The Briar Philosopher - The Robin and the Lily

The Boy and I attended the Funeral Mass of Joyce Marks on Saturday. While the occasion was, of course, a solemn one I cannot say that there was only sorrow present there. So many of the members of her Church family and the community attended and each of them felt not just the sorrow of her passing but the power of the love and legacy she leaves behind. 

For ourselves, there were tears but there was also the reflection that we were so fortunate to know her while she was among us. Her’s was, and it still is, one of those passings that it is hard to process, accept or understand. We know that all things must pass and we know that death comes to us all in good time but to lose her seemed so not in keeping with how the world should go. It seemed that she should continue here with us forever as her presence was such a touch stone of love and goodness. It seemed that the sky grew darker and the sun brought little warmth as we walked into the church. The robin that greeted us on our way was a welcome sight but I thought nothing much of it. As she was brought into the chapel there was a pause in the processional for the rituals that are attached to such things. During that pause, the casket was directly beside the chair where I sat. I was struck hard with the knowledge that the body of this woman, so full of energy and life just weeks before, lay now in this box beside me. It seemed it should not be so. It seemed she should just walk in and say, “What is all this fuss about?  There is work to be done.” I knew then how deeply she would be missed, not just by her family but by her friends and by the whole of her community. It would be hard to find anyone in Jackson County whose life was not touched by her at least in some small way. I do believe that sometimes the angels of our better nature walk among us and I do believe that Joyce Marks was one of them. I have been home in this county for almost 12 years now and have heard in all that time not one ill word spoken of her. She greeted each of us with an open heart. She never preached at us or told us we had to “get right with God.” She never judged us or treated us with any sort of disrespect or unkindness. She didn’t gossip or gripe about others, though there can be no doubt that she prayed for us without ceasing. She loved us out loud and prayed with her hands and her feet, bringing comfort and hope to each one of us as was her way. 

After the service, we asked each other if we should stay and eat with those who were waiting for others to return from the cemetery where she was to be interred. It is not our custom to do so, feeling such times are often private times for family and those closer to her than we. Then we reflected that if there was anything Joyce would want us to do it was to stay and eat. Feeding people was at the heart of most of her years of service to her community so we stayed and we ate and were made full not just by the food but by the love contained therein, a love that will always reach beyond her life to fill the lives of others. 

We did not stay and wait for the return of the others as there was much we had to do that day, part of that being beginning to write this dear woman’s story. As we left the church and began walking back to the truck, we noticed for a second time the robin, which was still where we saw her, dining on worms brought up by the melting snow. My sight was also drawn to the bud of a lily that had fallen from the spray of flowers that adorned her casket. I reached down and picked it up. As a child one of my most used nicknames was “Lilybud” so the gift of that fallen bud felt more personal than it might have otherwise. 

At that moment it seemed the sky grew bright again and I could feel the warmth of the sun on my face. All of my tears were finally released and in their falling, they seemed to water something new within me. There was the robin, bringing with it the promise of spring and there was the lily, containing within its bud the promise of new blooming, new beginnings, new life. Though snow still lay unmelted on the north-facing hillsides and though icicles still held tight to the stone outcroppings, something of spring, of renewal, of resurrection awakened in my heart.   In such a simple way my heart found healing. In such a simple and profound way I knew then that just as all living things that fall bring forth new beginnings, the passing of Joyce would also bring something new and bright and filled with promise into the world. I sat in the truck weeping and watching the robin prepare for the days when she would be about building a nest and raising her young, to fill the skies of another season with song.  As I sat there, the words to an old gospel song came back to my mind in full; The Legend of the Robin Redbreast. My mother taught it to me as a child and it was one of my favorites to sing when I was young and I sang it through my tears. Amazingly, I remembered all the words. I looked it up later to confirm I had them right as I knew then that I would share them with you here. They speak of love, humility, and grace. It is my farewell to Joyce and my encouragement to all of you to find it within yourselves to give what you can to those around you. 

Oh have you heard the story,

it happened long ago

When Christ our blessed Savior,

was here on earth below

An echo thru the ages,

from distant Calvary

I'll tell it to you simply,

as it was told to me.

It breathes the blessed teaching,

of God's own holy word

A lesson taught in meekness,

by a lowly little bird.

When Jesus hung in sorrow,

our debt of shame to pay

No one was there to comfort,

or wipe His tears away.

A little bird flew near Him,

in sober coat of brown

And gazed in tender pity,

then slowly fluttered down.

With gentle wings it fanned Him,

to cool His aching head

And hovered near His bosom,

all stained with deepest red.

At last when all was ended,

as if to mourn His loss

It rose with blood stained feathers,

and circled 'round the cross.

It breathes the blessed teaching,

of God's own holy word

A lesson taught in meekness,

by a lowly little bird.

It flew away in sadness and,

till this day 'tis said

It wears upon it's bosom,

that stain of crimson red.

When I shall cross the valley,

and go to seek my rest

May I wear like the robin,

God's sign upon my breast.