PROPERS: BURIAL OF THE DEAD
PREACHED AT CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION, STARKVILLE, ON FRIDAY, JANUARY 9, 2026 (Stuart Vance’s funeral)
ONE SENTENCE: Death is not an eternal loss; our friends are very close.
We have all sustained a loss – a meaningful loss.
Perhaps. Death may deceive.
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I first came to know Stuart 33 years ago.
He was a member of the early church crowd – a devoted group of early Sunday service worshippers here at Church of the Resurrection.
As the new rector, I was invited into their fellowship. After the early service on Sunday, we would regather at the old McDonald’s on Highway 12. We called our gathering “McWorship”.
It was a remarkable group. Stuart and Mike Vance. Sam and Jane Polk. Walt and Bettye Hillen. Bill and Sherley Richter. Vera and Fred Wiles. Ernie and Allison Russell. Tommy and Jeanne Wakeman. We would even see Jerry Clower there on some Sundays.
Today we remember Stuart’s energy, vision, leadership, passion, and vitality.
With the loss of Stuart, only Jeanne Wakeman survives. All were remarkable saints.
Where have they gone?
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A couple of years ago, I had the chance to speak by telephone with my friend and former Mississippi priest Tim Jones, who now serves a diocese overseas – in Wales.
Tim had made some interesting comments on Facebook about life after death. It is a subject each of us has speculated about – the specifics of a remarkable aspect of the Christian faith. I suspect that those of us who cling to Christianity have important images of the life beyond in mind.
Tim had an interesting perspective. His point of view is that we have misdefined death, and likewise, we have constricted our understanding of life. His point was this: death is not clinical death – such as lack of brain activity, cessation of heartbeat and respiration. Life – in some dimension beyond our ability to grasp – can continue beyond that state.
One-hundred-fifty years ago there was a theologian at Christ College in Oxford, England – a position not easily attained. His name was Henry Scott-Holland. He was a profound thinker, steeped in the Christian faith. He, too, wrestled with the mystical life beyond this veil of tears.
His reflections reached their fruition in a poem Death is Nothing at All.
I encourage you to think of our friend Stuart – and all our other departed saints – as I read this poem:
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Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
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Until later, my friend.
