter candle, the sign of Easter. We celebrate Stuart’s life, we recite triple alleluias, and we proclaim the unending season of resurrection.
All of this does not mean that we shouldn’t grieve, or mourn, or even weep. Our love for Stuart brings sorrow—because his twinkly-self isn’t here. But the light still burns, as it does on this great candle, and you’ll see Stuart’s light every time you see a beautiful piece of art, or a candle standing tall inside a church, or in the bread given and the wine poured out at a Eucharistic feast, or in the old person who embraces a young child, or in the child who wants little more than to be just like the elderly man in the navy blue blazer whose kind warmth fills all in all.
Stuart Clark Halladay, a shining example of God’s exquisite creative power, was lavished with still more grace as the angels brought him into the eternal habitation. He now wears a robe, maybe it’s even rose-colored, and a crown, and they go perfectly with his happy, open and now-quivering heart, harmonizing beautifully with the melody of his peace and of our sadness.
So we gather at the river, gather with Stuart and all the saints, where the lavish light and the crystal tide never stop, and where the throne of God is on earth as in heaven.
