Sermons from St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Ann Elmer's Funeral
John 10:11-16
The Rev. Melissa Skelton
Jesus said, "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away-- and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd."
I am the good shepherd. I call my own sheep by name and I lead them out. The sheep follow me for they know my voice.
This is a short piece written by Ruth Ann Elmer in the 1997 edition of The Epistle. It’s her account of how she discovered St. Paul’s and came to be more deeply connected to the parish and to her spiritual life.
It was 1984
God was watching me
St. Paul’s choir brought me to them
With my window open I heard
I walked in there the next Sunday
My life began to change. Still is
Father John heard my story and felt it
He gave me a medal cross I still carry and
The Book of Common Prayer for confirmation at St. Mark’s
Bishop Cochrane was there
The pipe organ, choir and the art are still very important
The liturgy has given me more faith
If I hadn’t heard the singing, hadn’t opened my window
I’d still be watching religion via TV and its selling of trinkets
How lucky I have been to find a place
To pray, to sing, and be with people
Who like God or are willing to and, with each other, even beyond
Sundays. And I appreciate being with people who are starting out with a few notes like I did.
When I think of the Good Shepherd mentioned in John’s gospel for tonight, the Good Shepherd who knows the sheep by name and whose voice the sheep recognize, I rarely, or perhaps I should say, I never, think of music.
But for Ann Elmer, the voice of the Good Shepherd who called her and who kept calling was a musical voice, a musical voice that called her into relationship with God, into the community of St. Paul’s and into deeper relationship with herself.
Ann’s sister, Jane Hollingsworth, in preparation for tonight gave me a wonderful file with a number of snippets of Ann’s writing. What I discovered in reading through these was that the Good Shepherd does not make mistakes when calling our names—that the music Ann heard through her open window that morning in 1984, the music she followed into a new church led her to just exactly what she needed, and led us to know a person we needed to know.
So I’d like to say something about what I found in Ann’s writings. As I describe these to you, what I hope is that you’ll recognize is something of yourself there—either as a member of the Episcopal tribe here at St. Paul’s or as a family member or friend who resonates with who Ann was and what she valued. In other words, it’s no mistake that Ann was called to come to St. Paul’s or into any of our lives. She was the right person foe all of us, and we were the right persons for her. That is the way that our Good Shepherd works.
So let me talk about what I uncovered in Ann’s writings.
The first thing that I discovered is that Ann was attracted to art, symbol and song as the means by which she was in touch with her own spiritual depths. Ann was strongly attracted to mystery and beauty. And so she writes about music, and she wrote music. She paints pictures. She reflects on the power of liturgy to take her to a place of peace.
Second, Ann loved thinking in a “both-and way.” Ann loved paradox. In a little piece called “Post Thought,” she writes “In seeing two sides, I become one/Neither (of the two sides) driven by who is right/And just who wants to believe in wrong anyway!/To those who try to sing on key, be glad that we have so many notes to breathe, both black, white and in between.”
And finally, Ann embraced her own particularity and quirkiness with great gusto. This was no plain vanilla woman. Ann was independent minded and dry-witted with an almost child-like the-emperor-has-no-clothes perspective on things that could take your breath away. In an article she wrote about the feeding program at Bethany Presbyterian recounting her experiences there, Ann was given to utterances that we so like her.
Yes, that was Ann—a lover of music art, and liturgy; a lover of paradox; and totally and wonderfully her own quirky, dry-witted self.
And what does all of this have to do with God as Good Shepherd?
What strikes me as I think about the serendipitous way that Ann came to St. Paul’s and about who she became once she got there, is that the Good Shepherd found ways to call Ann and finds small but momentous ways to call us toward the green pastures that feed us and the still waters that restore our souls. And if Ann’s story is any example, the Good Shepherd is downright sneaky about this, using things like open windows and happenstance to draw us to the things that will sustain our souls and allow us to discover more and more about what feeds us.
I believe this is true in the normal course of our day-to-day living and in the times of darkness that Ann surely knew and that each of us knows so well. The Good Shepherd, the holy one who calls us by name, who gathers us into the fold, who feeds us in the presence of our foes, whether those foes are our limitations, our loneliness or our unique journey into the valley of the shadow of death.
And so, for Ann, I’d like to close with the lyrics of a song. It’s not exactly what she heard on that day in 1984, but those who know the music will know that it has much the same tonality of what we do here at St. Paul’s. It’s the lyrics of Bobby McFerrin’s version of the 23rd Psalm, dedicated to his mother. And as you listen to it, perhaps you’ll hear in a new way who the Good Shepherd is and how the Good Shepherd acts in our lives.
The Lord is my shepherd;
I have all I need.
She makes me lie down in green meadows;
Beside the still waters she will lead.
She restores my soul;
She rights my wrongs.
She leads me in a path of good things
And fills my heart with song.
Even though I walk thought a dark and dreary land,
There is nothing that can shake me
She has said she won’t forsake me
I’m in her hand.
She sets a table before me in the presence of my foes
She anoints my head with oil,
And my cup overflows.
Surely, surely goodness and kindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will live in her house forever and ever.
Works Cited or Consulted
Ann Elmer’s writings are from issues of St. Paul’s parish newsletters.
Bobby McFerrin’s translation of the 23rd Psalm is from his CD “Medicine Music.”
