A sermon for the funeral of Sonja Lash
September 18, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs
Readings: Isaiah 61:1-3; Psalm 23; Romans 8:14-19,34-35,37-39; John 14:1-6
Once upon a time there was a painter. She wasn’t a professional painter, but she painted everyday. She didn’t sell her paintings (that’s not why she did it), but she occasionally put a few up at the local fair. Truthfully, she painted because she was made to paint. She spent the last 20 years of her life painting leaves on the oak tree in her backyard. She loved that tree. Maybe it was a little like the oaks of righteousness in our reading from Isaiah today. She loved to paint the leaves on that tree. She would paint the leaves as they were budding out in spring, in full leaf in summer; as they began to turn in the fall, and as they decayed on the ground in winter. She painted those darn leaves over and over and over again because she thought they were beautiful, but she could never quite get it right. There was a beauty that she could not quite put on the page. She tried anyway and pushed on. She was compelled by that uncaptured beauty. Artists are stubborn like that.
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