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Eulogy for Angela Maria Volan
by Father Evagoras Constantinides
Given at the Funeral Service, Thursday, June 29, 2006
SS. Constantine and Helen Greek Orthodox Cathedral
It is a rarity, indeed, in this day and age of selfisheness and rugged
individualism to find a young woman so gentle, kind, helpful, learned and
ambitious. Unfortunately, it is no rarity to hear, day after day, of tragedies
that put abrupt and premature ends to such promising lives. Thus, it is our
distressing lot today to witness such a tragedy as we pray to god to rest in
eternal peace our beloved Angela.
But we did not come here today to speak of the tragedy or lament the
futility, but to ponder, as Christians, the inevitability of death.
What is death?
Is it a cruel and heartless permanent separation of people united in
mutual bonds of love? It is that, but not just that. Death is also an act of the
love of God for man whom, through death, He relieves from trials and
tribulations and endless travail, and brings to a place of bliss and blessedness
beyond the comprehension of us the living. The difficulty of the general
acceptance of this belief, however, does not lie in its lack of truthfulness, but
in our inability to understand why death should come at what we consider an
inappropriate age. Why, in our case, at the dawn of a most promising career?
It is neither normal nor easy for parents to bury their children, and siblings to
lament over the loss of younger siblings.
Is it the will of God, as some hasten to justify every death? Does God
really actively will the death of this one by murder, that one by fire, the other
by drowning, the other by earthquake, the other by accident, the other by
incurable illness, after a short or prolonged period of agony and pain, and the
other by blissful peace? I would think not. But just as the sun shines upon
good people and bad, and the rain benefits the industrious, the lazy, the
righteous and the evil alike, so does physical death arrive upon good and bad,
young and old, indiscriminately as a result of one of three conditions
surrounding human existence:
- our human ancestry—heredity;
- our environment; and
- our human undertakings and actions; our own or those of others around us.
When a human being is born he carries his genetic traits with him, which
depend on generations of human heredity. As a scientist aptly put it, "We are
the products of all the yesterdays." And there is nothing God can do about it
without negating His own natural laws.
Angela became the victim of an unfortunate ailment which cut her life
short just when her plans were completed for a very successful and promising
future. As strong and courageous as she was, after repeated and painful
battles she arrived at the point which our Lord defined as: "The spirit is
willing, but the flesh is weak."
No, Angela did not quit, her tormented body did; the spirit did not quit
but the machine did; the driver did not quit but the car stalled right in the
middle of heavy traffic, as it was about to hit the expressway.
Therefore, we should feel great relief by knowing that what is in the
coffin before us is not Angela, but Angela's body. And what we shall bury a
little later is not Angela, but Angela's physical remains. Angela who IS her
living soul is now a free spirit in the company of our Lord, in the Great
Beyond, free of the sufferings, pains and torments of the fragile flesh. And
she is very much aware of us and of what we are doing. The body is asleep
until the general resurrection, but the spirit is vividly alive wishing never to
be forgotten but to be in evelasting communication with us. Continue then to
communicate with her by recalling the beautiful stories her brothers told us
last night; for whenever we recall situations including our loved ones who
have gone, they join us spiritually, they are there with us. That's the
meaning of Αιωνια η μνημη! — Memory eternal.
Angela was brought up in a milieu of love and worked in a milieu of
love; through her scholarships and awards she earned the means to travel the
world over; she climbed hills and mountains; she visited churches and
buildings in search of art, in preparation for her academic career. Now she is
at the very center of this love, the Kingdom of God.
Please do not think that these are so many empty words of a clergyman
who has become used to these occasions and has no feelings. Never! Having
baptized her and watched her grow, and followed with pride her many
accomplishments, I would be very insensitive indeed if I did not feel a great
loss at her premature exit.
As I say these things to you today, my mind goes back to 1977 when I
had the misfortune, yet the sacred duty, to bury my 22-year-old niece, by
strange coincidence, also named Angela.
I had to face the same tragic event in the life of man, death, and provide
answers to a most difficult question. Not why people die, which has been
accepted as an inevitable universal human eventuality, but why so young?
I said to my brother and my sister-in-law then, what I am going to say to
George and Helen and the rest of the Volan family now.
No matter how strong we are, no matter how religious and ready to
console others, when death comes to one of our own it becomes difficult to
avoid the heartbreak. Especially, when the normal situation is reversed, when
parents bury their children instead of the other way around.
Death comes suddenly or slowly, after warnings or unexpectedly, at a
young age, middle age, or old age; but it does come. It shocks us, it saddens
us, it hurts us and tears us up; we are bewildered, we cry, we lament, we get
angry, we despair, we ask questions, we get no answers, but ... there is
nothing we can do. Death does come!
We must accept, therefore, that death not only does come, but that death
must come. It is God's only way to return us to Him; to carry us over from
the temporal and ephemeral to the permanent and the eternal; it is the
only way we can return to the state of bliss and blessedness which our first-created
ancestors abandoned so long ago. It breaks our hearts, but accept it
we must, and life must go on for whatever mission God has in store for us, if
we really mean to do honor to the person who has left us.
Instead of lamenting, therefore, let us celebrate Angela's life of
accomplishment which, even though not given the chance to come to full
fruition, it accomplished more than most in the limited time it had to
function. Much as Lord Byron who died at 36, Shelly who died at 29 and
Keats who died at 26, established their name in the annals of poetry, so has
Angela made her niche in the History of Art and has established her name for
ever. It isn't how much you have accomplished, but how good is what you
have accomplished.
As you look upwards, therefore, to the beautiful icon of Christ
Pantokrator in the dome of the Cathedral which, along with myriad other
works of art, filled Angela's delicate psyche with inspiration, listen to what
she is saying to all of us from her heavenly abode:
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there—I do not sleep;
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
...
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.
God rest Angela, and grant to all of you strength, guidance and consolation.
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