Funeral Liturgy for John R. Novak, Jr., 5/6/02

HOMILY

Marygrove College, Detroit, Michigan

Andrea J. Lee, IHM
President, College of St. Catherine


The souls of the just are in the hands of God. Indeed they are.

The just man, though he die early, shall be at rest. Indeed he shall.

In my Father’s house, there are many mansions. Indeed there are.

We look not to what is seen but to what is unseen.
Indeed, the pain of absence makes that so very hard to do, but we are trying.

I know that I extend the prayers and sympathy of this entire community to all who mourn the death of John Novak, but especially to his beloved wife and best friend, Jo-Ann; his dad and brothers; family; colleagues and friends – all who feel so acutely the hollow vacuum created by his absence.

It is indeed Spring – heralded earlier by the Vivaldi Strings. Spring – even though we do not feel it, and even though we shiver in a cold rain of grief.

Somewhere on the earth though, the sun is shining with glorious intensity and here, this chapel is alive with the bright and warm presence of so many friends of this good and gracious man.

Today Marygrove and John’s many communities – friends, family, business and higher education colleagues, sailors and IHMs – gather to dance an expressive ballet of grief and celebration, one which artfully joins the stark realization of his absence with sweet memory that will forever mean ‘always-present,’ a paradox able to set the very walls of this chapel pulsing; warm them to the touch; and pull us close together within their comforting embrace. A life – learned, curious, engaged; a man – formidably intelligent, kind and committed are gone, and our grief leaves a residue of fear that there is nothing more. By faith, though, we know there is more.

The souls of the just are in the hands of God.
The just man, though he die early, shall be at rest.
In my Father’s house, there are many mansions.
We look not to what is seen but to what is unseen.

Sparse prose – lavish, if troubling, meaning.

For whenever death punctuates the predictable rhythm of days and nights, or months, indeed years spent laboring together, there remains an unsettling beauty all around us. We find ourselves first out of step, off our rhythm, slumping into a heap of disbelief and sadness, and then steadying ourselves with the hushed gathering of memories. It is undeniably beautiful, though, our sorrow. Itself an art form, grief’s choreography pulls us close to the core of our experience as members of this community. Then in an instant, the collective energy of friends and family takes over, pulls us up and together and the edges of grief are softened through the telling of stories, preparing of ritual, sharing of meals and needs, tracing the familiar paths of human connections and bonds, and taking comfort in their depth and capacity to endure.

At Marygrove, we have been in this very place before and we know that on the other side of it are greater strength, an amazing and healthy resilience, closer bonds, unaltered purpose. This community has a visceral understanding of that reality, Jo-Ann, which is why we can assure you of it with so much confidence.

When you think about John looking down and surely taking pleasure in what he sees, as we honor this man whose life work centered on the search for Truth and Beauty, you can’t help but smile; can’t help but think that this community is as True and Beautiful as it gets. And isn’t it so appropriate that we honor and bid farewell to John, whose entire professional life and half of his natural life was spent pursuing excellence in the liberal arts in this building called by the same name?

There are few like John, who choose as their life work enabling others to articulate expressions of truth and beauty through word, lecture, poem, music, lesson taught, analysis complete and connection made. Such work crafts a liberating art of lasting and luminous purity.

As we honor John today, we remember and hold reverently the deep places of his soul he unwittingly revealed through the very things he loved and shared: books and ideas, innovation and analysis, music and friendly animals, indeed all his knowledge, his delights, his treasures, his imaginings. It is so hard to let go of one who embraced life so fully.

So we find ways to remember – to tell stories and enjoy the most simple of human encounters. As we honor John’s memory, we reflect the very truth and beauty he sought, embrace it, bask in it, touch it and allow it to shape us. Doing so reveals the sacred text of everyday life in which God is immanent.

Elaine Scarry tell us, “This beauty transcends the quotidian world, signaling the surfeit of aliveness in the face of death, the validating flicker from the mind to the body as we, like John, see God looking back.”

Doesn’t this make exquisite sense? . The moment before you die is not just an instant in which your whole life passes before you – instead the moment is prolonged, social and somehow endures. We can take comfort in knowing, as John surely does, that Truth and Beauty are around and within everything important. So much truth and beauty have we experienced these past weeks around this good man – that tears rush to grant it escape, don’t they? And suddenly, even in the stark face of death, there is rain and lovely conversation everywhere.

The liberal arts in their discovery of truth and beauty really do liberate. They are not fleeting after all. They endure and beg to be embraced and shared, explored for their deeper connections to symmetry, to fairness and to justice itself. Within that work pursued by so many of you, I suspect we will often encounter our friend there, still shaping and deepening our collective understanding of what is true and good and beautiful.

So, do not let your hearts be troubled. A great grace has been visited upon this good man.

We saw him, with our own eyes, accept grace and then put it on and wear it like a comfortable and warm sweater.

With our own eyes, we have seen this good man enter into a place we cannot see or understand, and to do it easily and with his customary graciousness.

With our own eyes, we have seen a good man able to say over and over again, “It is finished; everything is OK; I am all set; I’m ready.” To take the hand of his wife and fix his gaze on her until they both could allow his full passage to the place unseen.

The souls of the just are in the hands of God. Indeed they are

The just man, though he die early shall be at rest. Indeed he shall.

In my Father’s house, there are many mansions. Indeed there must be one for John with splendid vistas of water and land and sailboats; comfortable chairs and friendly dogs – piles of magazines and gadgets of every sort and complexity; books and music; data ports everywhere for sure; good food and plenty of room to welcome us all.

We look not to what is seen but to what is unseen. And with the eye of faith, we see.

I had a clear sense several weeks ago that John was going to be granted the grace of a happy and peaceful death; and that he knew he was. Those of us privileged and humbled to walk along part of that path, into the unseen place, with John witnessed him move in gracious symmetry with its persistent demands and urgings. Past the kind of worry that the passage itself would be so difficult to endure that its messages would be drowned out by the din of pain. Past the self-doubt that plagues us all – “Have I really made a difference? – Do my contributions matter?” “What is,” as he asked me, “my ‘legacy dean’?” Past worry about work left undone; plans unrealized; past conversations with friends and colleagues in the ‘seen world’ to conversations with his mother and others in the unseen world; and finally to the exquisite leave-taking of his beloved Jo-Ann.

A week ago today in the early hours of the morning, John’s wife, Jo-Ann and I sat on either side of the bed, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons punctuating the silence along with John’s actually quite tranquil breathing. He suddenly mumbled something and both of us said almost simultaneously, “John, are you OK?”

His eyes and face gave both of us the kind of withering look that could only mean, “What kind of ridiculous question is that?” What was utterly amazing, though, was that only minutes later – and indeed many times during his last days – a splendid smile crept across his face, one that several described as bathing the room in peace, the kind of smile one often observes in a sleeping child. Then, eyes clear and resolute he said, “I’m all set; I’m ready; everything is OK.” And, indeed it is.

In the middle of that stood God – coming from nowhere discernible, as when Jesus visited the disciples in the closed room. Jesus’ message was simple, direct, consoling:

“Peace be with you.” John heard it. I know he did. His gasp at encountering God present must have sucked the air right out of the hushed room, and I am sure he heard Jesus say again: “Peace be with you,” echoing to John the same words John himself had said to us: “Don’t worry, everything’s set; everything is OK.”

That is how it was at the passage of John. Finally, when the sound of his breathing stopped punctuating the silence, the very breath of God took up the rhythm and then he must have heard a calming voice, “Peace be with you…Don’t worry, it’s just me. Everything is all right.” A glimmer of recognition then, as with Thomas, an invitation to touch so as to know for sure, a moment of intimacy so sacred no other could enter it.

As John’s own breathing ceased and the warm breath of God, skipping not a beat, took up its rhythm. John was known in the twinkling of an eye, bathed in forgiveness and love, embraced warmly, welcomed to the mansion prepared for him.

And so this just man – our husband and brother, son and friend, teacher and dean, John – is in the hands of God. Indeed he is.

This just and good man, though he died early, is at rest. Indeed he is.

In God’s house, there are many mansions. Indeed there is surely one with John’s name on the mailbox.

We look not to what is seen but to what is unseen. That is still a hard one for us.
But we know full well that within the fertile and lush loam of education at this college, with each new idea explored; thesis defended; artful turn of phrase inscribed; song composed; experiment complete; with each new discovery of powerful intersections of intellect and faith and commitment, from a place unseen, John will smile with satisfaction ever enabling and encouraging us for the work ahead.