This homily was preached at the Burial Service for Daniel Lawrence Hafer (May 30, 1947 – October 17, 2024) on January 25, 2025 by Fr. Daniel London at Christ Episcopal Church in Eureka CA.
Readings for the Burial Service
- Lamentations 3:22-26; 31-33
- Romans 8:14-17
- John 6:37-40
This morning, we gather to give thanks for the life of Daniel Lawrence Hafer, to grieve, and to renew our trust in the promise of the resurrection, the promise that we will see him again. This time of gratitude and grief and trust is facilitated by the Holy Spirit and by Daniel himself who wrote today’s liturgy, within the context of the traditions of the Episcopal Church, a church that he came to know and love and claim as his own when he was confirmed here just a few years ago.[1] I imagine Daniel would have been pleased to know that the Episcopal Church made national headlines during the week of his memorial service, for defending the rights of the LGBTQ community.
Daniel was one of those parishioners that every preacher longs for because he listened! And when I would extend invitations and challenges to the congregation, he would take them seriously, including my invitation for us all to write a draft of our own memorial service. We can all be grateful that he took this invitation to heart. Then, when I encouraged us evangelistically-challenged Episcopalians to evangelize by simply sending links of our YouTube services to friends, he would actually do that. And then he would watch other Episcopal Church services around the globe, which he would compare and contrast with ours and then share with me. And quickly, he learned how interconnected the Episcopal world is, and his engagement with that world strengthened those connections and deepened church unity.[2] I imagine he would also be pleased to know that his service falls on the final day of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. The bonds of affection across the global church family were strengthened and renewed because of Daniel. So, it is no surprise to learn that this same loving curiosity united a family of people who were previously strangers, as Daniel investigated his biological heritage and reached out to people who are here now as his family. May we give thanks for Daniel. Whether you believe in God or not, take a moment to give thanks for Daniel and the gift he was in your life.
Today, we also grieve. I can’t count how many times Daniel approached me to share a gratitude or an insight or a connection that he made, and would do so with the most transparent and vulnerable joy, almost overwhelmed by the loving energy that was flowing through him. Sometimes his eyes would moisten, and his voice would tremble as he would share with me something that touched him deeply. It was such a privilege to bask in these moments and simply receive the gift of love radiating through his words and his tears and his whole entire being. He did not seem afraid to feel his emotions and share them, even when they were overwhelming. He was not afraid to let the power of God’s love overwhelm him. So, let us not be afraid to feel the grief of this loss, because even when it might feel overpowering, the grief will always be dwarfed and overwhelmed by the divine love that brought Daniel into your life in the first place and that holds him now with the utmost tenderness.
One of the greatest Protestant theologians of the 20th century Karl Barth wrote several massive books on theology, including a 9,000-page-long tome called Church Dogmatics. After giving a lecture one day, a student asked him to summarize his entire theology in one sentence. The audience leaned in, expecting a profound and complicated answer, but Karl Barth said, “I can summarize my whole theology in a sentence I learned in a song while sitting on my mother’s knee: ‘Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.’” When Daniel first shared the draft of this service with me, I was instantly moved to see the inclusion of this beloved song, because if that’s all you hear this morning, that’s enough. Jesus loves you. And Jesus loves Daniel. And the Jesus who loves you and Daniel was the same Jesus who was raised from the dead and who promises that we too shall be raised; and we will see Daniel again.
Today is a special feast day of St. Paul the Apostle, who said, “Do not be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we trust that Jesus died and rose again, God will bring to himself those who have died” (1 Thessalonians 4:13 – 14). Daniel is in the presence of God, worshipping with the angels and probably offering some wonderful hymn suggestions.
And as we pray for strength to meet the days to come and struggle to imagine a life here without Daniel, I want to offer in conclusion words that Daniel offered me and this congregation years ago when we walked together through the valley of the shadow of COVID. They are the words of a hymn titled “When We Face an Unknown Future.” I invite you to receive these words now from Daniel:
When we face an unknown future that we can’t imagine yet,
When the closeness we have treasured turns from blessing into threat
As we miss our friends and loved ones, as we crave community
May we look, God, in this season, for a whole new way to be.
God, when illness comes to threaten, and when so much here goes wrong,
May we know this thing for certain –that your love is sure and strong.
You’re beside us in our suffering – and when times are surely tough,
We may face an unknown future, but it’s filled, Lord, with your love.
[1] For my birthday last year, Daniel gave me a hat with the Episcopal Church shield on it as well as a hat that says “Warning: I’m a Pastor: Anything you say or do could be used in a sermon.”
[2] I always wanted to visit Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Geneva Switzerland with Daniel.
DANIEL DeFOREST LONDON 