Winter 2006

There are those who walk on the edge of worlds. Such persons are rarely public figures or political decision-makers. Most often they have few material possessions, little desire for fame or power. They live on a different radar screen than most of us. They march to different drummers. They are messengers.

In August, I was called to a hospital room where a community artist and seamstress had been told, days before, that she was dying from a virulent form of cancer. She told me of a dream in which an eagle came to take her away, then gracefully passed over, indicating it was not yet time. Though not a member of any formal faith community, this hard-living, generous 57-year-old had a deep, insightful sense of the spiritual world. She asked me, unexpectedly, if I would assist in leading her memorial service. I, of course, agreed.

Specific details of her life are probably best reserved to a different time for telling by her family and friends. But it's worth noting that on a trip returning home from California to the Upper Peninsula, not that many years ago, she asked her driver to stop and ran across a meadow in Wyoming chasing a buffalo. Fiercely independent she once threw a bedpan against a hospital wall. During her last days in hospice as she struggled with pain, I leaned over her bed and began saying the Lord's Prayer. She beckoned me closer and whispered, " Jon, that one doesn't work for me." In turn, I tried the 139th Psalm, "Oh Lord, with you darkness is as the light." She lay back gently and closed her eyes with a look of satisfaction.

At the funeral in October a group of folks from all walks of life, including dozens of Harley bikers, gathered together in the warmth of a park pavilion on the shores of Lake Superior. A circle of chairs surrounded her casket. Four candles were set in four directions. Cedar was laid on a simple altar. With the echo of drums, against a backdrop vestments and robes, we closed with this benediction.

"Sister Mary, the eagle of which you dreamed would one day return has come. And now you climb upon its great wings. We bless you on your way. You knew better than most, the emptiness of the rich and powerful of this world. You taught us about the power of animals, about living graciously on the Earth, sometimes without heat or plumbing. The shadow of a cross, our songs, and the sound of drums join together as a single prayer. An eagle whistle from the high plains of the Dakotas calls to you. A river carries you home."

The casket was carried to the hearse. As the funeral procession drove off, twenty-four Harley bikers revved up their cycle engines, escorting her body into a setting afternoon sun.

-JWM

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