A sermon for the Funeral of Neil Maynard
March 21, 2026, at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Stuttgart, AR
Readings: II Corinthians 4:16-5:9; John 5:24-27
“If Marianne’s the matriarch, what does that make Neil?” It’s fuzzy, but I think my wife Molly asked me that question shortly after I had interviewed to be vicar here. She denies that this conversation ever happened, but she’s not preaching today and that’s how I remember it. The Bishop had appointed me here, but he wanted me to interview after my ordination. My interview was me and an intimate group of 35 or so people crowded into one room. I had come armed with all of my theoretical knowledge about how churches work–in case you’re wondering, they work kind of like families do. I figured out quickly that Marianne was the matriarch–that is, the person who makes the trains run on time. Molly asked, “Does that mean Neil’s the patriarch?” “No,” I informed her. “Churches don’t work like that. If Marianne is the matriarch, Neil just might be the crazy uncle.” After coming here, I felt bad about that assessment. I thought it was in bad faith. Then Neil gave me his book.
It’s interesting, but not surprising to me at all, that Neil talks about faith in both the first and last chapter of his memoir. I think that says something about him and the role faith played in his life. He never pretended to be pious or holier-than-thou or to even be especially good at this faith thing. In his first chapter, he writes, “The church has helped me steadily chip away my imperfections; however, that mission is far from being complete.” I can say the same thing. Much of the rest of the book with its outlandish stories is dedicated to showing just how much was left to complete. And yet, what I can tell you today is that the glory of God was revealed in Neil’s life.
In our reading from II Corinthians, St. Paul exhorts the church not to lose heart in the face of suffering. He is speaking of those things that go hand-in-hand with our mortal nature. He does not only speak of our physical bodies, but also our flagging emotional and mental capacity that can only take so much. Neil, especially these past few months, had experienced the physical frustration that comes with our mortal nature, the limitations we all have. But, St. Paul says, even in the face of all of this, we do not lose heart. We do not lose courage. We do not give up hope. For God’s glory is revealed in us, like priceless treasure in vulnerable clay jars, even in our shortcomings and failings, even in our weakness and when we fall. God’s glory, God’s strength, God’s goodness are shown in us, and particularly in our simple faith in the midst of doubt, in our joy in the face of sorrow, in our love in the face of fear. This is not a superhero sort of faith, but a daily walk that trusts in Jesus in spite of–and even because of–our likelihood to stumble. And that imperfect but faithful, steady, and daily walk is where the glory of God shines.
When I think of Neil’s faith, that’s the kind of faith I think of. He would be the last person to describe himself as holy, and yet his faithfulness to God in prayer and worship shows holiness. He would be the last person to describe himself as saintly (and as someone who played cards with him, I would not describe him that way either), but his loving devotion to those that God placed in his life, and especially to his family, shows what we mean by Christian charity. I doubt he would describe himself as an exemplary Christian. He wouldn’t say it like that because his faith was not showy. But over the course of my time here, as he sat in his usual pew, I saw the attention he gave to every word. As I preached countless times from this pulpit, I would see him with a characteristic analytical look, thoughtfully considering every idea, seeking understanding and direction from God’s Word. As I distributed Communion countless times at this rail, I saw someone who depended on the nourishment of God’s grace; who understood what it meant to trust in Jesus; who, despite the humor and jokes and larger-than-life outlandishness and full-speed-ahead approach to life–I witnessed that he quietly and unassumingly walked by faith and not by sight. And the prayer of his heart was “here I am, Lord.”
Neil left us this week. I wish it were not so. But I know he heard the voice of the Son of God, and having heard that voice he now lives a life that is changed but not ended. Like the title of his book, he does live to see another day, a new day, the happy morning of Resurrection Life. And so we commend him to God, this husband, father, papa, and friend. We place him in the hands of Jesus who knows him by name. We do not lose heart, for we know, even now, that nothing can separate Neil or anyone who hears the voice of Jesus from the love of God poured out for us.
It seems only fitting to give Neil the last word. This is from the last chapter of his book, and I think he would want us to hear it.
“According to the grace of God given to us, like a skilled builder, Marianne and I helped lay a foundation, and someone else must add bricks and build on it. Each builder must choose with care how to build on it. We challenge our future generations to build solid family foundations, teach, and educate their children. If you do that, everything should fall in place. However, you will encounter some stumbling blocks along the way. Pick yourself up; dust yourself off; and continue your journey in a positive manner and live to see a brighter day.”
He does continue on into that brighter day even now, shining with God’s glory fully realized in him, that “eternal weight of glory beyond measure.” And by God’s grace, so will we. By grace alone, so will we.
Storied Grace 