Sandra Kay Ashcraft Ferguson
May 13, 1949 - January 14, 2014
Jesus speaks to his disciples in the 14th chapter
of St. John: “Whither I go, ye know, and
the way ye know.” He says this in the
night of the Last Supper, with the whole story of Good Friday and the Cross about
to play out for him and for his friends, and for all of us, at all times and in
all places, unfolding in our hearts and imaginations generation after
generation. You know where I’m going, and
you know how to get there.
It is very much for me--and I know I would be speaking for
every one of us here—very much an honor and a privilege to share this afternoon
in this service for Sandy Ferguson. To
remember her life in all its richness. Daughter,
Sister, Wife, Mother, Co-worker, Mentor, Friend.
In her work and career, in the life of her family, in all her creative
interests. Especially to share in the
sorrow of loss with Bob, with Linea and Rob, with all of you, family and
friends. As we offer together the
prayers of the church, not just as we say the words but as we gather the faith
and life and witness of the whole Christian family and offer the deepest
knowledge and desire of our hearts to almighty God. As we hear the words of scripture, the
psalms, the lessons, the Good News of Jesus Christ.
“Whither I go, ye know, and the way ye know.” You know where
I’m going, and you know how to get there.
In the ten years that I’ve known Sandy, since she and Bob
moved here from Chicago, there has been
so much that has impressed me about her, so much about her and about her
friendship that I have enjoyed. Her
warmth, her generosity, her wonderful hospitality—and how much she enjoyed
filling the table with great food and welcoming friends from the neighborhood,
the church, family. For the Super Bowl,
or for a Summer Book Discussion evening.
Her smile and her laughter. And
thinking about those Book Discussion evenings, her thoughtful insights and
careful reflections. Thinking about how
much she enjoyed her work—just the perfect blending of gifts and personality
and knowledge in the care of others. And
then when she retired, thinking about the way she continued with such
creativity, such wonderful work with arts and crafts. Thinking about her interests coming together
in the neighborhood holiday arts and crafts boutiques that she organized for us
all here at St. Andrew’s. About the
interest and enjoyment that she felt in the service and ministry of our parish
Altar Guild—the great friends she made here in that work, the good humor of her
work, the care and diligence in the preparation of the altar.
A woman of prayer and steady faith. Not exactly a starry-eyed mystic, perhaps,
but who knew deeply and experientially the presence and care of God. As we’ve said in sharing stories, a woman who
had heard the voice of an angel. And how
that faith sustained her through this long illness. Knowing Christ as Lord and Savior, confident
that with all the ups and downs of doctors and treatments she was always secure
in his hands.
“Whither I go, ye know, and the way ye know.” You know where I’m going, and you know how to
get there. Jesus is talking to his
disciples about something more than what we might call our religious opinions
and theories, our interpretations, our theological positions or understandings
of various issues and concerns of the day.
What Jesus is talking about is a deeper kind of knowing than that. The kind of knowing that we talk about when
we say that a child knows his mother.
It’s about relationship, connection.
About the word we use in the Church with real meaning and sincerity:
about faith. About being in
relationship with God deeply and securely.
“You know where I am going, and how to get there, because you and I are
going to the same place, returning to the same home, to that mansion that the
Father has prepared for us.” To hear
again, “I go to prepare a place for you, that where I am, there ye may be also
. . . . I am the way, the Truth, the
Life. No man cometh unto the Father but
by me.” It may seem on first appearance
that we’re traveling alone, but that’s not the case. He is with us every step of the way, every
hour, every minute.
Remembering--Bob, Rob, Linea-- the afternoon we shared
Christmas Communion together around Sandy’s bed in the hospital, just a few
weeks ago, as she was over and over again covered with prayer and anointed with
holy oil, to hear assurance of God’s blessing.
“The Almighty Lord,
who is a strong tower to all who put their trust in him, to whom all things in
heaven, on earth, and under the earth bow and obey: be now and evermore your
defense, and make you know and feel that the only Name under heaven given for
health and salvation is the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
A word for Sandy that comes to my mind with clarity as I
think about this illness, and with thanks for all the doctors and nurses and
all the caregivers who have been a part of this story, and especially in these
past months-- the word for Sandy is courage. And I know I think all of us who walked a
little bit of that road with you, Bob, Rob, Linea, I think all of us saw this,
felt this, experienced it. In you, in
all the family, and most especially in her.
Not that there weren’t tender moments, or not that times of hope and
encouragement weren’t also followed by anxiety and discouragement. But courage.
A word that comes from the word for heart. And in all those hours, all those days, we so
clearly could see her great and generous heart.
A courageous life.
The Funeral Sentences from the ancient prayers and scripture
of the Church, “In the midst of life we are in death.” Thinking how very fragile we are in this
short life. How precious every day
is. Bob, as you have shared a little
about how so much of all the years of your marriage have been distilled in a
special and meaningful way in these days.
How precious every day is—the highlights and Red Letter Days, but also
the ordinary days, making a home and a life together.
And so wonderful to see the photos you’ve collected to share
just a few reminders of all that. There
is a line in the Psalms, “Lord, let me know my end, and the number of my
days.” But of course we never can know. Every day is a gift, a real gift—and of course
a gift that comes with no guarantee.
Even when we say, “see you tomorrow,” we don’t really know. And so as we come together hear, to remember,
to comfort one another, to give thanks, we might also hear an invitation. Sandy might be an inspiration for us in this
way. Courageously, with a great and open
and tender heart, to love one another,
to enjoy the good gift of the life, the family and friends God has given us.
In the sure and certain hope of life in Christ Jesus, what
we all have to be about this afternoon, with memories, with all the sadness
that there is—what we all have to be about is to learn to live every day of
this short and precious life in the love of God and of one another, serving God
and one another, knowing that to be such a privilege. And putting our hope in him. Entrusting ourselves and those we love to
him.
Jesus said, in my Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told
you. I go to prepare a place for
you. And if I go to prepare a place for
you, I will come again, and bring you to myself, that where I am, you may be
also. You know where I’m going, and you
know how to get there too.
“I am the
resurrection and the life, saith the Lord.
He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me
shall never die.”
If you would please stand with me now and we will in the
smaller Book of Common Prayer turn to page 53, where we would say together the
ancient and timeless Apostles’ Creed, the core affirmation of Christian identity
and faith, and after we’ve said the Creed, to remain standing and to turn in
the larger hymnal as we would sing together Hymn # 671,
joining our voices here, and I know Sandy will be singing with us in the
choir of heaven. Amazing Grace.
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