John 14:1-6; Ecclesiastes 3:1-8; Job 19:21-27
In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.
As you heard a moment ago, Helen was born on June 7 and baptized on July 8 of that same year. Fourteen years later, on Palm Sunday, she was confirmed in the Christian faith. In other words, Helen was a Lutheran Christian. That was the pattern for generations: born into the faith, raised in it, and living from it. I noticed the same thing when I looked back at the sermon for Romane six years ago. Both Helen and Romane were given this gift early, nurtured in it by their families, and then, in their marriage, they passed it on to their children. Sunday morning church was not optional, it was simply life.
And that tells you something important. The milestones of Helen’s life were not random. Baptism, Confirmation, Marriage, and now Christian burial; these are not just events we mark; they are the Lord’s work in the life of His people. They are even laid out in that very order in the hymnal before you, “with an iron pen and lead …engraved in the rock forever!” This was the frame of Helen’s life, the canvas upon which everything else was painted. And so, of course, that faith shaped her home, her family, her joys, her words, and her way of living.
Helen loved the simple things, faith and family, the days on the farm (though she would remind you they were just “ol’ days,” not “good ol’ days”). And yet, those were the best of times: raising children, building a home, living life together. There were the road trips; Helen was a great navigator, but she had to physically face North in order to read the map! There was camping, fishing, boating, traveling. She and Romane spent those lazy, hazy days in Texas, walking the beach and collecting seashells, so many seashells, I am told, that there are enough for everyone. They played cribbage, cheered on the Chicago Cubs, and enjoyed the steady rhythm of life together.
Helen was fiercely proud of her Norwegian heritage, even as Romane was proud of his German heritage. Romane used to say, “I am 100% German; Helen is 100% Norwegian. We tried to create the perfect race, but we failed.” So, Romane loved his brats, and Helen loved her lefse, which she described as a Norwegian burrito, and there was armistice.
Helen was a faithful member of St. John, active in the Dorcas Society, present in the Divine Service, and in Bible study when she was able. Not perfectly, not flawlessly, but faithfully. And that distinction matters. Faithfulness does not mean perfection; it means receiving what the Lord gives, again and again: His Word, His forgiveness, His life. She also worked as a bank teller for over twenty years. She was good with both numbers and people. However, she would be the first to tell you that she didn’t retire; she quit. I’m sure there’s more to that story. Still, she enjoyed monthly lunches at Pizza Ranch with the “bank ladies.”
Helen loved having the whole family together for Christmas, which meant Thanksgiving, because when you spend your winters in Texas, you make your own calendar. She liked to cook, though baking was another matter entirely. The pies were excellent, but she only served them; Mrs. Smith baked them. There was a humility about Helen that ran deep, and she mentored that humility for you.
And she had a way of speaking, what we might call “Helen’s Proverbs.” Honest, direct, sometimes sharp, but always memorable. “If she cries, I’m going to feed her.” “My house, my rules.” “If you’re not wearing earrings, your ears are naked.” “Why smile for the camera when I can look at you?” There was wisdom in those words, and there was love, too, love that showed itself not in sentimentality, but in care, presence, and conviction.
In these past months, that same steady character remained. Though her body weakened, though she became, visibly, almost half the woman she once was, her faith was not diminished. If anything, it became clearer, sharper, more focused. She faced these days with a quiet dignity, flowing from something deeper than personality or strength. It flowed from Christ.
Helen knew what Job knew. When everything is stripped away, health, strength, even the familiar comforts of life, there remains this confession: “I know that my Redeemer lives.” Not “I hope,” not “I feel,” but “I know.” And Helen knew it. She believed that her Redeemer lives, that He had prepared a place for her, and that He would come to bring her there. That is why she could say, “Don’t pray for me too hard, I’m ready. I have an invitation.” That is not bravado. That is not denial. That is faith, faith grounded not in herself, but in Jesus Christ.
And that brings us to our Lord’s words: “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many rooms… I go to prepare a place for you.” Jesus does not speak in vague hopes. He speaks in promises. He does not say, “I might prepare a place.” He says, “I go to prepare a place for you… and I will come again and take you to Myself.”
Helen’s confidence, her readiness, was not because she had lived a good life, though she did. It was not because she had been a faithful wife, mother, grandmother, and member of this congregation, though she was. Her confidence was in Christ alone. In His death for her sins. In His resurrection from the dead. In the promise given to her in Baptism, that she belongs to Him. That is the comfort we hold onto today. Not simply that Helen lived a long and full life, though she did. Not simply that she leaves behind many good memories, though she does. But that she died in Christ. And those who die in Christ live.
“For everything there is a season,” we heard from Ecclesiastes. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to weep, and a time to laugh. Today is a time to weep. Jesus Himself wept at the grave of His friend. Death is an enemy. It is not natural or good. But it is a defeated enemy. Christ has died. Christ is risen. And because He lives, those who belong to Him will live also.
Ninety-one years the Lord gave to Helen. Sixty-seven of those in marriage with Romane. Years filled with ordinary days and extraordinary grace. And through it all, she navigated life the way she read a map, facing True North. Not perfectly, not without detours, but always oriented toward Christ.
And now, the journey of faith has become sight. The One she trusted, she now sees. The Redeemer she confessed, she now beholds with her own eyes. So we give thanks today, for Helen, for her life, for her faith. But even more, we give thanks to God, who gave her that faith, sustained her in it, and has now brought her to its fulfillment.
“Let not your hearts be troubled.” These words are for you, as much as they were for her. Christ is the way, and the truth, and the life. He has gone to prepare a place, not only for Helen, but for you.
In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.
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