A sermon by the Rev. Judith Liro, ETSS Class of 1984, during a memorial service for Robin Greth Moore, former MAPM student and director of communications at St. Stephen's Episcopal School. The Community of St. Hildegard hosted the service November 18 at St. George's Church in Austin

The circle is full, very full. Robin's life is present with unique beauty: her joys and delights, her courageous struggles and devastating depression, her intelligence and creativity, her deep love in special relationships over the years including her daughter Jesse and companion Liz. We bring memories of Robin's wicked humor and unique wit, her anger and tenderness. sexuality and sensuality, unique gifts and deep wounds. The color purple represents her goddess-nature. Photographs and her collection of birds remind us of her smile and of her curly hair, her love of the earth, of times special and ordinary. The circle holds the recent reality of her death and of her absence still fresh, even raw. The circle is full of Robin's life and death, with all the varied light and colors and shadows. Here we embrace Robin and she embraces us.

Into the circle we also bring our own responses -- our emotions, our memories, our gratitude, our regrets. Any death can be hard but a suicide brings additional shock and deeper emotions. We search our own hearts -- Was there something more I could have done or said that could have helped? Was there some way I contributed to her despair? We may blame others -- those who were cruel, those who failed her, the culture of hate directed at those who are don't fit some norm. Depending on our own relationship with Robin and who we are these feelings may be intense, conflicted or peaceful, deep in our hearts or closer to the surface. There may be anger at Robin for ending her own life and for leaving us. We may find comfort in the hope that she is at peace and has found release from torment. We may bring questions that may never be answered. This isn't intended to be complete but to suggest the complex range of possible responses within each of us and within all of us together. Not much of this may be visible but is surely present. I hope that this will be an inclusive space able to hold as much as possible-some of it will spoken and some offered silently in our hearts. In the circle we embrace each other.

The circle not only holds Robin and our own response to her living and dying but also opens us to the miracle of life and the mystery of death itself. How shall we live? How shall we die? How did we come alive when we were with Robin? How shall we continue to nurture that? How can we be authentic and risk loving? The circle holds deeply spiritual questions that belong to many spiritual traditions. They are questions which Robin's life and death raise for us. Take the time to see how your own soul is touched. What wisdom is being offered to you?

The thoughts, feelings and concerns of Robin and our response need a larger context. The circle also holds voices from a wider humanity bringing wisdom, empathy and hope. Native American imagery of connectedness invites us into deeper belonging with nature and Sacred Mystery. Psalm 42 cries out from ancient Israel with its expression of longing and despair, connecting with Robin's struggle -- her longing for healing from depression and victimization. "Why are you cast down O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?" It may well express some of our own sadness, our inner turmoil.

Ian's Buddhist chant brought comfort to Robin and its vision of compassion may be what we are drawn to. Robin's love for Celtic spirituality led us to choose a reading from John O'Donohue (posted below this sermon). This wisdom about grieving invites us to live the process with expectation. He acknowledges the "sore of absence" encouraging us to wait upon the "well of presence." Laura's beautiful song resonates with Robin's own creativity and with her longing to belong to the One.

We honor Robin's love of words with poems from Mary Oliver and George Herbert and a snippet of an unpublished story that speaks to the love of purple, swimming which she adored and the risk of loving. And an old song reminds us to listen for the music of hope and joy which can be heard even in times of struggle and sorrow. I hope the readings, songs, sermon and the feast which follows honor the fullness of Robin's life and invite us into our own fullness. Robin made of her life something particular and real. She took great risks. She didn't just visit the world. We give thanks for her beautiful life.

Even though many of us have never met, our love for Robin brings us together tonight. There may be common threads and yet each of us brings a particular response which is part of the whole. The circle is full of a community of those whom Robin has touched and called to be here. I believe we are here to be human together and to honor Robin's humanity. This is holy work. Humanity includes this powerful mixture of vulnerability, beauty, strength; of sharing stories, song, food, tears and laughter, of knowing at a deep level our belonging and connection and at times the pain of disconnection.

I am honored that Robin asked me to preside at her memorial service. I could only do this with the help of my community and the gifts of Robin's friends. This somewhat formal service will be followed, as you know, with time and space for many of you to offer personal recollections, poems and responses. We hope that we can weave a fabric of shared memory and affection that will bring us comfort. We hope to give strength for the journey to those grieving most deeply.

At the same time, there may be emotional or even tense moments. We want to make room for pain and tears, anger as well as joy, expression of deep pain as well as moments of laughter and humor. We want her memorial service and our sharing to be real and authentic, as vibrantly human as Robin. As we move into the sharing time we will have an unspoken contract to make this circle a place of respect, a safe place for the wide range of possibilities. The food we share will also be comforting and connect us to the human traditions surrounding death found in almost every culture.

Let us continue with a time of silent remembrance.

From the memorial service, a reading from Eternal Echos by John O'Donohue

Grief is a journey that knows its way. Despite its severity, the consolation at a time of grief is that it is a journey. Grief has structure; it knows the direction, and it will take you through.

Though travel is slow on the grief journey, you will move through its grey valley and come out again onto the meadow where light, colour, and promise await to embrace you. The loneliest moment in grief is when you suddenly realize you will never see that person again. This is an awful shock. You really know how total your loss is when you understand that it is permanent. In this life there is no place that you will ever be able to go to meet again the one who has gone. You begin thereafter to make your peace with the shock.

Gradually, you begin to understand more deeply that you are grieving primarily over your own loss and begin to loosen your sorrowful hold on the departed one. The departed one is gone home and is gathered now in the tranquility of Divine Belonging. This is one of the most touching forms of belonging in the world: the belonging between us and our loved ones in the unseen world.

From their side, our friends in the unseen world are always secretly embracing us in their new and bright belonging. Their secret embrace unknowingly shelters and minds us.

The bright moment in grief is when the sore of absence gradually changes into a well of presence. You become aware of the subtle companionship of the departed one. The departed one is now no longer restricted to any one place and can be with you anyplace you are. It is good to know the blessings of this presence.

While it is heartbreaking, there is still a beauty in grief. Your grief shows that you have risked opening up your life and giving your heart to someone. Your heart is broken with grief because you have loved. When you love, you always risk pain. The more deeply you love, the greater the risk that you will be hurt. Yet to live your life without loving is not to have lived at all. As deeply as you open to life, so deeply will life open up to you. So there is a lovely symmetry and proportion between grief and love.