It has been a year this month when we first heard of Marie’s diagnosis. It goes without saying this news came as a devastating shock.

This past year has been a journey to say the least, a journey of ups and downs, of hope and despair. And not just Marie’s suffering but ours as well especially you, Wayne and dear family.

The time seems to have gone by both quickly, and at the same time feels like a long haul. It’s as if time itself expanded in each moment of living: This year was only one, short year in the large scheme of things. But it contained billions of seconds that filled each day and place where Marie spent time – various rooms in the General Hospital, the apartment in Sarsfield, and the hospice in Kanata.

The meaning of this time played out in each ordinary moment. And each of those moments was a gift to us, each interaction with Marie and one another a blessing.

I have two Tim Horton’s mugs in front of me. Wayne told me the funny story of when Marie was selling mugs at the Tim Horton’s counter in the Canada Post building. Typical of Marie’s sense of humour, and trying to increase sales, she turned some of the mugs on display half-way around, so the handles were pointing the opposite way vis-à-vis all the other mugs.

And when potential customers came to take a closer look, she would, with a smile on her face and mischievous twinkle in her eye, announce that these were very special mugs because some of them were left-handed, and others were right-handed.

Her sense of humour caused and causes us to laugh. And laughter always gets us out of our heads and brings us into the present moment. Laughter is the key to an understanding of faith that Marie’s life exemplified.

Her jokes and humour not only brought people of the same mind together, but also people who are different in their beliefs, backgrounds and life experiences. That was her gift. Her presence brought us together into a moment in time that all of us shared, a moment in time that was quite common and ordinary for us all.

Indeed, Marie expressed her extraordinary faith in very ordinary situations and ways. Her faith was not sophisticated. Her faith was not born from a lot of book knowledge, education degrees nor ivory-tower language. Her faith was not so much about ideas and theories about which you could be ‘right or wrong’. It was more concrete and specific, formed in love.

We gather to celebrate Marie’s life today during Ordinary Time, in the church year. It is the ‘green’ season of church colour, signifying the simple life and growth of all creation.

Jesus told stories about ordinary life – planting seeds, harvest time, growing vines, losing coins and sheep, money and wages, the birds of the air, the flowers of the field; and ordinary people in the middle of it all. Jesus even laughed with others at a party.^[1] Humour and laughter are the key to understanding something very important about God:

God comes to us “disguised as our life.”^[2] Folks who get this are deeply spiritual people. Because they know God is revealed not in church services inside church buildings on Sunday mornings alone.

Rather, more importantly, God is revealed in every moment of ordinary living. God is revealed if we pay attention—and that is the work of our lives—in those moments of grace and beauty in the midst of it all, good and bad. That is where God is.

So, in the last year I’ve been on a birding kick. I’ve even gotten myself a fancy app to identify bird calls. It’s hard sighting a bird from the back deck or even in the woods walking. I hear the bird first, and then go looking wondering if I can spot it in the trees or bushes. Not easy.

But there is one bird that catches my attention time and time again without much effort on my part. Marie’s favourite. It’s almost as if the cardinal wants to be spotted. You don’t have to be a life-long birder whose memorized every page of some comprehensive archive of all North American birds. Because grace comes uninvited and often unexpected.

There it is, right before my eyes, whether I’m ready for it or not. There it is, contrasted against the green foliage of the maple, oak or spruce tree at this time of year. I can see it, the brilliant red covering its entire body, popping out at me. As if it wants to say to me— and probably is in its sweet song—the very words of a God who now embraces Marie under loving, caring, protective wings:

“I am here. I am with you, always. I will never leave you, no matter what.” Thanks be to God!

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[1] Read through Matthew, Mark, Luke, John – the four Gospels in the Bible.

[2] Richard Rohr, Things Hidden; Scripture as Spirituality (Cincinnati, Ohio: St Anthony Messenger Press, 2008), p.17.