Margaret Bozich funeral sermon
Perhaps it was inevitable that Margaret should live such an adventurous life. After all, her advent into this life began with her mother driving 150 miles down the mountain on a steep, rocky road from the A & P Mine, so she could give birth at the hospital in Butte, Montana. Then, a few days later, with baby Margaret now in tow, she drove back up the mountain.
And so, Margaret’s earliest years were spent in this wild-west world of mountains and mines and attending school in an old, 2-room schoolhouse. It was as if she were living one or two generations earlier.
And from such a world, came such a life. It was an adventure to be lived. Looking back at his own childhood, her son Dan would say, “Growing up, I didn’t know anyone’s parents who camped, skied, sailed, or fished. My mom and dad did all [of it]!” And not just as a young mom. Even at 66, she was charging over an 11,000-foot mountain pass like it was nothing! And the now-adult Dan could marvel at what a marvel his mother truly was: “She became like a super-woman to me that day!”
For that was the kind of mother and grandmother she was: seeing the goodness of this world and living richly within it – with a kind of risky abandon. There were no restrictions on how high in a tree her kids could climb. Bikes could be ridden God-knows-where until nightfall. Get out the sledgehammer and pound those stakes into the hard-packed ground to play horseshoes with Ryan.
And always, alongside this “let’s get out and do it” spirit, lived a sincere spiritual life. Margaret is, what we’d call, a “Cradle Episcopalian.” Even from those mining camps towns (weather permitting), her parents would drive the family down to the nearest Episcopal Church. She was, as her son-in-law Todd called her, “The Church Lady,” not only because she actually went to church, but because – through church – she genuinely sought to resemble Christ. “You are an amazingly kind and grace-filled person,” he recently told her, “that I’m amazed by to this day. You give yourself in an extraordinary way.”
And so she did. Over the years, wherever she lived, she belonged to the local Episcopal Church, and served in every role (Sunday School teacher, Senior Warden, Altar Guild, Music Director, Pianist, Treasurer). She knew a sense of duty (in the best sense of the word) that, “to belong to the church” is to serve in the church. It is, as Todd said, “to give yourself in an extraordinary way.” I remember visiting her just days before her death, and she apologized to me, that she hadn’t taken on any kind of service while she was a member here at St. John’s. It never crossed my mind that she should have been doing something here, since – the whole time she was a member here – she was battling cancer. But it crossed her mind, certainly. For she wanted to keep living as she’d always lived.
And to be clear, this Christian service was merely an expression of a deeper commitment – a deeper value – to live as Christ. Which, for Margaret, was to live with an extraordinary spirit of grace and love for her neighbor.
She was accepting of all people. This was especially true of how she received in-laws into her family. They became as her own. They belonged. And they knew it – right from the start. Todd would say of his four decades with her, “You’ve always been ‘Mom’ to me.” And into the next generation, as her grandchildren became engaged, their spouses, too, became her own. She became grandmother to Meghan and Tommy. “I never thought,” said Tommy, that “I would think of people like that again after my [own] grandparents [had] passed away.”
And, as we all know, Margaret’s faith was not of the “fair weather,” “what have you done for me lately?” variety. It held true in both good times and bad. Years ago, when her neighbor ran over her, then ran over her again, breaking both legs and her collarbone, Margaret spent months in the hospital recovering. And, of course, everyone was focused on Margaret and her healing. But amidst the pain, Margaret’s concern was for her neighbor: “Gosh, she must feel terrible. I hope she’s okay.”
And it was her faith that sustained Margaret to the end. In all my years of ministry, I’ve never had a parishioner face death like she did. She’d make periodic appointments with me, not to discuss her fears about what suffering lay ahead or her doubts about the great beyond. No. What she wanted to discuss was, “What next?” meaning, “What do I do next? How do I die well? What tasks still lie before me?” After all, we only die once; we’ll all only face it for the first and only time. And Margaret was committed to doing this work of dying as faithfully and well as she possibly could.
And as she sought to live a life like Christ, which meant a compassionate life, one that was aware and committed to the wellbeing of “the other,” her Christ met her in the end with that same spirit of compassion. She knew her days were numbered. She knew those days might soon became very painful and difficult. And, right before that transition began, when God alone knew her work was complete, God chose to call her home – quite quickly and compassionately. And, for those who were with her when it happened, perhaps even “miraculously.”
And as I consider her life – her life of adventure and her life of faith – I’m mindful of how fitting it is that these two things should be joined together. For so they should. This life and this world: they are good. They should be enjoyed richly and eagerly. It is right and good that there be bourbon to drink and family tales of Mono Lake brine shrimp and Jamaican adventures and silly felt hands and Christmas bows slapped on your foreheads and music recitals and cookies with iced tea. And faith itself should be equally alive and rich and storied. For what is faith? but faith in a God who is the author of this life – this world – and all that is in it. It is faith that this God is, and that this God is calling us to join him in loving this world and all that is within it – with grace and forgiveness, love and delight, without division or boundary.
And, for Margaret, that love was first and foremost expressed in her family. She loved being married, married to Dan. They were, as Kelcey said, “a unit.” They were always “G & G.” And with Dan, what she did was make a home, of the truest sort. It was a haven – a nest – and the security that it would always be so. There was, for her children, no reason ever to doubt that, in coming home, they were coming to a clean home with clean cloths, to a peaceful home with delicious meals, to a home where love dwelt.
It’s interesting for me: It is the nature of my job that I do this quite often, that in preparing funeral sermons, I receive stories from family members and friends. But never have I received such a steady testimony as I did from Margaret’s children and grandchildren. And it is this: The integrity of Margaret’s life and love is proven in how sincerely her children and grandchildren desire to emulate her:
“Everything I learned about family and marriage,” writes Carolyn, “everything that’s important I learned from my parents. The way you treat each other and have such a strong commitment to each other has influenced Todd and me….And I’m confident that because of the example you two have set, that tradition will continue for generations. I see it already in our kids.”
Todd would add, “As a mother, you’ve raised three incredible kids that are each in committed relationship…and a lot of that is because of the example… a mother sets for her kids….You set just an amazing example that we all got to learn from. It’s just priceless. You leave an unforgettable legacy and a mark that will last forever.”
From her granddaughter, Kelcey: “You’ve set an example of what ‘motherhood’ is – you’ve raised some of the most important people in the world to me and they are children of independence and strength and courage and intelligence – a product of you….When we named [our daughter] Jane Margaret, we knew that your legacy would always live on.”
Dan, Jr. credits his mom’s strong faith in God (along with that of his dad and wife) for the faith that has become his own, and concludes most emphatically, “I have no bad memories of my mom.”
This is an extraordinary collective witness. After all, it’s one thing to say, “Well, mom, we know you tried your best.” But it’s another thing altogether to say, “Mom, I want to be like you.” And that is the message I heard from every person who wrote me. Well done, Margaret.
“See what love the Father has given us,” writes John in the New Testament, “that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are….Beloved, we are God’s children now.”
I’m grateful that Margaret lived in such a way that her children and grandchildren have a model for that ultimate love which we all seek, which is the love of God as a father. Or, as we could equally say, as a mother. For so it is.
Margaret has shown us, in part, that for which we long in completeness. And it is a longing we share that shall be fully known. And it is into the fullness of God’s love that Margaret has now ventured. We don’t know just what that will be – what shape or form the life to come will take. But we trust that as all things in creation are in a steady process of living and dying and being given away for new life to be born afresh; and as God in Christ has so lived and given himself away and died and now lives again; so shall it be for Margaret. She has lived. She has given her life away to others. She has died. And she shall rise again. This is our hope – for her and for us.
And we trust, for us, that the love and life we knew through Margaret has now become our foretaste of a greater love and life that is yet to be – that fuller love and life which, for Margaret, has now begun. Amen.