John 5:24-27
We are gathered today to remember and celebrate the ongoing life and love of Dorothy “Dee” Robinson, a woman of incredible strength, grit, joy, humor, and faith.
There are some people whose personalities are just too much to be contained by their bodies. Dee Robinson was apparently one of those people.
When I first was talking to the family about Dee, I made the mistake of referring to her as “Dorothy.” Apparently, no one knew her as Dorothy. She was Dee. Dee as in “determined.” Although she lived 50 years of her life under a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, one cannot say that she was a “victim” of MS, or even that she “battled” MS. No, Dee also stands for “dominate,” because she dominated MS and any wayward body part such as a foot that would dare not bend itself to her will. Dee “stands” for determined, because she faced the world on her own two feet even if one of those feet got ridiculous ideas about disobeying this lady’s absolutely resolute will.
Dee stood for D as in “dynamic.” Dee lived her life with certain distinct preferences: vegetables, no; extra vermouth in her Manhattan, yes. When it came to vegetables, and her repugnance for them, Dee also stands for the D in “dramatic” in the best and most charming sense.
And frankly, Dee stands for “d” as in “dynamo.” She loved and raised five kids, including her beloved Wendy, who is interred next to Dee and Mel in our columbarium. Her kids Deborah, Cindy, Ron, and Chuck in turn raised their seven kids, who in turn are raising, at last count, 8 great-grandkids and this web of love, loudness and laughter all traces itself back in all its glory to Dee. This is the ultimate testimony to a life well lived on Dee’s own terms.
One of the greatest challenges in preparing for services such as funerals is our misconception about them—and sometimes, the Church itself does not help. Some of the funeral readings provided for as suggestions in the Episcopal Church and elsewhere in Christendom can get downright depressing. Readings such as those would not have shone any light on the reality of Dee’s long and determined life. Yet Dee was also a woman of deep faith. And the readings we hear today reflect that.
The passage of Isaiah speaks of good news being proclaimed to those who most desperately need it—and that IS perfect for a funeral service. In particular it contains words of comfort for those who mourn. These are the same words Jesus read from the scroll in his hometown synagogue, after his baptism and temptation in the wilderness. He arrived back into town after those 40 days of testing, shook the sand and dirt out of his hair, got himself presentable – and if he followed Dee’s example this would include some anointing with the first century equivalent of Chanel No. 5. I know I did that today, from a bottle my own mother gave me, in memory of her.
Jesus sat himself down among a bunch of people who were undoubtedly ready to underestimate him—and proclaimed himself as the Messiah—the one to free captives and prisoners, the one to declare a Jubilee at a time when most people were bowed down under Roman occupation, and to encourage those who mourn to put on their party clothes and get ready to dance from joy at the fact that liberation from death and disease and pain and anxiety was there in the midst of them. I think Dee admired chutzpah like that. I am sure some people made the mistake of unserderestimating her too-- to their immense regret.
Jesus’s life and values of care and protection for those who are his own like Dee are also woven deeply into the fabric of our beloved 23rd Psalm. This is a psalm that is so beloved for a reason: its very movement from speaking about God to speaking TO God in just six verses reminds us of the general path of movement in our lives of faith. Did you hear that? If not, try listening again, this time in Robert Alter’s beautiful poetic version rendered just a couple of years ago:
The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
In grass meadows He makes me lie down,
by quiet waters guides me.
My life He brings back.
He leads me on pathways of justice
for His name’s sake.
Though I walk in the vale of death’s shadow,
I fear no harm,
For You are with me.
Your rod and Your staff—
It is they that console me.
You set out a table before me
in the face of my foes.
You moisten my head with oil,
my cup overflows.
Let but goodness and kindness pursue me
all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
for many long days.(2)
This psalm reflects the struggle we all face in our lives of faith and shows us the way forward. When we speak of God as distant, it is not God who has wandered away. Many of us have experienced times when we have felt that God is far from us. Or we may feel that way due to the scars and wounds the world has inflicted upon us. We may feel unloved and unlovable, and treat ourselves as disposable- or allow others to treat us that way. It’s the same way sometimes in our relationships in our families.
It’s important to remember though, that it is not God who has wandered off. So, remind yourself that God is your shepherd, and the blessings and love and grace God shows upon us—especially when we might not deserve it. Grant each other that same forbearance as you grieve together. Return to God, and then repeat to God: “I know You are with me. Your rod and staff comfort and protect me, and remind me that you are my portion and my cup, that overflows with love and mercy.” Dee knew this. Dee knew God’s presence alongside her, especially in times of trial that demanded every ounce of her formidable will.
Our final two readings work together so beautifully because they also bring this point home: we are God’s, and nothing we can do will change that. God’s love is that all-encompassing, God’s love is that strong. Stronger that any obstacle. Stronger than death itself. She is not gone, but instead has gained the victory over anything that dared get in her way in life. That is the testimony of Dee’s life for all of us. Her strength and her love lived boldly endure, in each and every one of you. And that strength welled up from her faith, her certainty, in Jesus as our Savior, our Redeemer, our protector, our guide, our shepherd.
In the months since Dee passed away, the reality of her absence has certainly been a terrible ache for this family, her friends, and all who loved her and her indomitable spirit. But I am hoping also that at the same time, signs of her ongoing love and care and how it continues to animate her extended family have also become apparent. The strength and force and faith with which she lived her life cannot be quenched even by death. For all of you who knew and loved Dee, I hope you can look within yourselves and see the way that she inspired and inspires you, challenged you and challenges you still, and encouraged and encourages you to seize life—and faith-- with both hands, and get the most out of it.
We are gathered today to remember and celebrate the ongoing life and love of Dorothy “Dee” Robinson, a woman of incredible strength, grit, joy, humor, and faith.
There are some people whose personalities are just too much to be contained by their bodies. Dee Robinson was apparently one of those people.
When I first was talking to the family about Dee, I made the mistake of referring to her as “Dorothy.” Apparently, no one knew her as Dorothy. She was Dee. Dee as in “determined.” Although she lived 50 years of her life under a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, one cannot say that she was a “victim” of MS, or even that she “battled” MS. No, Dee also stands for “dominate,” because she dominated MS and any wayward body part such as a foot that would dare not bend itself to her will. Dee “stands” for determined, because she faced the world on her own two feet even if one of those feet got ridiculous ideas about disobeying this lady’s absolutely resolute will.
Dee stood for D as in “dynamic.” Dee lived her life with certain distinct preferences: vegetables, no; extra vermouth in her Manhattan, yes. When it came to vegetables, and her repugnance for them, Dee also stands for the D in “dramatic” in the best and most charming sense.
And frankly, Dee stands for “d” as in “dynamo.” She loved and raised five kids, including her beloved Wendy, who is interred next to Dee and Mel in our columbarium. Her kids Deborah, Cindy, Ron, and Chuck in turn raised their seven kids, who in turn are raising, at last count, 8 great-grandkids and this web of love, loudness and laughter all traces itself back in all its glory to Dee. This is the ultimate testimony to a life well lived on Dee’s own terms.
One of the greatest challenges in preparing for services such as funerals is our misconception about them—and sometimes, the Church itself does not help. Some of the funeral readings provided for as suggestions in the Episcopal Church and elsewhere in Christendom can get downright depressing. Readings such as those would not have shone any light on the reality of Dee’s long and determined life. Yet Dee was also a woman of deep faith. And the readings we hear today reflect that.
The passage of Isaiah speaks of good news being proclaimed to those who most desperately need it—and that IS perfect for a funeral service. In particular it contains words of comfort for those who mourn. These are the same words Jesus read from the scroll in his hometown synagogue, after his baptism and temptation in the wilderness. He arrived back into town after those 40 days of testing, shook the sand and dirt out of his hair, got himself presentable – and if he followed Dee’s example this would include some anointing with the first century equivalent of Chanel No. 5. I know I did that today, from a bottle my own mother gave me, in memory of her.
Jesus sat himself down among a bunch of people who were undoubtedly ready to underestimate him—and proclaimed himself as the Messiah—the one to free captives and prisoners, the one to declare a Jubilee at a time when most people were bowed down under Roman occupation, and to encourage those who mourn to put on their party clothes and get ready to dance from joy at the fact that liberation from death and disease and pain and anxiety was there in the midst of them. I think Dee admired chutzpah like that. I am sure some people made the mistake of unserderestimating her too-- to their immense regret.
Jesus’s life and values of care and protection for those who are his own like Dee are also woven deeply into the fabric of our beloved 23rd Psalm. This is a psalm that is so beloved for a reason: its very movement from speaking about God to speaking TO God in just six verses reminds us of the general path of movement in our lives of faith. Did you hear that? If not, try listening again, this time in Robert Alter’s beautiful poetic version rendered just a couple of years ago:
The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
In grass meadows He makes me lie down,
by quiet waters guides me.
My life He brings back.
He leads me on pathways of justice
for His name’s sake.
Though I walk in the vale of death’s shadow,
I fear no harm,
For You are with me.
Your rod and Your staff—
It is they that console me.
You set out a table before me
in the face of my foes.
You moisten my head with oil,
my cup overflows.
Let but goodness and kindness pursue me
all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
for many long days.(2)
This psalm reflects the struggle we all face in our lives of faith and shows us the way forward. When we speak of God as distant, it is not God who has wandered away. Many of us have experienced times when we have felt that God is far from us. Or we may feel that way due to the scars and wounds the world has inflicted upon us. We may feel unloved and unlovable, and treat ourselves as disposable- or allow others to treat us that way. It’s the same way sometimes in our relationships in our families.
It’s important to remember though, that it is not God who has wandered off. So, remind yourself that God is your shepherd, and the blessings and love and grace God shows upon us—especially when we might not deserve it. Grant each other that same forbearance as you grieve together. Return to God, and then repeat to God: “I know You are with me. Your rod and staff comfort and protect me, and remind me that you are my portion and my cup, that overflows with love and mercy.” Dee knew this. Dee knew God’s presence alongside her, especially in times of trial that demanded every ounce of her formidable will.
Our final two readings work together so beautifully because they also bring this point home: we are God’s, and nothing we can do will change that. God’s love is that all-encompassing, God’s love is that strong. Stronger that any obstacle. Stronger than death itself. She is not gone, but instead has gained the victory over anything that dared get in her way in life. That is the testimony of Dee’s life for all of us. Her strength and her love lived boldly endure, in each and every one of you. And that strength welled up from her faith, her certainty, in Jesus as our Savior, our Redeemer, our protector, our guide, our shepherd.
In the months since Dee passed away, the reality of her absence has certainly been a terrible ache for this family, her friends, and all who loved her and her indomitable spirit. But I am hoping also that at the same time, signs of her ongoing love and care and how it continues to animate her extended family have also become apparent. The strength and force and faith with which she lived her life cannot be quenched even by death. For all of you who knew and loved Dee, I hope you can look within yourselves and see the way that she inspired and inspires you, challenged you and challenges you still, and encouraged and encourages you to seize life—and faith-- with both hands, and get the most out of it.
1) Image from The Daily Mirror, UK.
2) Robert Alter, from his translation of the TaNaKh, 2017.
--Preached at the Service of Burial for Dee Robinson, July 10, 2021 at 11 am online and in person at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.
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