Meditation on John 11: 1-6, 17-27
In Memory of Lois Netter
Dec. 21, 1935 – March 2, 2024
Pastor Karen Crawford
I find that I am still looking for Lois in the congregation. I look for her in her pew.
I have looked for Lois every week in worship for a long time, probably since I met her at my first worship service here about two years ago.
There was a sweetness to Lois. A strength to Lois. She never dominated the conversation in the Narthex or parish hall. She was warm, but quiet. She was one of the family, the church family, but never needed to be the center of attention.
I came to know her through her serving on the Nominating Committee. She was well suited to her job with the Committee charged with prayerfully discerning and inviting others to accept leadership roles in the congregation. She was a team player, a peacemaker. She asked questions and listened carefully to the answers. She had follow-up questions. She valued inclusivity and diversity in the church, in the Body of Christ, and in the world.
Lois didn’t have a mold that everyone needed to fit in. She was curious about you, accepted you as you are, saw the good in you, embraced you for it, and told others about it.
I came to know Lois through our book discussion group here at church. She was an active participant! I didn’t know, back then, that she was involved in numerous book discussion groups! She must have been reading non-stop!
When she wasn’t reading or attending book discussions, she might have been playing bridge. She played with a group from our church until recently. There may have been other bridge groups. And if she wasn’t reading, discussing books, or playing bridge, she might have been knitting. Lois used to knit a lot.
She and her friend, Carol Link, WERE our prayer shawl ministry. Lois used to knit a row, then pearl a row, knit a row, pearl a row; she did a basketweave stitch that looks like it is woven. She also did a Trinity stitch—knit 3 stitches, pearl 3 stitches, all the way…Lois, who had joined our church in the 1960s, had been in the prayer shawl ministry since the very beginning of the ministry, maybe 20 years.
And if she wasn’t knitting, she might have been cooking or baking, which she also loved to do, when she was feeling well. For many years, she hosted Wednesday night family dinners in her home. She shared meals with friends on other nights, going to the Thai Restaurant, or eating Chinese or Italian or getting take out and eating with friends in her home.
I came to know her better when I visited Lois at her home last year. I brought her Communion, and she served me tea and a whole plate of bakery cookies! She didn’t eat any. Her health situation had grown more serious. Her energy level was low. But she still smiled and laughed and was a gracious host.
She didn’t complain of her illness. We talked instead about her life before she and her husband, Andy, downsized and moved to the one-story home in Kings Park, about 20 years ago. She shared about working as a dental hygienist for the Roosevelt School District. That’s where she and Andy met. He worked as a music teacher and later became a guidance counselor. Andy went home to be with the Lord 18 years ago, March 1.
What started as a two-year sabbatical for Andy to work in Thailand in 1973-1974 was, for Lois, a great adventure. Their three children went with them. Carla went to second and third grade there; Jeff attended 8th and 9th; and Stephen, the middle child, 5th and 6th . The second year the family was in Thailand, Lois worked at the embassy. When the family returned home to Commack, she was ready for a new challenge. She went to Stony Brook University and earned a master’s degree, preparing to teach E.S.L.
The next time they would go overseas together, after Andy retired from the district, Lois taught English and Andy worked as a guidance counselor. For about 10 years, they lived and worked in New Delhi, India; Islamabad, Pakistan; in Japan, Peru, and Poland.
I left Lois’s home that day in Kings Park dreaming of faraway places. She had that effect on us. I wanted to hear more stories and know her more. I thought I had more time.
As Lois’s treatments continued, she was not able to come to worship or small groups, including our book group. We missed her. She wasn’t there for our discussion of All The Light We Cannot See, a work of historical fiction set in WWII.Her family would tell me that it was her favorite book. I loved it, too! I wonder what she would have shared? I know it would have been meaningful for the entire group. And that I would have come to know her more.
Lois and I talked by phone after my visit with Communion. I called her on her 88th birthday on Dec. 21, and asked if we could bring a group of carolers to sing in her front yard. She said, “Thank you, but no.” She shared some about her health and her family—that they were taking good care of her. Mostly I listened and when she fell silent, I always asked if she wanted to pray.
When she made the decision to stop treatments and go on hospice, she emailed the church, and I called her that day. She did something she didn’t usually do. She shared about the pain, and she cried. What was it going to be like, on hospice? she asked.
I told her what I knew and assured her that this would be a good thing for her and her family. She would receive personalized care. All of her questions and her family’s questions would be answered. They would manage her pain and make sure that she was as comfortable and peaceful as possible.
A few days later, I called to check on her. Her mood had lifted. Many people had sent her cards. She was being well cared for by hospice and her family, she said. She wasn’t in pain anymore! She said that whatever she could possibly need or want, she felt sure that the hospice worker would pick up the phone and make it happen that day.
As we talked, an edible bouquet was delivered, with a card that made her laugh. It said, “From your book buddy.” Her question was, “Which one?”
At the end of our conversation, I asked, “Would you like to pray?” “Oh, yes,” she said. This time, she didn’t just listen silently. She chimed in and spoke to me and the Lord.
When I said, “Goodbye,” I was overcome with sadness. She was ready to go. I wasn’t ready for her to go.
We always want our loved ones to be with us, forever. We never want them to suffer.
Why Jesus took so long to respond to Mary and Martha’s plea for help is a mystery. Why wouldn’t it bring glory to God if he healed a sick man, like he had done before? Why did he have to wait for Lazarus to die? And Lazarus was a close friend. As Martha writes, he was “the one whom you love.”
When Jesus arrives in Bethany, Lazarus is already in the tomb. Has been for 4 days. The community has lost hope and is deep in their grief. Martha hasn’t given up. She meets Jesus on the road, saying, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.”
Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
“Yes, Lord,” Martha says, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
I reach the end of the passage, beyond what we read today, when Lazarus is called forth from the tomb. I wonder, is it her faith that restores Lazarus to life? Or was it God’s plan all along to reveal Christ’s power over death this way? Or was it both?
I believe that our faith matters—it makes a difference in the way we live our lives today. It makes a difference when we live with hope. We take risks. We persevere through hard things. We never give up. We rise up from the ashes! God’s mercies are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness!
We need this reassurance today—that Christ still has the power over death. That we have nothing in this world to fear. Nothing can separate us from God’s love in this world and in the world to come. We, too, have the promise of resurrection with him—and not only that. We have the power to live new and resurrected lives by faith right now.
I have one question. Do you believe this?
I have talked with church members about Lois all week. We are all grieving. She will be remembered for her sweetness, her smile, her knitting, her bridge playing, her faithful work caring for others as a deacon, and for her passion for Bread for the World, an organization that seeks to remove the barriers to hunger, so that all who live in food insecurity may be fed.
Lois will be remembered for being a wonderful cook and gracious hostess. Most of all, how she always listened, with love and without judgment. She was a good friend. She made everybody feel valuable—and want to know her more.
Just before my husband had surgery at the end of January, we received a prayer shawl from the church. The card on the beautiful green blanket says it was made by Lois. We will treasure it always.
I wonder how many people were blessed by Lois’s knitted shawls and blankets over the years? Her handiwork reminds us of a precious child of God whom we were blessed to know—some of us for a long, long time; some of us for only a short while, a couple of years; and all of us, not nearly long enough!
But we are not people without hope, dear friends. Like Martha, we know Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who is coming and has come into the world, who is WITH US NOW, in Spirit. Someday, we will be reunited with our loved ones, and all the mysteries will no longer be mysterious, when we are with Christ, face to face. He will wipe every tear. Death will be no more. Mourning and crying and pain will be no more.
I come to the end of my meditation, and all I can think of is my last phone conversation with Lois. Maybe you are remembering conversations you had with her, as well.
“You are in our hearts and prayers,” I said, after we prayed. “I want you to know that you are loved by your Church and the Lord.” I asked, “Do you know you are loved?”
And she said, “Oh yes! Oh, yes!”
Amen.
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