Homily for my Dad

The altar at Cathedral of St. Luke. The kneeler was given in memory of my Dad's mom.

                                            

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

Homily for Eliot Field

Lamentations 3:22-33; Psalm 46; 1 Corinthians 13:1-7; Luke 24:13-35

In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.” The Road to Emmaus is the story of the holy, of God’s very person and presence, being made manifest in the midst of ordinary life. Jesus meets the disciples while they are walking on the road. But they are so self focused, so distracted that they do not realize the resurrected Christ is walking along with them. It is not until they stop to rest and eat at the end of the day, that they realize who had been their companion on the way. 

For all of us who had the privilege of traveling with my Dad - walking, hiking, sitting on a train or boat, bus or plane - or the gift of sitting next to him at a dinner table, we know something of what the disciples experienced. We know how God can be made manifest in the course of conversation and a meal. My Dad was someone who lived with gratitude for the present moment. He paid careful attention to the beauty of his surroundings, and especially to the people he was with. I like to think if he had been walking with the disciples on that road, it might not have taken him so long to recognize Christ’s presence among them. Because even in the midst of the ordinary moments and interactions of daily life, my Dad was always on the lookout for the holy, for the extraordinary. He knew that God - God’s very being and love - were most evident to us in the midst of our interactions with each other. 

And there is a far more profound truth being communicated in the story of the disciples on the road. It is not only that God’s love and presence are made manifest to the disciples that day. It is the fact that the resurrected Christ is walking with them. There in their midst is the truth at the heart of the Christian faith. The truth that God is always at work, even in the midst of the most difficult of circumstances. Even in the midst of tragedy and loss and pain and heartbreak. God is present. The horrors of life, the evil realities of this world, never have the last word. Hope is real. New life is possible. Love is stronger than death. That is the beautiful truth of Easter morning. And the glorious reality is that truth was not just for the disciples. It was not just for that first Easter. It is a truth that continues to be manifest again and again in our lives and in the world. 

The best compliment I think we can give to a person of faith is that their life pointed us to God. Their life pointed us to hope, to beauty, to love, to the reality that there is more to life than we can comprehend. My Dad was such a person. A person willing to embrace the mystery, that there is so much we cannot fully understand. Remarkably acknowledging all that is beyond the limits of human comprehension can be a source of comfort. It is an act of surrender, of turning it over. 

An act of faith to trust that even in the midst of that which we cannot fully understand, even as we are going through life, at times like the disciples, distracted, afraid, grieving, or uncertain, God is with us - pointing us to the future with hope and love. 

That was what my Dad did. Pointed us to the future with hope and love. It was especially evident in the care and attention he took for each conversation. Whether you had come to him for legal advice or life advice or for help on a worksheet from school or just had the opportunity to sit next to him at dinner, he was fully present to whatever questions you had, whatever might be weighing on your heart or your mind. You would feel as though sitting with you and your question was the most important thing he had to do all day. This joy of conversation, of connection, of learning together, were central to who he was and how he lived.

All of us gathered here, all of us who have had the privilege of sharing some piece of our journey, walking some portion of the road of life with the remarkable human being who was Eliot Field, have benefited from his wisdom and grace. Whether it was because he taught us some scientific fact, helped us out of a sticky legal situation, invited us to marvel at the splendor of creation, or inspired us to be more graceful and pay more attention in the present moment. 

He has left us a multifaceted legacy. You can find his name in legal briefs and court cases. His influence in improved processes and more compassionate, rational municipal governments. In the speed of Jesse’s backhand. In the napkins and first aid kit in my car. In the fact that all his grandchildren know how to ski and hit a tennis ball. In the fact that meals on that Dresden hilltop still stop so we can all stand in awe as the sun sinks slowly behind the White Mountains. We will remember him in so many actions and places. Perhaps most of all, though, we will remember and honor him in how we are in the world. When we hold on to the lessons of the Road to Emmaus and all the meals and conversations we have shared. When we slow down and pay attention. When we trust that hope is real and love always has the last word. When our first reactions are patience, grace, and good humor. When we look for the holy in the midst of the ordinary. 

Whenever you have one of those moments in the days and weeks and years ahead. I hope you will pause. I hope you will remember. I hope you will smile. And I hope you feel that my Dad is smiling right there with you. Amen.