Del Hansen Funeral Sermon

Del Hansen was, fundamentally, a good man. And we all know it.

It’s not to say he was perfect. Nobody is. But he strove – in all he did – to do right: to do right by his neighbors, to do right by his students and later his customers, by his church, by his children and grandchildren, by his wife, by his God… and by himself.

The first thing I would ever say of Del, and now declare with boldness, is that he had integrity. And it is an honor today to stand in this church and name this before you and before God.

We thank you, God, for the gift of Del and how his person – his character and love – helped make this world a better place. This was always true – and right up to the end. He embraced his community at Peninsula Retirement: his fellow residents, the staff. They were his neighbors, and therefore, the ones he was called to love – and wanted to love: in the choir, in beanbag baseball (or whatever it was called!), through his monthly birthday posters, at his daily meals. Whoever was before him became his beloved. That’s the man he was.

But, of course, most poignant and necessary to name from the start, is the caliber of father he was for his children – his children both by nature and by choosing. For that is their common witness.

In a letter to his dad, written shortly before Del’s death, Brett told him:

“I thank God every day for having such an amazing father as you. You’ve been an incredible role model for me to TRY and pattern my life after. You’ve been the kind of man that I want to be. A man who seeks God in his life for direction and guidance, a man of good character who’s honest, trustworthy, and reliable, as well as loving to all of his family members, friends and even strangers.”

Greg remembers,

“I will never forget Del coming into my bedroom and asking for acceptance of me for him to marry my Mom. I knew from that moment that my Mom would be in good hands. Del was an amazing stepfather to me and my sisters as well as an amazing husband to our Mother…. Del was a great Man and I couldn’t have had a better stepdad.

Pam concurs:

“He may not have been my biological Dad. But in every way and more he gave me so much more than a Dad could. He was always [the] constant in my life. He was the one that accepted me as I was and never judged or asked me to be someone I wasn’t.”

And so agrees Traci:

‘[He was] part of my life for 48 years… such a wonderful person and I was lucky to have him as an amazing stepfather. He was the last parent alive who [knew] me the longest. He chose to show up and be there for birthdays, my wedding, school events, hard talks, and all of the little moments that made our family what it is. I’m grateful for the man he was, for the lessons he taught me, the support he gave, and the example he set. His impact on my life didn’t depend on biology, it came from love, consistency, and the quiet strength he shared with us every day.”

And in all my interactions with Del over the years, the generosity and genuineness and equality of his love for all his children and grandchildren was always a constant. Whenever I’d visit, the first thing he’d always want to do was update me on all the grandkids. He was always, always so proud of them. He was still texting with his grandchildren up into the last few months of his life. Brayden wants it to be known that Del “was one of the nicest humans ever. [He never said] anything bad about anyone.”

And his devotion to Joan – well – that nearly goes without saying. It was, for him, a true spirit of vocation. It was his calling and his joy to devote himself to her and to her wellbeing. He proved what he first declared at their wedding: “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

As Traci recalls, “after her passing, he missed her profoundly. It was clear in his eyes, in his voice, and in the quiet moments when he would speak of her with both joy and longing. Their bond was something special. And knowing how much he loved her only deepened my respect and affection for him.”

A big part of Joan and Del’s relationship – especially in the later years once the kids were raised and launched into this world – was their shared love in the making of art, and the partnership they found in it, especially when Del began his wood carving. He was the artist; she was consultant whose eye and opinion mattered most to him.

And their legacy pops up throughout this community: in countless gardens, in the benches at Donkey Creek Park, in the Ace Hardware Christmas creche, at the entrance to Home Depot, his wood carvings are there: always cheerful, always greeting. At St. John’s, we have two of his benches in the memorial garden. There’s the St. John eagle carved out of a cherry tree trunk in the parking lot.

Soon after I arrived here as the new rector, we started a Liturgical Arts team. Del and Melanie Halsan were co-chairs, and perfect partners. She was the dreamer; he was the planner and crafter (and Timmie Parker was the grandmother worrier as Melanie crawled up the ladder with no regard for safety). Season after season they gave us art. Our shelves are filled with things he made for installations that we still pull out. The most prominent is his set of Christmas angels, now arrayed together for the first time above the altar. Just a year ago, he was still putting some finishing touches on them. These angels who announced the birth of Christ, now serve as something of a welcome committee: “Welcome home, Del. As Christ came to earth for you, now to come to your heavenly rest with him.”

For in all Del’s integrity and intent, at its core lay his faith – a faith in God’s love and thorough redeeming. It was a faith which began as farm boy Lutheran in eastern Washington. It was a faith in God’s grace that was proven in adulthood through his years of alcoholism and then into a sobriety that remained. It was a faith that became the spirit of his art in his final days. And it was a faith he bequeathed to his children.

In his letter to his dad, Brett wrote:

“I know that when the time comes for you to depart this world, and God calls you home, there will be a huge void in my life not having you here, and I am hoping God will fill that void with his spirit and his presence. Thank you so much for introducing me to God as a child and for modeling your relationship with him throughout your life and mine. I take great comfort in knowing that when you leave this world you will be with the Lord in his presence and in his care. While the thought of losing our relationship in this world is heartbreaking, I again, take comfort in knowing that I’m not losing you permanently, but rather, you are going on ahead, where we will eventually be reunited in God’s presence and glory for all eternity.”

For thus is our hope. As we heard earlier in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians: “For now we see only a reflection, as in a mirror, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” Del has now entered into the life of fuller knowing and of being fully known. For the nature and intent of God, is that “faith, hope, and love remain…and the greatest of these is love.” It is this divine and total love in which Del now dwells, without a trace of shadow or division of any kind.

It is this divine love which lies at the heart of all our faith and doctrine, for God is love. And it is through love that we will most know and participate in the heart of God: love for God and love for one another. This was the core of Jesus’ teaching and ministry. And so this must be, for us – as it was for Del – the core of our own discipleship as seek to live out our faith in Christ in tangible ways, as Del modeled so beautifully for us all. After all, love is not a philosophy. It is the tangible manifestation of seeing the other before us, a fellow image bearer of God, and desiring their good, and contributing to their good.

And as a sacrament of such tangible love, Pam has brought (of all things!) handkerchiefs to give to any who want them after the service. In these past few months, while doing Del’s laundry – just a simple act of service – folding his hankies became a tender place of seeing and feeling Del’s particularity. (Who still uses cotton hankies after all? Well, Del did.) And as she folded his hankies, it was a sign of Del: Del who loved her, and whom she loved. And now, for her to give a hankie away, she’s saying, “Feel and touch the tenderness of my dad and his love.”

And I end now, as Traci ended her memorial to Del:

“He will be deeply missed; not just by our family, but by everyone whose life he touched – whether through kindness, his faith, his art, or simply making someone laugh when they needed it most. Del left a lasting imprint on the hearts of those who knew him.

“May he rest in peace, reunited with [Joan], and may we carry his memory with us – not in sorrow, but in gratitude for having known and love him.”

Amen.