On Tuesday we were surprised by death. This was not an illness that gave us the luxury of time to sort out our feelings or months over which to ascertain wishes and to make appropriate plans. An accident is just what it says- an unforeseen moment, out of control, that changes the future we had imagined.

But we are a people who practice weekly the notion that there is much more going on than we can see from where we stand. We are a people who have been guided by the faith of our fathers and mothers. Those who raised us propelled us to seek the God who is seeking us. And there is no time like the present to seize on the promises of God and to hold fast for dear life.

I once lived in a house that was surrounded by copper beech trees. They stood like mighty sentinels towering over the house. They seemed immortal and invincible. And then a storm to end all storms came. The sky sounded like boulders crashing down a granite mountainside. The clouds disappeared in inky blackness, then stood out in split-second relief as lightening torn open the heavens.

Rain fell in torrents. Then one particularly loud bang was paired with the brightest of lights and the smell of ozone. A cracking sound far above our heads announced the end of a tree. And then with a creaking screech, a huge section of the tree fell by the panes of the window in which I stood, narrowly missing the house.

After the storm we surveyed the damage. The tree was split and charred along its length. There was no life in it. The split off section had fallen, and like a spear buried itself in the ground.

We mourned the loss of our innocence as well as the loss of the tree. But in the spring of the year we looked at the ground and saw, to our amazement, green shoots growing out of the broken stump, green shoots coming up from the split off section. Everywhere we looked there was new life.

In a little less than a week it will be Easter. We will hear of the stone that was rolled away like silent thunder in the muffled depths of night. Angels who look like lightening will tell the disciples that Christ has risen.

Our hope is rooted in their surprise.

Nancy has been killed. But Nancy will rise again.
This is the promise portrayed by the life, death and actions of Christ himself.

There is nowhere we can go that is beyond the reach of God,
or beyond the love of God,
or beyond the hope for God.

Not the dead of night, nor the middle of the storm, neither accidents nor the grave can separate us from the love of God. Whether we dwell in Parkton, Monkton, Columbia, Baltimore or the uttermost parts of the sea, God is with us and his right hand holds us fast.

I know that the people of Parkton must be reeling with grief. You have traveled through a dark night punctuated by loss like multiple lightening strikes in your midst. You had lost your Rector, the interim you had come to love was called away, now Nancy who seemed to know all things, do all things and be all things is gone. I would be less than loving if I did not acknowledge the storms you have endured. At the same time I want recognize the light in the darkness and point to the possibility of green shoots even here.

God promised to comfort those who mourn and to make all things new.
How can this be? Look to the Gospel. Look to the faith that Nancy had.

She did what she did for you out of a love of God and a love of neighbor that was a bright shining light and an example to us all. Day after day in great things and small Nancy covered the details and did what needed to be done. Sunday after Sunday she not only made sure there was a bulletin for your use but came to join with you in worship and song. This is what faithful, loving, leaders do.

And in Parkton there is the leadership you know and the leadership that will rise up like the green shoots I saw that next spring coming from the broken copper beech. In that day you will know the hope of Isaiah in your bones. You will have gladness and garlands, again. And you will be like copper beeches of righteousness, a planting for the Lord.

Christ is with you. Nancy is with Christ. We are all together in our grief but also in our hope. Even at the grave we make our song "Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia. " Amen.