September 26, 2026
Jim needs to watch out.
Because the crazy German lady is after him.
They are now officially a match made in heaven.
Two peas in a pod.
And somehow, I can just imagine the two of them together again.
But when I think about Minnie and Jim, there is one evening I will never forget.
It was March 16, 2016.
A snowy, bitterly cold evening at St. Martha’s Bethany Center.
I was there for the Monarchs Dance Party, a fundraising event for the area ministry.
Given the weather, I honestly wasn’t sure who from the church would show up.
And then—
in walked Minnie.
Beautifully dressed, gently escorted by the one and only Jim—
who was also dressed to the T,
his hair sharply combed,
wearing those signature retro black-framed glasses.
I still remember Minnie elegantly shaking the snow from herself, taking off her coat—
and revealing this gorgeous party dress.
And I thought:
Wait a minute.
Are these the same Minnie and Jim I have seen covered in sweat and dirt, trying to remove a dying tree at the church?
Because in about five seconds, the image in my head changed—
from the Midwestern farmers in Grant Wood’s American Gothic
to Jamie Lee Curtis and Arnold Schwarzenegger in True Lies.
That was Minnie and Jim.
They could clean up beautifully.
And they could get dirty beautifully, too.
They lived.
They worked.
They laughed.
They loved.
And a little over a year after that wonderful evening,
Jim met his Maker.
To me, all of this feels like yesterday.
But for Minnie—
she could count every day she lived without Jim for the next nine years.
She missed him.
She really missed him.
And yet, even without Jim’s physical presence,
Minnie carried his spirit with her wherever she went.
Whenever she spoke about him, something happened.
Joy returned—
to her voice,
to her eyes,
and, I think, to her resilience.
Minnie taught me something about grief.
Loving someone after death does not mean that life stops.
Quite the opposite.
Sometimes loving them means we keep living—
and we live well—
because of them.
And Minnie did.
Oh, Minnie lived.
She welcomed my dad with open arms.
She made it through the pandemic.
She enjoyed Sunday evenings watching Masterpiece and drinking bourbon with her best friends.
She cared for animals.
She hosted a summer choir retreat—with her delicious Manhattans.
She helped make parish picnics memorable with her special Bloody Mary mix.
And just when some of us thought,
“Surely Minnie isn’t going to show up for this…”
there she was—
working in the memorial garden,
showing up for church cleaning day,
getting her hands dirty again.
And she cooked for people when they were sick.
Fr. Roger can tell you all about that.
That was Minnie.
She was determined to live the very best life she could.
Not only for herself.
But, I believe, for Jim.
For her family.
For her friends.
For her church.
For all the people she loved.
She learned how to live in that strange new world we sometimes call “the new normal.”
It wasn’t the life she would have chosen.
Jim wasn’t physically beside her anymore.
But love was still there.
And Minnie chose to keep living inside that love.
She loved life.
And she had incredible family,
incredible friends,
and a church family, all of whom helped her keep living it.
And now—
as much as we miss her—
we come to another change.
For nine years, Minnie carried Jim with her.
Today, we begin learning how to carry Minnie with us.
At every Christian funeral, we proclaim something almost audacious:
Life is changed, not ended.
Death does not have the final word.
Christ does.
Minnie didn’t just profess that faith.
She lived it.
For nine years, she showed us what “life is changed, not ended” can actually look like.
You grieve.
You miss someone terribly.
You remember.
And then—
you pour a Manhattan.
You watch Masterpiece with your friends.
You cook somebody a meal.
You plant something.
You clean something.
You show up.
You laugh.
You love.
You keep living.
Because love has not ended.
And now the God who accompanied Minnie through every one of those years has set her free from the pain and suffering of this earthly pilgrimage
and brought her into a life we cannot yet see,
but which we trust is held completely in Christ.
And yes—
I like to imagine Jim seeing her coming.
Maybe thinking,
“Oh Lord…
here comes that crazy German lady.”
And Minnie saying,
“You better believe it.”
So now it is our turn.
It is our turn to let Minnie’s legacy—
together with Jim’s—
live with us,
live in us,
and live through us.
The way Minnie carried Jim,
we now carry Minnie.
And with her loving memory,
we embark upon a new day—
a new chapter—
new friendships—
new ways of loving—
and new life in Christ.
Because life is changed.
Not ended.
Alleluia. Christ is risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.
Amen.
