A Homily for the Celebration of the Life of Karen Wharton
A homily preached at Mountain View Cemetery in Oakland, California during the graveside service honoring Karen Wharton.
“There are many mansions.” It’s such a beautiful phrase Jesus uses to describe the sure and certain hope of eternal life; that special place God sets aside.
A mansion. A house. A home.
This familiar image has taken on a new dimension for me this week.
Because it strikes me that Karen was a mansion for so many people.
A magical mother and grandmother, not just to her beloved children and grandchildren and the significant others they brought into the family, but also to an extended network of younger people. They showed up …
and she gave them a mansion.
Not just a place to stop on the road, but a glittering safe space. A space of laughter and music and costumes and set design, and food and jewelry and tarot and Disney and Mickey Mouse.
“She was the mother figure that everyone wanted in their own lives.”
“She figured out who you were, and she was able to come to your level and relate to you.”
This is what I learned from the stories that poured out from her beautiful family in our conversations.
“The harder your life was, the more she would take care of you.”
“She never judged … except in the case of cruelty. That she would not tolerate.”
She was a mansion.
Not a mansion built on the shallow glimmer of wealth, but built on the only thing that really makes us rich: love. Love was the mansion’s foundation.
And so, it is no wonder she found in David a love story that endured for more than fifty years. Partners in creativity and tenderness and care and joy and humor. Through great ups and great downs.
What a gift it was for everyone who got to orbit around the gravitational strength of this marriage.
You told me she was “never a shrinking violet.” A child of Hollywood and rock and roll, there was “never enough glitter.” She wanted everyone to live their dream. And she helped and supported them in any way she could, never asking for anything in return. Always ready to be the safe landing spot. She offered an opulence of understanding and care.
She was a mansion.
The veil between this world and the next is sometimes thinner than we know. I suspect that Karen, who had a special intuition — who could “feel things” — knew this.
And I imagine Karen in that mansion God has set aside for her, basking in the closeness of God’s loving presence. Resting in the same kind of extravagant welcome and love she showed countless others during her life on this side of the veil.
I know the process of planning what would happen today was very hard, because Karen was the one who did these things. She was the matriarch. She was the center.
But I must tell you: I believe she was right here for this process too. Guiding each one of you. Guiding me. I felt it. She is here.
And she is in each one of you. She is in a constellation of lives she touched over her well-lived years. This is part of what everlasting life means: love continuing to move through the lives it has touched.
I know this assurance does not and should not erase the deep pain this separation brings. The grief is real. The sorrow is real. And it “demands to be felt.”[i]
And, no matter what your belief system may be, my hope for you is that you continue to feel her presence as you walk your paths in life.
She was a mansion.
And every time any one of you opens the doors of your heart to another person — or another person opens theirs to you — the way Karen always did, there she will be.
[i] all credit to John Green.