On 21 July of this year, my mom passed away. She was 85 years old. The funeral was a week later. I want to share with you what I said on that occasion. And here is why.
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She left us a letter with some details for her funeral. In it, she made this statement: „I want to let my little light [she used a double diminutive] shine one last time.” Just days before her death, she wanted all her brothers and sister to come together because „I have something to say”. At that moment, I suspect, it was clear to her what that something was. But the next day, when everyone was there, her communication was not clear. I have a hunch about what was on her mind, but she could not verbalize it. Afterwards, she regretted that she had not been able to give „her little testimony”, as she called it. (Notice the repetition; there was nothing big or spectacular about her life except for the outstanding quality of the ordinary.)
She couldn’t say it. Therefore, I am going to speak for her. I want to let her little light shine just a little bit further than she managed. Here is what I said during her funeral service.
And he said to him, ‘Child, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours
Luke 15:31
Someone, I don’t remember who, once asked: What language does God speak? And he answered this question as follows: People are the language of God.
You could think about each person as a word. Or a sentence, or a story. Because in the end, every life is a story. And all together, these lives tell the big story that God wants to tell.
So, you might ask, what is someone’s story? What sentence is or was this person? What word?
When I thought about it like this, I knew quickly, which word I connect with my mother.
I’m not going to try to tell her whole story. A lot of it I don’t know. I wasn’t there for the first 24 years (I only have second and third-hand knowledge). I’m not going to summarise her life story. But that word, that’s what I want to talk about.
It is a Hebrew word: chesed. I use a Hebrew word because it is so rich and because it combines two ideas.
It is difficult to translate. It doesn’t fit into one English word. You need two words for it. English translations commonly speak of loving-kindness, steadfast love, or covenant faithfulness.
Chesed is a combination of two ideas – love and faithfulness. Those who knew my mother will understand why I find this word so fitting. Faithful love, that’s how she lived. Until the very end. When, in fact, she was no longer able to do much.
An indication of this quality in her is how long some relationships of my parents have existed. The first neighbours from their first flat in Hoogvliet, for example, and neighbours and acquaintances from Vierpolders. Of course, some of these friends and acquaintances are no longer alive. Others are so old that they could not be present at the funeral. But the relationship remained to the end. It has sometimes passed on to the children, who write to us now that they still remember what it was like visiting my mother, sometimes decades ago.
I also think of the time long ago, when my mother did elderly visits for the church. Some elderly people she accompanied for many years. And they were not always easy people.
Some years ago, we were in Brielle together and she insisted on going to the cemetery there to visit and clean up the graves of two of those elderly people from the past. Because nobody else cares, she said. But she did. That’s faithful love.
Now you might ask, and what did she get for it? Where was the answer, the reward? Where was God’s faithful love for the past eight or nine years – a tenth of her life?
Because my mother’s health began to decline even before my father fell sick, and that’s more than eight years ago. And then there was the illness in her childhood that left her with leaky heart valves, a lifelong disability. There was no ‘faith bonus’ for her; God did not make it easier.
I don’t know if my mother asked herself questions like these consciously or even critically. But I would understand if she did.
The last gift Franziska and I gave my mother was a book. The book, by Henry Nouwen, is about the parable of the prodigal son, a well-known story from the Bible. The youngest of two sons claims his inheritance while his father is still alive. He sells everything and goes to a distant land where he squanders everything „in wild living“ (Luke 15:13; NIV).
The book is also about the painting Rembrandt made of this parable at the end of his life. Those who know Rembrandt’s life know that he was somewhat like the prodigal son: wild living, ending in poverty.
In reality, both the parable and the painting are not only about the youngest, the prodigal son but also about the father and the elder son – who is no less lost. There he stands, at the edge of the painting. His attitude says: All my life I worked hard, was faithful, did everything you wanted. But for that son of yours, you let the fattened calf be slaughtered. Understandable, that anger.
And he said to him, “Child, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours” (Luke 15:31). Really?
I don’t know how well my mother understood that. Whether she could really see herself as the beloved daughter. But I’m not sure I understand that either. Who among us has really understood that God is like the father in this parable: Child, you are with me always, and all that is mine is yours?
One striking aspect of Rembrandt’s painting is how he painted the father. I don’t know how you have imagined this father. Perhaps as pater familias, a strong man, at the very least head of the family, an authority.
Not so with Rembrandt. The father is old, looks fragile, frail; he is almost blind. Fragile, brittle, so did my mother become. I think she never looked more beautiful than in those last months. When she couldn’t do much anymore. Less and less. An emaciated body. With a spirit that still flared up again and again, especially when there were visitors. But with questions. Why is it taking so long? Who will help me into heaven? Why does the door stay closed?
Yes, where was the answer to her faithful love? Where was God’s chesed?
I think it came through us who were there with her. When she could no longer give faithful love, it was our turn. That love started with patience. Patiently waiting for her to say what she wanted. Or to do what she said she was going to do. It took time. God’s love came through the doctor who in the end came by every day. The home care that helped her so patiently and lovingly.
And so this too is part of my mother’s message. An invitation: faithful love, just do it. It’s not about what we get in return. It is about becoming like the father. The father of the prodigal son. Of the prodigal sons. Both the beloved son.
And the father of the beloved daughter.
Again, I don’t know if my mother could really see herself that way: as the beloved daughter. Perhaps for her, God was still too much the stern father you are afraid of. But in reality, she was the beloved daughter.
One of her last nights, my sister and I sat with her on the bed. She wanted to show and explain her jewellery to us. Their value was in the memories more than in terms of money. She had a simple bracelet, with a small porcelain motif in Delftware. „This was given to me by my parents when I turned 15. And they couldn’t actually afford it.“ I calculate quickly: 1952. Shortly after the war, a large family – no, indeed, my grandparents couldn’t afford that. And I think, mum, do you hear that? God’s language. God speaks through people. He let you know, even then, you are my beloved daughter.
The last stretch of her life was not easy. And that is why I believe that at the end of her life, there is one more message. Two words.
And yet. This was not an easy ending. And yet. Despite the questions and doubts that were also there, increasingly, toward the end. And yet. It was no strong, no triumphalist and yet. And yet.
At the end of her life stood: I know that my redeemer lives. In that faith, my mother died.
When the Apostle Paul stood at the end of his life, he could say, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness“ (2 Tim. 4:7f), the crown of glory. My mother couldn’t say it like that. You don’t say that about yourself. That’s why I say it. She has finished her race; now it is time for the crown of glory.
Well done, Mum. Thank you, farewell, until we meet again.
Attribution
Van Rijn, Rembrandt Harmensz. Ca. 1669. “The Return of the Prodigal Son” <https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rembrandt_Harmensz_van_Rijn_-_Return_of_the_Prodigal_Son_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg> [Accessed 8 August 2023] Public Domain
References
Unless indicated differently, Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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