Sermon for the Funeral of Farrell Long

 January 29, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

The Funeral of Farrell Long

Today we gather to celebrate the life of Farrell Duane Long, a brother, a father, a friend.  I did not know him as well as most of you gathered here did.  But my earliest memory of him is one that I kept coming back to as I thought about today’s homily.

Near the end of the summer of 2023, two months or so after my first day, during the announcements, Pam stood up and encouraged us to take home a jar of jam.  She said that she and Stephanie and Camryn had gone over to Farrell’s house to pick muscadine grapes so that they could make jam.  Farrell had extra grapes, and they had a great day harvesting them, and now they were happy to share the bounty with the rest of us.  Some jars were plain, some had lemon.  We could take one of each if we wanted.  

We went into the narthex, which had been overtaken by jars of jam—what a sweet and great abundance!  I had a moment where I thought I had fallen into an alternate universe:  what kind of place is this where a multi-generational family goes over to a church member’s house to pick grapes?  What kind of place is this where we all arrive at church and leave with jars of delicious jam?

I later realized what Farrell helped to create here at Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church—it is an alternate universe, isn’t it?  And as I’ve talked to family members this week, it wasn’t just at Faith Lutheran.  He had a similar impact in earlier churches, and the presence of so many family members, from far-flung places, tells me that he had this kind of impact in other spaces too.

This transforming generosity of Farrell makes it even harder to face life without him physically here with us.  We justifiably ask, “Why?  Why?  Why do we have to lose the ones we love?” I remember Farrell’s questions when I saw him on Christmas Eve; he said that he might understand other ailments, but why bladder cancer?   And then, we might let ourselves question God.  “Why set up creation this way?  Make it make sense, God.”

Of course, we are not the first to ask these questions.  Through the ages, people have come up with all kinds of answers, some more satisfying than others.  I suspect we’ll hear some theology that make us feel worse instead of better.  I’m not going to cover every possibility here—besides, you’ve likely already heard them.  We could have long conversations about where our beliefs in the afterlife can be found in the Bible or how certain ideas about death and the afterlife came into existence at certain times in church history.

But this is not the time for that.  When we’ve lost someone important to us, all of that information isn’t much help, and it’s usually not a comfort.  We confidently say yes, people go on to prepare a place for us, but what about the here and now, when we have to figure out what this means for our lives, how to go on, how to find hope and comfort.

Jesus comes to announce the inbreaking kingdom of God, that it’s underway but not complete.  It’s a mystery that we inhabit.  We see evidence of God’s presence, but we also see imperfection in our current lives.  Our scriptures tell us of a time in the future when God’s work in creation will be complete—Jesus comes to make progress, but even in his resurrection, the transformation of this world—our world—is incomplete.

There is good news here.  We are a resurrection people.  Through the resurrection of Jesus, we know that death does not have the final word.  We proclaim that in our creeds every week.  When we gather here together to mourn the loss of Farrell, who has been so vital to us, it may be difficult to believe.  It sure looks like death has had the final word.  It sure looks like cancer has won a victory for the forces of death and decay.  It’s harder to see the fulfilled promise of a creation where all can grow and flourish.

At this juncture, we might not be able to say in full confidence that death doesn’t have the final word.  In our time of deep grief, maybe it’s hard to believe that.  We can read our Scripture, and the words may seem hollow.  If you experience that hollowness, rest assured, it’s OK.  Paul’s letters and every Gospel text reassure us that God will not abandon us, even when we find it hard to keep the faith we proclaim to each other and to the world.

We don’t know what that final victory over death will look like.  But we do know that God continues the work of creation, that work of making all things new.  We see glimpses that give us some insight:  the coming of spring after a hard winter, the doors that close and the opportunities that develop after the door is closed, the seedlings that grow where fruit dropped to the ground, the broken relationships that heal.

We see a glimpse of the new creation that God is making here, where we gather to comfort each other in this loss as we say goodbye, where we remember how Farrell helped to build this community, this community that mirrors the one that God intends for us, the eternal community that we are all creating together.

In the life of Farrell, we have gotten a foretaste of the abundant feast to come, whether it be in the muscadine jam that sweetened our toast, in the windows and parking lots that are no longer broken, in the church council decisions that ensure that this faith community is stronger, in all of the ways he showed us how to live.  We say goodbye for now.  

We know that death does not have the final word.  Farrell will not be erased.  We will remember him, and we will continue the good work that he was such an integral part of.  We will run and not grow weary.  We will grieve because we must wait for the final salvation, when God wipes every tear from every grieving eye.  But we will also look forward to that day, that day when the forces of love do conquer the power of death for a final time, when we are reunited with all whom we have held dear and these forms we often miss, when the circle will be unbroken. 

That day will come.  Death does not get to have the final word.  Let us now sing of that Blessed assurance.