A Witness to the Resurrection of Marilyn Olson

Marilyn Olson, Mother's Day, 2016

On Saturday, June 25, 2016, we celebrated a service of witness to the resurrection of Marilyn Olson (my great-aunt) at Sewickley Presbyterian Church. On Wednesday, June 29th, we celebrated a graveside service in Jamestown, NY, where her remains were interred alongside my great-uncle, Ray Olson. What follows are the words of witness that I offered at the two memorial services, along with the recollection of a dream that I had on that Saturday morning.

A Witness to the Resurrection of Marilyn Olson

Good morning! Thank you all for coming today. The words that we heard from the Book of Ecclesiastes remind us why we’re here this morning: we’re here to mourn the passing of Marilyn Olson. Some of you knew her simply as mom or grandmother; many of us knew her as Aunt Marilyn; while some among you just knew her was a friend. Yes, we are here to mourn and to grieve, and we are also here to celebrate her life and her presence in our lives, and finally, her entrance into eternal life.

Preparing this meditation on Aunt Marilyn was more difficult than I imagined. I mean, I knew Aunt Marilyn, but in a sense, I never knew her outside of a gathering of my Olson relatives. Sometimes the gathering was at Stephen and Linda’s house, or at my grandmother’s house—that’s Aunt Ora’s house to the rest of you—or maybe it was at Lois Rankin’s home, or Ben and Harriet’s farm. Always, always, always, Aunt Marilyn was in the midst of a crowd of loved ones. I don’t remember ever spending time with just Aunt Marilyn. Conversations with her were always in the midst of these gatherings. Wherever our extended family was assembled, there was Marilyn.

I mentioned this to Jon the other day, as we were planning this service. He said, yeah, that was mom. She was always in the middle of a gathering, or at the table, or putting together a last-minute dinner for family or friends. Jon told me that his father was famous for inviting colleagues home from work. He would call Marilyn late in the afternoon and tell her to set a few extra places and make more food. Then Ray would cook these enormous steaks that were too big for the plates, which meant there had to be another set of plates for the rest of the food. It must have been nerve-wracking to prepare for these impromptu gatherings, but it must also have been a great time of bonding for Jon and Marilyn.

And now Marilyn has passed from our lives. It’s tempting to say, “she’s in a better place,” but please don’t. I have to tell you, I hate that phrase. Yes, Marilyn is in a better place, but we are not. Our world is poorer for her absence. When I think of Aunt Marilyn, I think of all those family gatherings from fifteen or twenty or thirty years ago, or more. I remember a time when it was easier to gather so many of my loved ones in a single place. We all felt so connected, even if none of us lived in Donora or Jamestown or any of the other family homesteads.

This service today assures us that we are all still connected to one another, but Marilyn’s passing reminds us that our bonds are strained. She was a tangible connection to the love we all felt when we were gathered together. She was a tangible connection to our past and to the broad network of relationships that we call family. When I think of all the loved ones I’ve lost in the last few years, sometimes I feel like a boat that’s been untied from its moorings and cast adrift. Sometimes I feel lost and alone.

Stephen, Jon, I cannot claim to know what you’re going through right now. Your relationships with your mother were unique. They might have been similar, but each of you encountered a different Marilyn and each of you had your own relationships with your mother after you grew up. Your grief and your pain is unique; you have every right to it and I will not try to minimize it or take it away. I couldn’t do that if I tried. What I will tell you is that you’re not alone. We share your loss.

Jon told me another story about Marilyn. In the last few years that she lived here in Sewickley, he told me that he and his mother tended a little patch of flowers right outside this church. Jon did most of the work, but Marilyn would sit on the stone wall of the flowerbed and pull out any weeds she could reach. By that point in her life, Marilyn couldn’t do much physical work, but again, it was a great way for the two of them to spend time together. This provided a great deal of emotional healing for Jon, in the wake of his accident and all of his physical pain.

These stories of Marilyn—setting a table, tending a garden, caring for her children—these are biblical images and acts of faith. In our reading from the Gospel of John, Jesus says: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.” Preparing a place for you—that just sounds like Aunt Marilyn. This is more than Jesus saying, “I’m going to Heaven and I’m taking you with me.” In these verses, Jesus is making a statement about his mutual and reciprocal relationship with God the Father: God dwells in Jesus, and in Christ’s resurrection, Jesus dwells within the Father; there is no longer any separation between the two.[1] And Jesus promises us that we, too, will dwell within God, because of Christ’s resurrection. Through the resurrection, there is no more separation, only connection.

The hymn that we’re going to sing, “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need,” ends with the line: “No more a stranger or a guest, but like a child at home.” I guess that’s how Aunt Marilyn made all of us feel, and of course, that’s why it hurts so much to say goodbye. I’m not about to tell you to let go of your grief and pain. That would be like me telling you to let go of your memories of Aunt Marilyn—that would be silly! Hold on to the memories and hold on to the grief, though only for a season. At the same time, I would encourage you to remember that Marilyn lived a long life, and she, too, said goodbye to many people before she left this earth: her husband, her parents, and many friends and loved ones. To live and to love is to know pain and loss and grief. To live in Christ is the way to transcend those earthly feelings. We grieve as we live this earthly life. Marilyn has transcended all of her pain, she’s no longer a stranger or a guest; she IS a child at home. Thanks be to God. Amen!

I wasn't sure where to put this last part. It came to me as a dream on Saturday morning, the day of the memorial service at Sewickley Presbyterian Church. I didn't work it into my meditation that day, but I did work it into my comments at the graveside service in Jamestown, NY.

I had a dream early this morning, right before I woke up. It was a rambling dream with lots of scenes and people. I dreamed that I was speaking on the telephone with Aunt Marilyn. There had been a big family gathering sometime in the recent past, and I sat with Marilyn at that gathering. When we spoke on the phone, Aunt Marilyn seemed a bit disoriented. She had just moved to a new place. She seemed happy.

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[1] Gail R. O’Day. The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections. in The New Interpreter’s Bible. (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995).