Taken to Jesus

Taken to Jesus
Homily delivered at the Funeral

of Flora Jane Shuster MacCracken  (Jan 17, 1932- Feb. 8, 2019)

The Very Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
18 February 2019

11 a.m.  
Parish Church of Trinity, Ashland (Oregon)

Ecclesiastes 3:1-14; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 14:1-6. 

“And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.”

Flora was a beloved mother, sister, and friend.  We will miss her dearly.   She was a member of the first fellowship dinner group Elena and I belonged to when we first came to Trinity.  We always looked forward to sharing a meal at her home.  Flora was an original.  She knew who she was and played that role with joy and verve.  She knew how to comment without a word, with a raised eyebrow and sparkling eye. 

A particularly close friend of Flora’s in the parish, Jan Robertson, wrote this after she learned of her death: 

“Flora took friendship seriously.  Simply, she loved her friends.  She was loyal, generous, forgiving.  …[She] had a very active social life.  She enjoyed dining out and she. Jean Lescher, and I did that often when we were going to the symphony, concerts, and plays.  Flora also enjoyed entertaining at her Sun River home.  I met [her] through her friend, Margaret Nixon…  [When] Margaret began coming to Trinity Episcopal Church, Flora welcomed her warmly, in the same way she reached out and supported many others at Trinity…  [A fellow former teacher,] Flora corrected my spelling more than once.  I even witnessed her call attention to an error on the menu at Standing Stone [Brewery] (the waitress did not share Flora’s concern.)  Flora was always up for a party.  Many were church parties … in her home or mine that we hosted together.  [Jean and Flora gladly helped me in the kitchen at the open house at my small condo for my 70^th birthday.]  Flora had style.  She was perhaps the best dressed woman I have ever known.  I admired especially her jewelry, [including…] 2 and 3 piece sets.  She took notice of my taste and a sweet memory is a gift that she and Margaret gave me [when I was confirmed] in the Episcopal Church:  a piece of Bellek china to add to my collection.  She was thoughtful and generous to many.  Flora had definite ideas about ways to do things.  Once, when she, Jean, and I attended a play at SOU, I suggested… that we might leave at intermission, as she and I were not enjoying the performance.  When we asked Flora about this possibility, she looked at us in bewilderment.  We stayed.  Flora loved Ashland and lived in this community a long time; her commitments were long term.  I admired that she devoted 50 years to Tudor Guild at OSF!  I lived in Ashland nearly 16 of those years and for most of those, Flora was a very important post of my life.  Her love and commitment to her lovely family goes without saying and I enjoyed knowing them too.  I miss you, Flora, my friend.  Jan Robertson.” 

Given the text of the Gospel chosen by the family, I wanted to close my homily today by reading a poem by James Weldon Johnson in that great classic of African-American literature, God’s Trombones.  It is a funeral oration on the lips of an old black preacher.  As you listen to it, replace the name “Caroline” with Flora.  Replace the place “Savannah Georgia down in Yamacraw” with Eugene Oregon.  This is about Flora today, and about our grief at losing her. 

Weep not, weep not,

She is not dead;

She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.

Heart-broken husband--weep no more;

Grief-stricken son--weep no more;

Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more;

She only just gone home.

Day before yesterday morning,

God was looking down from his great, high heaven,

Looking down on all his children,

And his eye fell on Sister Caroline,

Tossing on her bed of pain.

And God’s big heart was touched with pity,

With the everlasting pity.

And God sat back on his throne,

And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:

Call me Death!

And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice

That broke like a clap of thunder:

Call Death!--Call Death!

And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven

Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,

Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

And Death heard the summons,

And he leaped on his fastest horse,

Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.

Up the golden street Death galloped,

And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold,

But they didn’t make no sound.

Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,

And waited for God’s command.

And God said: Go down, Death, go down,

Go down to Savannah, Georgia,

Down in Yamacraw,

And find Sister Caroline.

She’s borne the burden and heat of the day,

She’s labored long in my vineyard,

And she’s tired--

She’s weary--

Go down, Death, and bring her to me.

And Death didn’t say a word,

But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,

And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,

And out and down he rode,

Through heaven’s pearly gates,

Past suns and moons and stars;

on Death rode,

Leaving the lightning’s flash behind;

Straight down he came.

While we were watching round her bed,

She turned her eyes and looked away,

She saw what we couldn’t see;

She saw Old Death.  She saw Old Death

Coming like a falling star.

But Death didn’t frighten Sister Caroline;

He looked to her like a welcome friend.

And she whispered to us: I’m going home,

And she smiled and closed her eyes.

And Death took her up like a baby,

And she lay in his icy arms,

But she didn’t feel no chill.

And death began to ride again--

Up beyond the evening star,

Into the glittering light of glory,

On to the Great White Throne.

And there he laid Sister Caroline

On the loving breast of Jesus.

And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,

And he smoothed the furrows from her face,

And the angels sang a little song,

And Jesus rocked her in his arms,

And kept a-saying: Take your rest,

Take your rest.

Weep not--weep not,

She is not dead;

She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.

Amen