Seven funerals and ten weddings by Terrence Halloran

My wife's sister Vallie Pluto died in April 1993. A Baptist minister and I officiated at the graveside burial service in Fort Smith, Arkansas. I said this:

Vallie, we can all imagine how things have changed in God's heaven since you arrived there three days ago.

Vallie, your heavenly companions have always been respectful and reverent toward God's angels and archangels. But now you poke fun at the angels and joke with them, and you encourage them to tell wild stories about themselves.

Vallie, your heavenly companions have always praised God through poetry and music. But now you encourage everyone around you in eternity to praise God by cheering for the Chicago Cubs.

Vallie, the human family in heaven has always had a few rules and traditions that everyone accepts. But now you tell your heavenly companions what a joy it is to bend the rules and fill eternity with surprises.

Vallie, stay close to us in spirit during the rest of our journey through this life. We'll try to honor you by doing what you've always done so well. You've given help and compassion to those who come to you in need. Help us to do the same.

And when we leave this life, Vallie, welcome us into God's heaven where we will share your joy forever.

Katie Knight, who helped my parents raise my three youngest sisters, died in July 1993. Asked to speak at her memorial service, I said this:

Katie Knight, we've always called you Morning. You've left this life, but you're still with us in spirit. And we'll be joining you soon, Morning, in the eternal life God promises to those who love him.

Morning, I'm one of Terry and Billee Halloran's eight children that you know so very well. You came into our lives 37 years ago. That was in 1956, Morning, the year Jane was born. By the end of that summer Mary was one and a half, Letty was four, Don and Dennis were 17, Kathleen was 19, Mike was 20 and I was 22.

It was Letty and Mary who named you Morning. At first it was a greeting, "good morning," when you arrived each day at breakfast time. Then Morning, short for "good morning," became your name. You never seemed to mind, and it's always seemed right to us.

When our Dad died in 1964, Morning, you were there to hug us. Letty, Mary and Jane were only 12, 9 and 8 at the time. Thank you for comforting them and Mom and all of us. May God reward your kindness.

You remember, Morning, when we introduced you to the handsome and beautiful friends who later became our husbands and wives. And you remember each time we brought our newest child to smile at you. When all eight of us gathered to surprise Mom on her birthday four years ago, you accepted our invitation and joined us for dinner. We'll feel your presence at each family celebration in the future.

So long, Morning. With a little help from our Dad and from you, we'll finish our journey through this life. Then we'll be with you in God's love forever.

Rose Delaney, my wife's friend since 1947, died in September 1994. Her husband Bob and I have been friends since 1948. The funeral Mass was celebrated at St. Anthony Church in San Gabriel, California. Asked to speak at the Mass, I said this:

Rose, you were a Benedictine nun for 18 years. You have a master's degree from the University of Notre Dame. You've taught high school English literature on three continents. Father Robert Delaney, priest and theologian, has been your husband for nearly 24 years. You've explained to your children, Michael and Miriam, and you've whispered to Miriam's daughter Nadja, the difference between good and excellent. So God isn't surprised that after a few days in heaven you're having words with the Gospel writers and letter senders of the Bible.

"Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Peter, Paul, James and Jude," you're saying, "I'm Rose Delaney and I've read your book. You did not tell about family reunions with Mom and Pop and their parents and grandparents. You did not say we would have poetry and music, card games and sailing, libraries and museums. You did not tell about the rainbows, blossoms, echoes and breezes of eternity."

Rose, your words to the apostles and evangelists remind God of a poem you composed 35 years ago. Your friend, also a Benedictine nun, had written some verses she called "Long April Songs." This was your response:

On having read "Long Songs Of April"

You did not tell about the April rain that slashes winter away and glazes the window screen so that the earth is seen in sparkling springtime green.

You did not tell about the rainbow after the rain that rinses the world in a color whirl, and stains the rain sustained on a quivering blossom chain.

You did not tell about the lavender loveliness of spring that blows through lilac horns, and echoes laughter in the Judas trees, or purples in the violet.

You did not tell about the earth not mourning bell tolls in mauve, but ringing and singing ALLELUIAS in lavender Eastering.

You did not tell about the tulip cup that holds its goblet up to drink the rain and sun and spill it out again upon the grass because of April, a breeze, or a pretty lass.

You did not tell about -- but there were secrets that you told -- soft sudden sounds that bound beauty round the earth in fantasy. What you did tell (we all agree) you did tell well, so very well.

Rose Delaney, we'll be joining you soon. Meanwhile, thank the authors of the New Testament for the good news of God's love, for their words of eternal life. In you own poetic style, say to them: "But there were secrets that you told. What you did tell (we all agree) you did tell well, so very well."

Our admired friend Al Ranford died in November 1995. The funeral Mass was celebrated at St. Columban church in Garden Grove, California. For the memorial leaflet distributed at the Mass by his family, I wrote this:

You've left this life, Al, but you'll always be with us. You and your wife Bernice have spent close to a decade feeding the needy in the parks of our city. Last Tuesday, God's poor spread the news throughout the community that the man who helped feed, clothe and care for them had died. Bernice tells us that one man who had been on the street for years said he never prayed for anything. But he prayed for you.

Al, we marvel at how much of your own time and money you've spent caring for the homeless and hungry. You've driven around town four days each week, picking up donated supplies from bakeries, grocery stores and warehouses. On Sundays, people have gathered at Pioneer Park, and more recently at Twin Lakes Park, as if for a giant picnic, to eat the meals you and your wife have prepared in your own kitchen. There are usually ten or more large casseroles of spaghetti, chicken or lasagna. Bernice says other volunteers who bring contributions make the weekly event like a big potluck.

Al was a good man," says a Garden Grove policeman. "He was genuine. He saw people in need, and regardless of how they got in the homeless situation, he felt everyone needed a meal." Al, help us to love God and to love others. As we finish our walk through this life, help us to be like you. We'll be joining you soon.

My wife's brother Bob Roberts died in December 1997. We held memorial services in Fort Lauderdale, Florida and in Chicago. Presiding at both memorial services, I said this:

Bob, your ashes will await the coming of God's kingdom in Montrose Cemetery on the north side of Chicago, next to where your mother and father were buried more than 50 years ago.

Your death touches all of us, partly because we know how young you were when your parents died. Bob, you were only six.

Your Aunt Alice tells us that one day soon after your mother's funeral, she took you shopping. Suddenly you let go of her hand. Aunt Alice ran after you, begging you to stop. When she finally caught up with you, Bob, you were crying.

"I was following that pretty lady," you said. "I thought she was my mother. But she turned, and I saw it wasn't really her."

Bob, we know you as a gentleman in every sense of the word. You're a gentle, soft-spoken man. You like good jazz. The birthday cards we sent you often had Joe Cool on them. As your nephew John says, "Uncle Bob is mellow, and he makes people with him feel mellow."

We'll always feel your presence among us, so we won't say goodbye. We'll just say, "So long, Bob, we'll be joining you soon."

My wife's brother-in-law Bernard McGann died in January 1998. The funeral mass was celebrated at St. Pascal Baylon church in Chicago. At the vigil service the evening before the funeral, I said this:

Bernard, you were a U.S. soldier and a truck driver when World War II ended in Europe. You belonged to a unit assigned to transport thousands of civilian refugees back to their homes in Poland and Hungary. You soon learned that these people didn't want to return. They jumped out of your trucks and disappeared into the woods. Some of them left their babies behind, hoping at least their children would have a better life. So you went back to the supply depot. You loaded food, cooking utensils and blankets into a truck. You took the supplies and the babies to the sisters at a nearby orphanage.

Bernard, after a few days of this, you and your army buddies were disgusted. You decided to pretend your trucks weren't working. You spent hours each morning tinkering under the hoods and beneath the axles. Your officers threatened to court-martial all of you, but you didn't give in. Finally the army decided the refugees could seek new homes on the two American continents. Bernard, thank you for your brave defense of human freedom.

Bernard, you were a Chicago policeman for many years. One afternoon you stopped a young driver and asked for his license. He had forgotten it at home. He and his wife were rushing their baby to the hospital. You felt the child's forehead, then told the couple to drive carefully.

A few days later, the lieutenant at your precinct station showed you a letter. The couple that you stopped had written to the mayor. They were grateful for your kindness to them and their sick baby. The police commissioner had attached a note, saying you should have arrested the young driver.

Bernard, the lieutenant asked you what he should tell the commissioner. You wrote a short note saying exactly what you thought. The lieutenant blushed and protested. He said, "I can't say that to the police commissioner." Bernard, thank you for your impatience with cold-hearted bureaucrats.

We'll be with you soon, Bernard. Meanwhile, keep reminding us to be good spouses, loving parents and honest workers. Stay with us in spirit. Be our companion in God's family, now and forever.

Virginia McGann, widowed since 1998, died February 3, 2002. We and our sons Dan and John, and John's wife Melisa and their son Jordan, went to Chicago for the funeral. I officiated at the vigil service on Thursday evening. At the Mass on Friday morning, after the Communion I gave this eulogy:

Virginia, you've been my sister-in-law for 34 years, and my dear and admired friend. Orphaned at age 15, you earned your high school diploma from the Benedictine sisters. During those years, you and your sisters Connie and Vallie became Catholics. I'm glad you did, because otherwise I'd never have met you or my wife.

Connie and I raised two boys. If one of our children had been a girl, her name would have been Virginia. You and Bernard raised five children, and you helped raise your brothers Frank and Bob. That's not easy to do when your husband earns the salary of a Chicago cop, especially if he's an honest cop. You worked for many years at RCA. Most mothers can't do that if they have five children. Fortunately you and Bernard shared equally the task of parenting.

Virginia, you never gave us advice without our asking. Your advice was always sensible - just go with the flow, you can't live their lives for them, some things you really can't change, don't worry, it will all work out.

We liked the years when you and Bernard first retired. Once or twice a year you would come to California to visit us and other friends, or we would all meet in Las Vegas for a few days. Since then we've enjoyed our occasional visits to Chicago and our frequent phone calls.

Virginia, thanks for the gift of your life. Thanks for the blessing that you and Bernard, and your children Mary, Connie, Ellen, Peggy and Al have been to us and our families. We look forward to your company when we've all returned to God.

Kenny and Millie are both accountants. I presided when were married in Long Beach, California on November 2, 1996. Before they exchanged vows, I said this:

Kenny and Millie, it's easy for all of us to see why you've decided to marry. You're both ready for a life partnership. You're meant for each other. And you're very much in love. We're confident that a year from now you'll be able to prepare an imaginary report filled with good news and optimism. You'll probably want to call this report "The Marriage of Kenny and Millie, Statement of Blessings Received and Sorrows Experienced, Wedded Year Ended November 2, 1997.

At top of the document, you'll summarize and total your Blessings Received. Here the major account categories will be making love, cheering each other with smiles, earning money at your jobs, comforting each other when things go wrong and being generous to those in need. In the middle of the document, you'll summarize and total your Sorrows Experienced. Here the major account categories will be unavoidable accidents, illness, frustrating days at work, harsh words you've said to each other, temptations to sin not overcome by God's saving grace and missed opportunities to say you're sorry.

At the end of this imaginary one-page report, Kenny and Millie, you'll include what we call the bottom line. Here you'll show your Excess of Blessings Received over Sorrows Experienced. We pray it will be a positive amount, on the last accounting day of this coming wedded year and always.

Ginny just read for you from the letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians. You heard the inspired author tell you how important God's gift of love is. Then Ben read for you from the Gospel according to St. Mark. You listened to the words of Jesus, "Shed light among your fellows." Thank you, Kenny and Millie, for brightening our lives with your love, for taking this brave step.

Chuck is a buyer for his family's wholesale electric equipment business. Stacy is a sales representative for an electric equipment manufacturer. That's how they met. I officiated at their wedding in Westminster, California on March 15, 1997. During the ceremony, I said this:

Chuck and Stacy, yours is an electrical love story. It's a story that will be told in your family for many generations.

God first brought your telephone voices together as sound waves transmitted by electrical currents. Later, when you two met in person, you began to feel the dynamo of God's gift of love.

Divine induction has generated a high-voltage current of love between you. The heaven-powered electron flow of your mutual attraction has become irresistible. Now, pledging life-long faithful love, you will combine your positive and negative magnetic forces.

We pray the sparks between the twin electrodes of your personalities will light your path through this life to eternal joy.

Sergio and Marcela met when they were students at USC. I said these words when I married them on August 17, 1997:

Sergio, si usted y yo fuéramos director y sub-director de una escuela primaria, querríamos que todos los maestros de nuestra escuela fueran personas como Marcela. Marcela es lista y trabajadora. Los alumnos la quieren, porque ella los comprende y los anima a ser buenos estudiantes y buenos ciudadanos del mundo.

Marcela, si usted y yo fuéramos dueños de una agencia Toyota, querríamos que todos los representates de la oficina regional que nos visitaran fueran personas como Sergio. Sergio es inteligente y bien entrenado. Los dueños de las agencias Toyota lo estiman, porque él entiende bien el negocio de venta y reparación de automóviles.

Sergio y Marcela, vemos en sus ojos el amor que los ha atraído el uno al otro. Este amor no es algo que se merece, ni algo que se aprende. Es un don de Dios. Dios nos da amor, o no nos lo da, en la medida que él quiere, por razones que nosotros los seres humanos a veces no entendemos. De modo que su promesa de amarse durante toda la vida es admirable, Sergio y Marcela. Queremos felicitarlos con nuestro aplauso.

Dan is an accounting manager, and Rhonda is an insurance claims manager. I joined them in marriage in San Diego, California on October 18, 1997. At the reception dinner after the ceremony, I said this prayer:

Eternal Father in heaven, you are the author of love and beauty. We praise you for the gift of love which unites Dan and Rhonda today, and for the beauty of this occasion.

Generous creator, we thank you for bringing us together to celebrate the new family begun here on this day. Lord, bless our meal and bless our fun here this evening. And help us to help those who have no meal and no fun at this time in their lives.

God of the past, present and future, be with Dan and Rhonda in the years ahead. Make their marriage prosperous and generous. And bring us all to eternal life. Amen.

Joseph and Sandra both work for a company that sells and services computer monitors. They were wed in a ceremony I performed in Costa Mesa, California on September 27, 1997. After the scripture reading, I said this:

Joseph and Sandra, we can tell from the words of Jesus we just read that his audience knows something about building towns. He says a town on a hill cannot be hidden. And we can tell they know something about lighting a home. Jesus tells them a lamp belongs on a lamp-stand, not under a basket.

These words of Jesus also tell us his earliest followers knew nothing about computer monitors. If they did, he would have said, "You don't hide your information on your hard disk, you show it on your monitor." Or he would have said, "You make your web page compatible with every type of computer monitor."

Joseph and Sandra, we thank you for promising lifelong, faithful love here today. We admire you for not hiding your spiritual gifts, for showing the world the love God has placed in your hearts.

Dan is a sales representative for a pharmaceutical manufacturer. Melly is a service coordinator for her family's specialized payroll firm. I united them in West Hills, California on November 29, 1997. During the ceremony, I said this:

Dan and Melly, at weddings we often read from the letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians, where the apostle tells us how important love is, and what the qualities of love are. We can tell from the words of St. Paul that he know something about music. He says, "If I have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal."

We can also tell from the apostle's words that he knows nothing about pharmaceutical sales. We can tell he knows nothing about how movie and television people are paid for their services. If he did, he would say a life without love is like a pharmaceutical salesman with no samples in his briefcase. Or he would say a life without love is like a paycheck without a 401k deduction.

But we get the idea. Dan and Melly, your future depends more than anything else on God's love. We're confident, of course, that yours will be a prosperous, generous marriage. You're well prepared for this moment. You're ready for a life partnership, you're meant for each other, and you're very much in love.

In a way, it's a brave step you're taking here today. You don't know if there will be enough of God's gift of love in your future. We don't learn love, we don't earn love. God gives us love or he doesn't, in whatever measure he chooses, for reasons we human beings often don't understand. But you have faith in each other, and we admire your courage.

Ben and Stacey are both attorneys. I was the celebrant at their wedding in Rancho Palos Verdes, California on February 14, 1998. To explain the readings they chose, I said this:

Ben and Stacey, all the sacraments of the church are contracts. This sacrament of marriage is an agreement between the creator and author of love, hereinafter named God, and the couple entering a life partnership, hereinafter named Ben and Stacey. God hereby warrants that his word, which Alice has just proclaimed, accurately represents the true meaning of both divine and human love.

All of us hereby witness that the poetic declaration of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, just read for us by Margaret, accurately represents the depth and breadth and height of the love celebrated at La Venta Inn today. Ben and Stacey hereby bind themselves to preserve and share the gift of love which God hereby bequeaths to them in this sacred and durable agreement.

This is an unpredictable contract, subject to abundant modifications, extensions, renewals and amendments. In other words, it's a brave step you're taking today, Ben and Stacey. We're proud of you.

Jarrod and Gail were married on May 9, 1998. I said these words at their wedding:

Jarrod and Gail, today you promise lifelong, faithful love before God and the community. It's a special occasion, not only for you and your families, but also for our family. We're honored that you've asked me to perform this ceremony. I've been presiding at weddings for 38 years now. But this is the first one where my wife Connie and I have known the bride and the groom during the entire 18 years that they've known each other. Both of you, and our sons Dan and John, were students together at Vista Verde Elementary School and University High School.

Jarrod, we admire your skill at singing, playing stringed instruments and acting. In the school musical play when you were in the sixth grade, you were Charlie Brown's dog Snoopy. In the seventh grade, you were Oliver's companion the Artful Dodger. No jazz combo is complete without a gifted bass player like you. Gail, as a teenager and a young adult you've often joined Jarrod and our boys and their friends, playing board games at our dining room table. Usually you've been the only girl present, competing skillfully and adding your graceful charm to the game environment. We still have the score pad from a Scrabble game played at our home about six years ago. Jarrod, Dave, Dan and Gail had a combined total of 422 points. I won't reveal the individual scores right now, of course.

Gail, you and I can imagine watching television a few years from now, on the night when they announce the nominees for the Academy awards. One of the movies nominated for best music will probably have words and musical score composed and directed by Jarrod Cox. Jarrod, you and I can imagine watching television a few years from now, on the night when the Dodgers end another championship season. The announcer, Vin Scully, will probably remind us that the Dodgers have a new level of confidence, mostly because of the gentle and earnest skill of their new team psychologist, Gail Cox.

Jarrod and Gail, we can all see that you're in love and you're meant for each other. And thanks to your hard work and the generosity of your parents, you're both well educated. But we also pray for you here today, because you'll also need a full measure of God's grace in the years ahead. It's a brave step you're taking. We admire you for your courage.

On June 9, 2002 I officiated at the wedding of Bob and Michelle. He's a real estate loan broker. She's a physical therapist. Like most of the bride's and groom's attendants, they both play volleyball. After the scripture reading from 1 Corinthians chapter 13, I said these words:

Robert and Michelle, today you�re expanding the meaning of the word love. St. Paul says love is patient and kind, love is not jealous or boastful.

But more than that, love is getting an appraisal of the property to be purchased. It�s qualifying the buyer by verifying income and assets. Love is showing the patient after knee replacement surgery how to do ankle pumps and quadriceps strengthening. It�s helping the patient with bed-supported knee bends.

Love is hitting the ball no more than three times before it crosses the net. It's making sure your teammate doesn�t hit the ball twice consecutively, except when attempting a block.

Robert and Michelle, we�re grateful to you for expanding the meaning of love, which St. Paul says will never end.

On June 15, 2002 I officiated at the wedding of two Bank of America loan officers. After reading from the second chapter of Genesis the story of the creation of Eve from Adam, I said these words:

Luis Antonio y Patricia, es posible que el día después de la boda de Adán y Eva, el Señor Dios se haya dicho, "Estos novios no tienen en donde vivir. Les hace falta una casa." Entonces tal vez Dios regaló a Adán y Eva una vivienda amplia y linda.

Nos imaginamos que al ver la casa, Adán haya dicho, "Eva, que generoso es nuestro padre Dios. No teníamos ni para el enganche, y mira, todo esto lo tenemos sin tramitar un préstamo bancario." Eva habría contestado, "Sí, Adán. Dios ni nos pregunto, '¿Cómo está su crédito?' No nos cobró ni puntos ni seguro de hipoteca. Dijo, 'No se preocupen por la tasa de interés. No habrá ningún pago mensual.'"

Luis Antonio y Patricia, esperamos que Dios sea igual de bondadoso con ustedes. Pedimos que les dé un amor profundo y duradero. Vemos en su futuro un matrimonio próspero y generoso. Pero el hacer promesas solemnes no trae garantías. Admiramos su valentía.