In Memory of Joan LeVan

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Brothers and sisters, we gather today as those who knew and loved Joan LeVan. We come as a community carrying grief—grief felt by her family, this church, and all who knew her. But we also come holding fast to the promises of Scripture, which remind us that those who mourn will be comforted.

The readings selected today allow us to draw comfort from the deep hope we have in Jesus Christ, the Resurrection and the Life. They remind us that death does not have the final word. Joan is now dwelling in the house of the Lord forever. She has passed from death into life, now counted among the saints in that place where every tear is wiped away and mourning is no more.

It is that hope—resurrection hope—that steadies us today. It doesn’t erase the ache of loss, but it gives us something to cling to: the truth that Joan is with God, and that we, too, are held in the same love and grace.

We also find comfort in shared memories of Joan. We are here to give thanks for her life lived among us. The family chose a song they will share with us later in the service that speaks of the tension we feel between grief and hope as we mourn her absence and celebrate Joan’s homegoing. “A heart that’s broke is a heart that’s been loved,” the song says, and “a life with love is a life that’s been lived.”

We’re here to celebrate a life lived with love. Joan’s was a life was full of love—of God, of family, and of her neighbor. I got to know Joan in the last three year’s here at St. Paul’s and when I had the pleasure of visiting Wesley Woods on Thursdays for communion service. But it was a real joy this week seeing more of her through the eyes of her son Mark and daughter-in-law Wendy.

Her family describe her as quiet, driven, and private—but as any of you who saw her sitting weekly in her pew there on the right can attest, her quiet nature did not mean she was not rich in relationships. She had a tight group of friends throughout her life.

In recent weeks, her family has had the chance to celebrate her life through the many letters and memories shared by friends. People have shared memories of all the card games and dominos they played through the years.

Her PEO Sisterhood has shared about her devotion to their organization for over 60 years to support the education of women. At Wesley Woods, she was the treasurer and the welcoming committee, extending hospitality to new members of the community. Mark says after she moved to Newnan in 2014, they simply couldn’t keep up with her.

Joan’s was a life of love of family, too. Her great grandchildren were able to grow up with her close. Mark and Wendy shared with me about their trip to New York with Nick and Megan and the grandkids the week after Joan’s passing.

They were able to go to Ellis Island and see where her mother immigrated as a young woman from England. She didn’t have a big family but she had a strong family, a bond and a legacy that lives on in them.

And finally, Joan’s life was marked by love of God. She and her family were involved in the Methodist church, serving and attending small groups. Then, she left St. Paul’s Methodist in Cedar Rapids for St. Paul’s Episcopal here in Newnan. She found a home here with her family, but she also found a home here as a vital member of this Body of Christ.

Of all the things Wendy shared about her mother-in-law, the one thing she shared with me that rang most true was this: “Joan lived her faith. You didn’t have to question it.” Yes, she was reserved, but when you got her to talk, it was clear she had deep faith. And she didn’t have to show it in words often because you saw it in the way she lived. Whether guiding younger members of her PEO Sisterhood, welcoming newcomers at Wesley Woods, modeling it for her family, or showing up week after week here at church, she lived a life that taught others what it means to trust in Christ.

As we reflect on Joan’s quiet strength, we also remember she was no stranger to sorrow. She knew the reality of grief, losing her husband Donald in 2013, and likely carrying many other private burdens.

As her family cleaned out her apartment these past few weeks, they discovered a poem she had displayed in her room. It begins with honest lament:

 “Stop the world! I want to get off! I hear my spirit say! It is too hard for me to try to live my life today! These times come when I try too long to be so brave and confident. Today I don’t feel strong.”

It’s a deeply human cry—one we recognize in ourselves, especially today. Joan didn’t share this poem, but she kept it close. And in doing so, she reminds us that faith makes space for grief.

But the poem doesn’t end there. It continues:

“Water spills before I feel. Pain streaks down like tears! My cheeks and neck are wet with grief. My sadness holds my fears! BUT THEN—Peace finally comes. It always does. I lift my eyes to see….God leaning in with the Light! I feel God smile at me! Yet, I believe God cares for me, Even my wiggling toes! God lifts me up and holds me close, Kissing my eyes and the tip of my nose!”

Joan found peace in the knowledge that God cared for her and held her. And she lived out that belief—not loudly, but faithfully—in devotion and service to those around her.

We find comfort in the knowledge that Joan is with the Lord today, reunited with those she has loved and lost. Today we will commend her soul—and the soul of her beloved husband, Donald—back to their Creator as we commit their ashes together to their final resting place in the memorial garden. We do so with the deep trust that they are already united again in the presence of God. And we hold on to the promise that all who are in Christ will one day be reunited in that same love.

But the hope we hold today is not only for the life to come. As we remember Joan’s life and reflect on the truth of our Scriptures, we are reminded that hope is also for now. Just as Joan found strength in God’s presence throughout her life, so we too can know that presence and assurance of the God who meets us and holds us close.

And that’s what we carry with us today. In our grief, in the ache of her absence, we are invited to remember not only Joan’s love—but her faith. A faith that made room for sorrow, yet clung to the peace of Christ. A faith that trusted in the resurrection, and in the God who leans in with light. A faith that knew the eternal life doesn’t begin when we cross over the veil, it begins right here as we walk in relationship with Christ.

So today, as we mourn, we do not grieve without hope. We honor Joan best by living with the same deep trust and gentle strength. By comforting one another. By holding fast to Christ, even when the days are hard. And by continuing the quiet, faithful work of love that Joan so beautifully lived.