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It was not unusual for Grover Thomas to come home to a house filled with the smell of wonderful cooking. A fine stew or pot
roast; savory soups – the kind of food that soothes the soul and makes the saliva glands flow. Returning at night for
dinner, the memory of those aromas would prime Grover's appetite for a meal he had been anticipating all afternoon. But by
evening, it was all gone. The foods he had smelled earlier in the day had been distributed to people who were ill; someone
with a new baby; an elderly friend who couldn't cook much anymore; a neighbor whose spouse was out of town.
"Where's all that food I smelled cooking in here earlier today?" asked Grover.
"Daddy," said Ann. "When are you going to realize that you are feeding all of Fayetteville!?"
One of the striking things about Jesus' ministry was the feeding. You just listened to one version of his feeding of the
multitudes, the only miracle story that is repeated in all four gospels. The hospitality of his table fellowship was scandalously
inclusive. Feeding others and eating together were so characteristic of Jesus, that on Easter evening, a meal was the place
where his friends experienced his resurrection. "They knew him in the breaking of the bread."
Since Easter Day, the shared communion of bread and wine has been the distinctive form of Christian worship that nurtures
us and brings us into union with one another and with God. At this table in this place, Bettie Thomas has been fed and nourished
by the fellowship of the table. She has been constituted by the Eucharist.
For so many years, as the children of our parish have left the altar and passed by Bettie's pew, right here on the aisle in
front of this pulpit, she has offered to them her own communion wafer – the gift of a piece of candy given with the
love of a maternal welcome. No wonder all of the children at the 11 o'clock service sat on this side of the congregation.
They called her the "Candy Lady."
In so many ways, Bettie Thomas grew into an exemplary model of elderhood. She showed us how to live well and long, and how
to live into a form of mature authority. Around here, getting BT's stamp of approval was important. Her blessing could give
wings to new possibilities.
Bettie was a traditionalist. Her roots go deep into the received inheritance of prayer and worship, custom and practice.
She internalized the rich disciplines of our ancient forms of teaching and piety. She was not one to embrace novelty wantonly.
Yet she was also able to recognize the movement of the Spirit, and was open to new possibilities for ways that God may be
moving in our midst.
Recently Suzanne Stoner and others offered Bettie the invitation to receive a new form of prayer ministry called Healing Touch.
She embraced and opened to this innovation. She found that it brought her relief from pain and a deep sense of peace. Her
imprimatur gave a certain legitimacy to this new ministry. When we called a Parish Nurse to our staff, Bettie let Catherine
Lyon guide her through some of the difficult options and choices of her last days. The word is out. That Parish Nurse is
okay.
I remember several years ago her saying to me in a soft-spoken but firmly self-defining way – "You know, I don't approve
of women priests." Yet when Suzanne began her ordained pastoral work, Bettie welcomed and embraced Suzanne's ministries with
her.
BT was anchored in tradition and open to the Spirit.
Maybe it has something to do with her charism for caring and feeding. But Bettie has helped lead this parish in its reaching
out to extend the fellowship of our table. Every week she sits at a table welcoming our guests who come to eat a hot lunch
through our Community Meals ministry. There is a community of over one-hundred of our homeless and poor neighbors who will
miss her welcome and her unique presence in their lives. When our congregation talked about how inclusive we might become
toward our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, she was an advocate of extended hospitality and acceptance.
Here in this liminal moment in the Church Year – after the Ascension and before Pentecost – when Jesus has left
the disciples but the Spirit has not yet come, we feel her absence. There are now some ministries in this place that Bettie
has left; ministries that need to be picked up. Who will arrange the flowers after church and see to their delivery to those
whose lives would be brightened by them? Who will make sure the priests know when someone had to go to the emergency room?
Who will call with those birthday and anniversary greetings? Who will send the notes, the food, the little gifts that so
sacramentally represent the presence of grace and care in our communal life? Who will tell me "I don't like that" the next
time I try something new that doesn't really fit? Who are the elders who will step into her place of noble authority, and
welcome the children, embrace the marginal, and bless the new work God will do among us?
If you would deign to follow in her way, she has shown you how. It begins with a disciplined commitment to deep things –
to worship and prayer; to values and eternal verities. It is incarnated in sacramental acts of caring, hospitality and love.
It is enlivened by a deep joy for people, for creation, and for the abiding presence of God in our midst. Like the prophet
Micah, BT has shown us what is good and what is required of us: "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly
with your God."
May God receive her into the heavenly banquet so lovingly prepared for her with rejoicing and glad peace forever.
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