Eileen Hughes: 1923-2012

The following are excerpts from the eulogy I gave at the funeral for Eileen Hughes.  The first few paragraphs were punctuated by hearty laughter from the audience.  Obviously, they were remembering the same woman I was. 

She was quite verbal, with a quick tongue and a quicker wit.  I don’t think she set out to be that way; she just was.  She used to write little notes on the attendance pad at church.  Where her name was supposed to be, she’d write, “Same old trouble and strife” and things like that.

You never knew sometimes what she would do or say.  Just ask the ladies of NS who’ll tell you about the time she came to the pool in a bathing suit…made of Saran Wrap.  She wore rooster shoes and sent funny greeting cards. 

She was childlike in her spontaneity.  And, like a child, she could also be stubborn.  She held strong opinions—which nobody could talk her out of.  I know. I tried. 

For example, we once met her and Al in Frisch’s one day after worship.  I greeted her and soon found myself in a debate over the Lord’s Supper.  I got down on one knee and talked to her about it.  (Actually, I argued with her about it.)  I finally had to withdraw from the fray.  People were tripping over my leg in the aisle! 

…………..

The last time I saw her was three days before Christmas.  We were out caroling.  We went to Al and Eileen’s house.  She sat on the piano bench near the door so she could see everyone.  Al stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.  They both sang along with us.  I remember the sheer delight in her face.  I’m glad that’s my last memory of her.  She seems ageless in that memory, frail in body but with the wonder and delight of a child in her face. 

In the resurrection what kind of a body will we have?  Nobody’s sure what, exactly, it will be, but we can be sure what it won’t be.  Not frail, not humiliating, not frustrating.  I remember Eileen out with a leaf blower, so tottery on her feet, but determined nevertheless.  The power to move came from her own iron will.  

But, one day, in the resurrection, her power will flow from God himself and never stop.  Her beauty will be restored, as she reflects the image of the Christ she served.  Her childlike faith will be rewarded with new tasks, new adventures, new pleasures in a new creation bought and paid for with Christ’s own blood.  Her tears, which sometimes flowed when we prayed together, will at last be wiped away. 

And so will ours, if we have the faith of a child of God.