One of the ironies of being human is that parts of our experience our unique – they are specific to us – and parts are universal – they are common to every living person. We are like no-one who has ever lived but we are born like everyone else. The circumstances of our lives are unparalleled and yet all our days converge in death. We oscillate between the holding on to the things that make us who we are, even as we hanker for things that make us like others. Much in Kerry’s life intersects with my own. He was born in Wollongong; I grew up there. His middle name was Ronald; it was my first name before being adopted. We joined the Navy and were once shipmates in the aircraft carrier HMAS Melbourne – me junior and inconsequential, he senior and significant. And we both found a place to call home on the Mayfield Road – about 9kms apart (he in Mayfield and me in upper east Tarago) – and realised there was much common ground between us beyond Wollongong, the Navy and farming.
When I spoke with Kerry for the final time at Clare Holland House not far from here, I spoke about the weather, the state of the pasture and the season ahead. Kerry nodded when I spoke about the prospect of good cattle prices this year … and said, apropos nothing: “I want to go home.” It was a poignant moment. I looked at him and there was nothing I could say in reply. Home. It is a place, like no other, anywhere in the world. For some, it is wherever they lay their hat; for others it can only be one place, a special location, where there is safety and security, reassurance and re-creation, point and purpose – and when that location is where we experience love and kindness from family and friends, it is where we will always long to be. In Kerry’s life, in my life and probably in yours too (if you have worn a uniform), we have lived in many houses but called few of them home.
When Kerry said last week: ‘I want to go home’, it meant so much. On one level, he had in mind the property “Calderwood” on the Mayfield Road. But, on another, he was, of course, thinking about that place where we can be ourselves, where we don’t need to pretend, there are no masks … we are, who we are … we find acceptance and acknowledgement of our worth as a human being, fashioned in the image of God, like no-one else … but like everyone else. For Kerry, the very necessary trip from Mayfield Road to Clare Holland House signalled the end of his journey through this world and heralded the start of another … because we are not physical beings having a spiritual experience but spiritual beings having a physical experience as we navigate the hills and valleys of this world ahead of our return to the God who knows our name and holds us in an eternal embrace.
Conscious that his life was ebbing away, Kerry had time to reflect on what he made of the gift of life presented to him in 1939 – and we pause to reflect on his life as we attempt to come to terms with its depth and breadth. What a moment to be born – the world was about to enter the most cataclysmic event of modern times – the Second World War – when the Australian people and their property were directly threatened for the first and only time in the Commonwealth’s short history. These were dark days and even in Wollongong, the local home guard (which included my grandfather Tom), manned a gun emplacement on Cliff Road in the event of a Japanese attack on shipping at Port Kembla. As a little boy, Kerry must have wondered about the world he entered and which shaped his formative years.
But we know what he made of his very considerable abilities and aptitudes as we have heard from his family and colleagues. He dedicated himself to the profession of medicine and was highly regarded in civilian practice and in the Navy, where his experience and expertise was recognised by his steady promotion through the ranks to Surgeon Captain. When someone like John Parkes speaks highly of someone, and I have known John for 36 years as esteem his judgement, they are truly the recipient of high praise. Kerry made his life a gift to others and we are the beneficiaries of his generosity in so many ways.
Like you, it is difficult to comprehend Kerry’s death because the world without Kerry is incomprehensible, such was his place in my life and yours as well. We are no longer able to see him, hear him or speak with him, and this is so hard to bear. The world is diminished at his death and we are impoverished by his passing. The void that his passing has left in our lives is now starting to take its toll. And while we feel sad at his passing, we are again reminded of the wonderful truth that every human person is indeed unparalleled in human history. There is a reminder every time I look at my hand closely and ponder my fingerprints – you and I are new creations, which makes us special and worthy of respect and regard. But it is a hard truth too because it means that none of us can be simply replaced like a broken part in an appliance. No-one and no-thing can take Kerry’s place in our lives. Although other people live and exist outside of us, they also find their place and live within … touching us and changing us by their strengths and weaknesses, and their triumphs and failures. It is for this reason that we farewell Kerry as a community because we need the support that each one of us can offer another in this most unsettling of times … when we don’t feel at ease, when we don’t feel settled, when we might struggle to feel at home when some things are forever changed.
It is for this reason that we reflect upon the Bible, and the two readings in our service speak to our circumstances with confidence. The Psalm is an ancient reminder that the world is not benign or without evil. But with God’s presence, we can be led out of darkness into light, from fear into abundance. And yet, like sheep, we wander into danger and expose ourselves to malevolence. We are sometimes our own worst enemies – individually and together.
When we come to the New Testament reading from John’s gospel, we are drawn into a world of political intrigue and imperial oppression where self-centredness and physical violence are constant threats. In the hope of experiencing the Kingdom of God, a few people started following an itinerant Jewish teacher and preacher – Jesus of Nazareth.
His closest disciples, and there were 12 of them, followed him for three years. They left their families and their livelihoods in order to be led into a deeper spiritual experience, a deeper communion with God. They had seen and heard things that shattered their prejudice, exposed their complacency and expanded their world. This Jesus had said and done, what only God could say and do. They believed they were in the presence of holiness, godliness and righteousness. And yet, they were worried about the future, about what it would bring – both blessings and hardships – and yet, they could face them with Jesus by their side. To demonstrate his love, he breaks bread with them, he pours out wine for them, and washes their feet. And then he announces that he is leaving them. This is unexpected and unwelcome news. They are stunned and terrified. And then we come to the first six verses in John chapter 14.
Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in me because in Father’s house there are many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.
In essence, he says, you will be at home with God for all time – and nothing will disrupt or destroy that union. His followers feared they had no place to call their own … he spoke words of compassion, pointing them to their extended family and their eternal home beyond this world and this life. Could he be believed? Yes, because when he died a few days later, and then returned, resurrected, from the grave … he demonstrated power over life and death and inaugurated the journey to our heavenly home by faith in trust. He invites us to follow him as we hear these words which are also intended for us.
When Kerry said: ‘I want to go home’, he knew by faith and in trust, that he was going home – and that our service today would be a celebration of his homecoming – as he is enveloped in the loving arms of the God to whom we will shortly commend his spirit. Jesus invites you to walk with him too.