James, Lydia, Anita, Mary, Amelia, and all the family, may I express my deepest condolences to you today. Yours was a wife, a mother, a grandmother and a sister who was truly special. You have borne your grief with outstanding courage, dignity and above all devotion. It is a beautiful thing. All you friends who loved Polly, your support and kindness throughout her illness and at the time of death have been deeply appreciated by the family, I know. Thank you.
On Tuesday, I read through all the e-mails Polly had sent me over the last year. Some were updates to her support team; others were more personal notes to me. It struck me again just how frank and candid Polly was. She spoke the truth in love, as the Bible says Christians should do.
I was told by a former youth leader here that Polly’s unflinchingly straightforward style was once unleashed on an unsuspecting church youth group when she was invited to speak to them on the birds and the bees. She was of course an authority on the subject, not just as a mother of four daughters, all of whom had gone through their teenage years, but also through her professional life.
I think the expectation was that this kindly churchgoer, then in her late 50s or early 60s, would be a safe bet to give a decorous context for all those hormones coursing around the room. But no. Polly Lamont didn’t shilly-shally and she didn’t do British reserve. She proceeded at length to talk about sex, unblushing, in the most uninhibited fashion imaginable, and sparing no detail. Those 15 year olds didn’t know what had hit them!
I loved many things about Polly, but that was possibly what I loved most. She was earthy. I don’t mean crude and I don’t mean worldly. A worldly person is overly attracted to the superficial and temporary diversions of life without God. No, Polly was a very spiritual woman and I’ll touch on that later. By “earthy”, I mean she was real. She had a hearty and down-to-earth approach to life.
Perhaps that’s the main reason why I often found myself opening my soul to her when I visited her. She had a quite natural way of instilling confidence and trust. I found again and again that I let my guard down. I found myself sharing with her not just my thoughts but my heart. She was more than a parishioner; she was a neighbour too but, most of all, she was a trusted friend who gave me a safe place to be myself.
When, in early December, the decision was taken to stop fighting the cancer and concentrate on controlling the pain we knew that Polly would not live for very long. She did too. From that time, every time I saw her she looked a little frailer.
We prayed she would live to see Christmas because she so wanted to spend it with the extended family, knowing, I’m sure, that it would be her last. We are so grateful to God that she did; it was very, very special to her.
Polly had already said to me long before then in her startling, matter-of-fact way that she knew her cancer would kill her in the end; she just didn’t care for it to be too soon or to be a disagreeable journey.
But she did not fear death. I watched her carefully as she said so, to try and spot anything in her body language that might suggest she was just putting on a brave face.
She didn’t flinch or hesitate. “I know I’m going to a wonderful place” she said. Polly was composed, confident and at ease about the prospect of dying.
Polly could sing “Amazing grace… that saved a wretch like me” and mean every word. She knew that she would - and could - never get to heaven on the basis of her own moral goodness, admirable though it was. She knew she was - like everyone here - loved by God but a sinner, in need of his grace. And she knew she had received it freely through faith in Jesus Christ.
*
One of the more remarkable things about God, and there are many, is that he reveals himself as an insomniac. Today’s Psalm reads:
He will not let your foot slip –
he who watches over you will not fall asleep;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
Actually, it’s not that God can’t sleep because he is worried; it’s that he doesn’t sleep because he is watchful.
I was reflecting about Polly’s ebbing life and God’s sleeplessness and it struck me that the New Testament, when talking about Christians dying, often uses the expression “to fall asleep.” I wonder why…
I think there are several reasons why sleep is such a brilliant metaphor for death. No one can stay awake forever. Everybody dies. Sleep is refreshing. Death, for Polly, was a release from indignity and constant pain control. But most significantly of all, after sleep, you wake up feeling alive again the next morning. The birds are singing, the sun is up, there’s dew on the grass, and there’s a new day opening up before you.
That’s how Christians feel about death. Polly is sleeping and one day, at the last judgement, she will wake up – with a new body.
Judgement holds no fear for Christians. The Bible says that God loved the world so much that he sent his only Son, so that whoever believes in him, will not perish, but have eternal life.
Interestingly, the poem Polly chose to have read by Leo Marks, though not a Christian as far as I know, also talks about death as sleep.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
The morning Polly died, I felt a strong urge to call James, ask him how the night had been and go over there to pray with them both again, as I so loved to do. I could see that it would not be long before she “fell asleep.” So I thought I’d sing her a lullaby and John joined in with me.
It’s a verse from an old hymn that Christians sing on All Saints’ Day. And since All Saints’ church is the community of believers Polly loved, it seemed appropriate.
The verse I chose is about how the glorious sunset at the end of a day signals that night time, the time for sleep and rest, is approaching. Sunset takes the sleep metaphor further. As death draws near, you can just begin to see the first glimmers of the bright glory of heaven. Here are the words:
The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Just a few hours after singing that little lullaby, Polly fell fast asleep in Christ.
And now that she is sleeping, I want to close by reading the next verse which looks ahead to the new dawn that always follows the night. When Christ comes again to judge the living and the dead, those who have fallen asleep will awake to meet him. I’ll spare you the public nuisance of attempting to sing it, but here are the words:
But look! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Sleep well, Polly. Until we, and all who are in Christ, awake together on another shore, and in a greater light.
Sermon preached at All Saints' Preston on Tees, 1st March 2012
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