We gather this morning at God’s invitation to affirm the Easter faith and to give thanks for the life of Pat Hendry, whose presence among us until now has been a blessing, a joy, an occasional provocation, and a constant reminder of the steadfast love which underlies God’s covenant with us and our covenants with one another.

I have known Pat for a mere 21 years. Many of you have known her much longer. She came to Tallahassee in 1946 to study at FSU and married Bud two years later. You could say they met by chance. Bud was among that flood of male undergrads who came to campus after the war. Pat and some of her friends figured that math classes would be popular amongst the men, so they managed to arrange their own schedules accordingly. A chance meeting with much improved odds. Tallahassee has been their home for low these 60-plus years.

For thirty-nine of those years Pat was the Financial Secretary for First Presbyterian Church, keeping not only the books, but also keeping track of the comings and goings, the joys and sorrows of this peculiar congregation of God’s people.

I was the last pastor to serve under Pat Hendry. By the time I arrived at First Church, Pat had an office in the Westminster Building. There, in Spartan surroundings, she kept a desk, an adding machine, a set of old-fashioned ledgers, and a thermos of coffee, ready for sharing. When I wanted to know a bit of history about the congregation, or to ask advice on how to handle a delicate pastoral situation, I would go to Pat’s office, drink her coffee, and listen to her wisdom.

In a town like Tallahassee, it is a helpful thing for a new pastor to know who is the second cousin of whom, whose uncle is in or out of jail, who married into which family, and who used to be married to somebody else. Pat was a living compendium of genealogical, sociological, and matrimonial minutiae. I can’t count the times she saved me from putting my foot in my mouth, and when she couldn’t save me from myself, helped me to extricate said appendage with a modicum of dignity. She did the same for four pastors ahead of me: Davis Thomas, George Telford, Buddy Ennis, and Bruce Robertson.

Nobody will every know just how much good Pat did, because she did it "under the radar," never seeking public praise.

Sarah and Walt used to play a game when they were young. On Sundays they would survey the congregation, looking for the most forlorn and lonely-looking worshipper -- the spinster, the widower, the homeless person who had wandered in. "That’s the one," they’d say. "That’s the one who will be coming home for Sunday dinner." After years of practice, their predictions became very accurate.

The first year after Pat retired, the church elders were dismayed when gifts to the church budget were not coming in at the rate indicated on the members’ pledge cards. This was quite upsetting, because as long as anybody could remember, we had enjoyed a fulfillment rate of better than 100%. After consulting Pat, we discovered that over the years, she had learned which members were likely to fulfill their pledges and which were not. Regardless of what they wrote on their cards, Pat budgeted for what she figured they were good for.

Her revised estimates were spot on. If Pat Hendry had worked for Enron, there would never have been a scandal.

Pat knew so much about people because she loved them. Pat remembered not just birthdays and wedding anniversaries, but graduation dates and when a person’s spouse died fifteen years ago. She remembered because she cared, because she cherished the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love.

Pat deeply valued her family, but did not limit her familial affection to those who shared her bloodline. Her grandniece and grandnephew think of her as their grandmother, her friends’ children count her as their great aunt, and the rest of us would claim kin if we could.

But, of course, in gospel terms, we do claim kin. She was our sister in Christ and fellow heir with us in the covenant of grace.

Pat was a lover but not always a diplomat. She did not mince words, but also did not use them as weapons. Although she was, by Tallahassee standards, an ardent liberal, her broadmindedness did not extend to the pompous and the self-important.

Pat’s Christian faith was deep but never saccharine. On several occasions, after reading the obituary page in the Democrat, she would come into my study and say, "I was glad to read that so-and-so died." By this she meant, "I was glad to read that so-and-so no longer suffers infirmity and has gone home to the Lord." Pat often communicated in Christian shorthand. We knew exactly what she meant.

We might not put it the same way as Pat, but we, too, are glad this day. We are both glad and sorrowful. We grieve that one so dear and so faithful has died, and that we no longer have her wit, her wisdom, and her sharp-edged humor to keep us on our toes.

We grieve for Bud, who took such good care of Pat, and was her partner in love and service for 58 years. And we grieve for ourselves because life is a good gift of God, and when it ends, we have good cause to grieve.

But for Christians, sorrow is never the last word. Jesus Christ is the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. In her baptism, Pat had already died and had been raised to new life in Christ. We know that nothing can separate her from the love of God in Jesus Christ, and that she is now at rest in him. Moreover, we look forward to that day when all shall be made alive in Christ, and we shall sit with Pat and all the saints at the table of glad reunion.

We rejoice today in the promises of God, who will not let us go. Therefore, even in our grief, our hearts are glad.

       To God the Father who gives life and light to all creation,
                    To God the Son, who gathers us under wings of motherly protection,
                    To God the Holy Spirit, who intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words,
                    be glory, honor, thanks and praise, now and forever.
                    Amen.

Portions of the Prayers of Thanksgiving: