Last week I spoke on the phone with the Rev. Gareth Evans, the Rector of St. John’s who served her before the Rev. Tom Mousin. I knew Gareth when I was in Lincoln and he was in Acton, and we’ve reconnected a few times over the years; after I shared the news of Evie’s death, he called me just as I was headed out for a walk.
We spoke for a while about everything that was going on, and then he asked me how things were at St. John’s in general. I told him things are going well, all things considered; that the church continues, small but mighty, and that there are new faces every year — not to mention five baptisms this fall! (Upcoming this Sunday the 22nd, and on All Saints’ Sunday, November 5th.)
He paused for a moment, and pointed out how wonderful that was, and what a beautiful connection there was between the sadness of Evie’s death and the joy of five children being baptized in this church. And it’s true.
The connection isn’t just a theological one. It’s not only that our baptismal liturgy describes baptism as a kind of death (“We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death…”). And it’s not only that our funeral liturgies, in turn, ascribe to baptism the hope of new life (“In the assurance of eternal life given at Baptism, let us proclaim our faith and say…”)
It’s that, in a very concrete way, Evie was one of the people who made this parish into the place that it is: a place where children are loved and cherished, and elders are honored, and neighbors become siblings in the family of God.
So this week, we mourn and we celebrate; we grieve and we rejoice. But what a reminder of the thousand small ways we can honor the memories of the ones we have loved and lost: to see new joy and infant tears, to welcome new children and celebrate with new families, in the same sacred place where we will have remembered Evie just a day before.