A Small Theological Matter

Yesterday afternoon, we attended the funeral services for a dear friend and fellow Thurs. Writer, Joyce Peterson.  Born February 19, 1918, in Covington, Ky., she died July 25, 2012, age 94.  She was by no means forgotten at that vast age; her funeral drew between 60 and 75 people, many of whom she had worked with, had taught drama to or who were fellow church members.

Sitting discreetly in a back pew with several writers, I was surprised to hear how active she had been in church life.  It was a facet of her life that she rarely mentioned. 

Her home church was 1st Methodist, Torrance and Broadway, Redondo Beach.  Our last appearance here was 29 years ago when we got married in this church.  Joyce and her husband were married here in 1949!

I was brought up in a faith that had split from the Methodists - the Evangelical United Brethren.  Apparently what had happened years before my parents began attending was that two groups within the Methodists got into it and one group took their bats, balls and huffed off of the field to start their own ball game.  These things happen even in the best-regulated families...

Rather than rolling out my old home church - Trinity Evangelical United Brethren, Kansas City, Missouri - a mouthful to be sure, I just said "Methodist" if anyone asked.

The services yesterday rolled through familiar-enough territory to me - Greeting, Hymn, Scripture, Gospel Reading and so on until we came to a section that was totally new to me.

Called "The Prayer of Commendation," it reflects gratitude to God for all He has given us.  But one section of it jumped out at me and I quote:  "O God, all that you have given us is yours.  As first you gave Joyce to us, so now we give Joyce back to you; into your hands, O merciful saviour, we commend her soul." 

I looked again at the program again to make sure I was hearing what had actually been said.  This sounded a lot like, "So -- we've had her for 94 years; she's all worn out, so you can have her back."

While I am positive that was not the intent, as an editor, I think more attention could have been given to the joy that Joyce brought in her daily actions and the reluctance with which we must relinquish her.  But, what do I know?  I am, after all, a lapsed Methodist.  We are vastly outnumbered by lapsed Catholics, but we're here.   You just have to kind of hunt for us.

For inquiring minds:  I now say "agnostic" if asked religious preference.