Friends, we have gathered here this Thursday afternoon to praise God and to witness to our faith as we celebrate the life of Sandy Hobgood. We come together in grief, acknowledging our human loss.
We come in shock, as unexpected deaths are just that – unexpected. They turn our lives upside down and inside out. Even though we have lived with this news for many days, we still expect Sandy to be sitting at the organ. We still expect to hear his voice… – that uniquely unmistakable voice. We still expect Sandy to be in charge of organizing everything down to the smallest detail.
And yet, the fact we have gathered here today is testimony to the reality that Sandy was killed in an accident as he and a new friend and confidant rode an all-terrain vehicle to the top of a mountain to see the sunset, unaware that it was the last sunset Sandy would see on this side of life.
That we are gathered here today, in our grief, in our shock, in our need to be surrounded by others, is first of all testimony that in life and in death we stand before a great and wondrous and awe-full Mystery that orders our lives in such a way that we would not, could not, stay away.
Death has a way of gathering people around the Throne of the Lamb who may not have ever been in the same room before, old friends reunited, new friendships begun through our mutual grieving. Family near and far, colleagues, students, Christians and those of other faiths, and of course, musicians: students, singers, tuba, trombone, flute, and violin players, drummers, those who play the clarinet, the oboe, the bass, the harp, pianists, young and old, virtuosos and the ones Sandy convinced could sing beyond their wildest imaginations. We are here. Old friends and new, young and old, gay and straight, rich and poor, family of blood and family of the baptismal waters in which Sandy was drowned and raised to new life as a beloved child of God.
May God grant us grace, that in pain we may find comfort, in sorrow hope, and in death resurrection.
We have been at a loss for words. But that’s okay, because today, we have been given the gift of the words of liturgy and the words of scripture to speak to us, guide us, comfort us, and remind us that we are part of something, someone much larger than ourselves or our own imaginations.*
Sandy was deeply formed in the way of Jesus, first in the Baptist church, and then in the Episcopal church (which, he told me more than once, “saved” him), and then in the many United Methodist and other denominations where he served as Choirmaster and organist. Often, he came here, to Chapel of the Cross, after he had finished his responsibilities at other churches. He came often to compline on Sunday evenings, the Easter Vigil, late night Christmas Eve Liturgies, morning prayer. As he told me more than once, the Book of Common Prayer kept him sane, and as much as he found fault with the church, he couldn’t abandon it. Elisabeth, you and Ted, were formed in the way of Jesus at this very church because your parents loved you.
Sandy lived a very full and varied life – choirboy, actor, big brother, mathematician, Brookings Institute, IBM, Winchester, England, Scientist in residence at and Indian School in Oklahoma and card carrying member of the Cherokee Nation, father, friend, a founding member of TAGS – Triangle Area Gay Scientists and Glee Club, conductor, founder and maestro of RTOOT – Really Terrible Orchestra of the Triangle, uninhibited, boisterous, and fun-loving thrower of parties including the famous Dogwood Breakfasts. He was unbeatable at Scrabble, a genius organizer, a citizen of the world, a lover of people and of music. When Sandy set his mind to a task, he went all out.
I heard from Sandy earlier in the summer. As his spiritual advisor for the past eight years, I often heard from Sandy when he was, as he put it, “having a dark night of the everything.” This time, he was fed up with all that was going on in NC with HB2 and the UMC General Conference decision to table discussions about the wording of the Book of Discipline regarding LBGTQ marriage and ordination. “I have just about had it,” he wrote to me. “We need to talk when I get back from Mepkin Abbey. I need you to remind me about forgiveness – again.”
Forgiveness – Sandy learning to forgive himself, Sandy learning to forgive the church he loved who spent too much time debating whether he and other LBGQT persons were good enough, worthy enough, forgiveness for those foolish and reckless actions, thoughts, words he said or thought, forgiveness for being less than perfect. Forgiveness had been the major topic of our conversations over the past eight years. Sandy was a very courageous man, he did not presume to be someone he wasn’t. We admired him for that.
Sandy and I never had the opportunity to meet, but as had happened time after time, Sandy was pulled up by friends, his own determination to not remain in a state of despair or anger, his humor, his courage, and surely, by none other than the amazing grace of God who has loved him through thick and thin. Sandy found himself again, he found delight, hope.
Sandy was gifted again with the full-force ahead , lively life that we know Sandy loved, the part of himself he offered in abundance to us as his friends. He was making plans to move to Brevard, and was excited by a new chapter in his life. He sent messages and pictures to his sister Margaret: I am really happy, he said, when I go around a curve – Nirvana! He felt he had found a piece of heaven. He was happy.
But Sandy died suddenly on his way to the top of a mountain to watch the sunset. Sandy left this world and entered into the Peace that passes all understanding, the land where there would be no more night, no need of light or lamp or sun, for now, God would be his light, and Sandy would live forever and ever in this mysterious, beautiful realm we call heaven. On THIS mountain, God has prepared for all people a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. Because, you see, THIS mountain is the mountain we call LOVE – the mountain upon which the shroud of death HAS BEEN was destroyed when Jesus was raised from the dead. The great mystery of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus is the mystery everything hinges on; it is the Mystery that defines us, and makes us who we are; it is the Mystery that made Sandy who Sandy was– so as the apostle Paul reminds us, we do not grieve as those without hope. We grieve as those who are LOVED by the greatest LOVE, which does not fail when all else around us seems to crumble and fall apart, but who guides us as a shepherd guides his sheep through his gates. And we are thankful and bless his name.
This realm in which Sandy has finally been recognized and redeemed and known as he was created to be – a beloved human being made in the image and likeness of a God that loves us without limits or any degree of partiality – is our hope. In death, God’s will for Sandy has been perfected, which gives us permission to begin to live with our friend, our brother, our father, in a new way. To imagine Sandy fully as God created him to be means that no longer must he struggle with how to forgive and be forgiven. No longer must we struggle with how to forgive and be forgiven.
On the night Margaret and Elisabeth left the scene of the accident and began heading back to this part of North Carolina, they passed a small country church. The sign outside the church read : PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU. The road sign just past the church read, “SANDY ROAD.”
These are the words Jesus spoke to his disciples as he was preparing them for his departure to go to his Father.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”
May the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father has sent in the name of Jesus, teach us everything we need to carry on, and remind you of what He has spoken to us this day.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, AMEN.
This Homily was delivered at the Chapel of the Cross on September 8 by Rev. Grace G. Hackney, Director, Life around the Table. We gratefully thank her for allowing us to reprint it here.
*The readings were Isaiah 25:6-9, 1 Peter 4:8-11, and John 14: 25-29. The congregation spoke Ps. 25:6-9. Florence Peacock sang Handel’s “I know that my Redeemer liveth” (Messiah), accompanied by Timothy Baker. The voluntaries, played by Wylie S. Quinn, were Bach’s “Wir glauben all an einen Gott, Schöpfer”; Widor’s Andante sostenuto (Gothic Symphony); three Brahms chorale preludes: “O wie selig seid ihr doch, ihr Frommen,” “Schmücke dich, O liebe Seele,” and “O Welt, ich dich mich lassen”; and Bach’s Fugue in E Flat (Clavier-Übung III).